Gospel Story Finder

It was a stormy winter night. At the airport in Chicago, Illinois, many people were stranded due to delayed or canceled flights. A young pregnant woman stood in the long check-in line, nudging her two-year-old daughter forward with her foot.
Many people made disapproving comments, but no one offered to help.
Man: Why doesn’t she pick up that screaming child?
Woman: What a terrible mother.
With a kind smile, Elder Kimball walked up to the woman.
Elder Kimball: Can I help you?
Mother: Thank you.I’ve had four previous miscarriages. My doctor told me I can’t lift anything—not even my own child.
Elder Kimball picked up the crying child, rubbed her back, and gave her a piece of candy. When the girl was comforted, he informed the other passengers and the airport workers of the woman’s condition.
Airport worker: We’ll have you on the next available flight.
Supervisor: Come and sit and rest until your departure.
The woman’s stress was lessened. Later, she saw a picture of Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Mother: That’s him! That’s the man who helped me.
A few months after that, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Twenty-one years later, President Kimball received a letter. It was from the son of that young mother.
Student: I served a faithful mission and am now a student at Brigham Young University. Thank you for helping my mother that terrible night!
President Kimball was happy that his small act of service had resulted in so much good.

I come from goodly parents and from faithful ancestors who responded to the light of Jesus Christ and His gospel, and it blessed their lives and the generations that have followed with spiritual resilience. My dad often talked about his father, Milo T Dyches, and shared how his faith in God was a light to him day and night. Grandpa was a forest ranger and often rode alone in the mountains, entrusting his life without question to God’s direction and care.
Late one fall, Grandpa was alone in the high mountains. Winter had already shown its face when he saddled one of his favorite horses, old Prince, and rode to a sawmill to scale and measure logs before they could be sawed into lumber.
At dusk, he finished his work and climbed back into the saddle. By then, the temperature had plummeted, and a fierce winter snowstorm was engulfing the mountain. With neither light nor path to guide him, he turned Prince in a direction he thought would lead them back to the ranger station.
After traveling miles in the dark, Prince slowed, then stopped. Grandpa repeatedly urged Prince forward, but the horse refused. With blinding snow swirling around them, Grandpa realized he needed God’s help. As he had done throughout his life, he humbly “ask[ed] in faith, nothing wavering.” A still, small voice answered, “Milo, give Prince his head.” Grandpa obeyed, and as he lightened his hold on the reins, Prince swung around and plodded off in a different direction. Hours later, Prince again halted and lowered his head. Through the driving snow, Grandpa saw that they had safely arrived at the gate of the ranger station.
With the morning sun, Grandpa retraced the faint tracks of Prince in the snow. He drew a deep breath when he found where he had given Prince his head: it was the very brink of a lofty mountain cliff, where a single step forward would have plunged both horse and rider to their deaths in the rugged rocks below.
Based on that experience and many others, Grandpa counseled, “The best and greatest partner you will ever have is your Father in Heaven.” When my dad would relate Grandpa’s story, I remember that he would quote from the scriptures:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Dear Journal,
Today as I was leaving for school, I looked at the picture of Jesus on our wall. It reminded me that I was trying to be more like Him, so I decided to do something nice for someone as soon as possible. At school I saw a new girl wandering around looking lost, so I smiled and asked if she needed help. She said that she was just waiting for a friend, so I smiled again and walked on to class. I searched all day at school and all the way home afterward, but I didn’t see anyone to help.
When I got home, Mom was on the phone, and I could tell that she was talking to her friend Mary. When Mom talks to her, they’re on the phone a long time. Mom told me once that Mary was going through tough times and needed someone to listen to her.
I was on my way to my room when I remembered that I still hadn’t done something nice for someone. My nose told me that the baby needed a diaper change, and I decided that I could be like Jesus right in my own home! I was getting the diaper stuff so Mom could keep talking while she changed Annie, when I asked myself, What would Jesus do? I knew the answer. Jesus taught us to go the second mile, and He loved little children. I took Annie out of the playpen and changed her diaper myself.
It was so smelly that I almost took her to Mom, after all, but I didn’t. Mom saw me and gave me a huge smile that lit up her whole face. Annie grinned and cooed at me! I felt so good that before Mom got off the phone, I picked up Charlie’s toys in the living room and put them away.
Tonight when I was getting into bed, Mom came in and gave me a big hug and a kiss and told me how much she appreciated what I did for her. I felt a warm feeling in my heart as I hugged her back. I’m glad that I listened to President Hunter and tried to be a little more like Jesus. I can’t wait for the next general conference—I’m going to listen even better.

Who would think that a fire in a sorority house could lead to new progress for the Church? The Alphi Xi Delta sorority house, located adjacent to the University of Michigan campus, caught fire last spring, and the first floor was seriously damaged while the upper two floors suffered smoke damage. Rather than make repairs the sorority sold the handsome brick structure to the Church. Plans were soon under way to make the ideally located building an institute of religion. Contractors took care of the major renovation but members of the Ann Arbor Ward subcontracted the painting of the structure as a building fund project for the new ward house.
Once the work was completed, the Ann Arbor Ward and the University First and Second Branches opened the building for public viewing in a “Meet the Mormons” night. Members and their non-Mormon friends were met with displays on Church publications, the Welfare Program, family home evening, seminary and institute, the Church auxiliaries, genealogy, and restoration. Tours were conducted past the displays and into the Relief Society room where the film “In This Holy Place” was being shown.
Currently classes are being held in the building and are attended by university students and Church members in Ann Arbor and the surrounding area. According to Warner Woodworth, director of the institute, the building is “a religious education center to bridge the gap between spiritual life and academic life.”

“There’s the steeple!” Natalie called out. She loved going to church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week, except for one thing—she was sad that her brother, Michael, chose not to go to church with the rest of the family.
As Natalie sat quietly during sacrament meeting, she thought about Michael. When he used to come to church, Natalie liked to sit next to him while she looked at her picture books about Jesus. After sacrament meeting, Michael would take her hand and walk her to Primary. “See you later, Sis,” he would always say. But Michael hadn’t been to church in a long time.
Natalie wished she could tie him up with her jump rope and pull him to church in her little red wagon, but she knew he wouldn’t like that. What else could she do?
In Primary, Sister Chang greeted her class cheerfully. “I am so glad you are all here today,” she said. “It makes me happy to see your smiling faces. But who is missing?”
Natalie looked around the room. She raised her hand. “Jed,” she called out. “Jed isn’t here today.”
“You are right,” Sister Chang said. “Jed wasn’t here last week either.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Lisa suggested.
“Maybe he’s on a trip,” Boyd said.
“Maybe he just didn’t want to come,” Natalie said quietly.
“We need to let him know we love him and miss him when he’s gone,” Sister Chang said.
“How can we do that?” Natalie asked.
“We’ll tell him,” Sister Chang said. “Little things can often make a big difference. I made a card for you to sign, and you can each draw a special picture for Jed.”
Natalie decided to draw a picture of a mountain and trees because she knew that Jed liked the outdoors. And then Natalie asked her teacher if she could draw another picture to take home.
When Natalie got home from church, she found Michael in his room listening to music. “Hi, Sis,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
Natalie handed him a folded piece of paper. “I made you a card.”
“For me?” Michael smiled. “Why? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Sister Chang helped me write the inside. It says, ‘I miss you when you don’t come to church with us. I love you.’ And I signed my name.”
“Thanks,” Michael said softly. “It’s a nice card. You did a good job.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalie gave her brother a hug and hurried off to help Mom fix dinner. She felt happy inside. She loved her brother so much, and now he knew it too.
The following Sunday, Natalie was so excited when Michael decided to go to church. She held his hand as they entered the chapel. She sat quietly next to him during the service. Natalie saw Jed sitting two rows up and gave him a little wave.
Natalie loved going to church, especially when all her friends and family were there. She decided that from now on, if she missed someone, she would say so, because sometimes little things can make a big difference.

At a Relief Society meeting, a group of women were discussing how to teach youth to make and keep covenants. One woman, who was struggling with a teenage daughter, listened as the women talked about faith, prayer, good example, and scriptures. Finally she blurted out, “I’ve tried all those things! And they’re not working!” Quietly she added, “Love is all that is working for us right now.” This good sister trusted that somehow her covenant to be charitable (even to her daughter) would make a difference. And it is.

My wife and I learned a valuable lesson about this several years ago when we had the opportunity to build a new home. During the months of planning and building, an interesting phenomenon occurred. Even though we were blessed to have a nicer home with more comforts than we had ever had before, rather than being content, we began looking for ways to acquire more. We had to have new furniture for the room in which we entertained guests so we could put the old furniture in a room they would not visit as often. But our old TV didn’t go well with the new furniture, so we had to have a new TV. Our “needs” began to escalate.
We finally came to our senses and realized we had succumbed to temptations we had thought would never afflict us. First, we allowed Satan to help us rationalize our desire for worldly gain so that it appeared justifiable, even noble; and second, we sacrificed our happiness and peace of mind in an attempt to acquire the things of the world. We found that when “all we’ve ever wanted” is fundamentally the temporal trappings of this world, we always want more than we have.

I was a Latter-day Saint missionary and had been sent, along with an American Indian from California, to establish a small school in the mountain village of Ayancocha. The village lies on the east side of the Andes in central Peru and is situated on the banks of the Huallaga River that cascades toward Peru’s rain forests and finally meanders through the flat jungles to join with the Amazon.
The first night Pedro entered the adult education class, he looked like any other older mountain Indian. Decay had robbed him of many of his teeth and eaten parts of others. Improper diet and years of scraping at the unproductive, rocky Andean soil had wrapped the flesh tautly around his frame. Calloused welts protruded from under the leather thongs that tied his llantas (rubber treaded sandals made from worn truck tires) to his feet. His nose bore angular testimony to his membership in the royal Incan family.
But, in fact, Pedro was not like many of the other mountain Indians. He had not numbed his mind by chewing cocaine leaves, which serve as an antidote for the cold, fear, and frustration for so many of Peru’s older mountain people.
Pedro’s adult memory extended back past the time when the first trucks crossed the Andes and rumbled through his village toward Peru’s wood- and fruit-laden jungles.
But his mind was young and he wanted to learn to read.
Somewhere he had picked up the basics of the written language. He knew the letters and sounds of the Spanish alphabet. And when we opened the adult reading class in his village, Pedro was the first to enter.
The class dwindled as the weeks passed by. Learning is not easy for adults who measure their formal education by the number of days they have spent in a classroom. But Pedro hung on.
Soon he could sound out the syllables. The process was slow: he would sound out each syllable and then put the word together; it would sometimes take an hour to read one paragraph.
When Pedro learned to read, he cut a large window through the adobe in his living room to let the light in.
Nothing was too dull or unimportant. Old newspapers, government pamphlets, anything that had words on it was slowly devoured.
And when the sun had dropped behind the towering Andes that guarded the village to the west, I could see the dim flicker from a coal-oil lamp coming from Pedro’s new window. He would be squinting across the top of his glasses, with the lamp across the wooden table and the book between, slowly sounding out the syllables.
But Pedro’s academic curiosity was not his only asset. He had not succumbed to the pressures of a practical society where art and craftsmanship were considered unneeded luxuries. Plantation owners would have paid Pedro well for the use of his carpentry skills.
Rather than go to work making rough door frames and unpolished fruit boxes, Pedro would spend a month and a half sculpturing a harp that would sell for around 20 American dollars. To make sure there was food on the table for his wife and five children, he tilled a small plot of ground and raised chickens and guinea pigs. (Guinea pigs are kept by the mountain people of Peru much like rural Americans keep rabbits. One mountain specialty is to soak them in hot pepper juice and roast them over an open fire.)
Watching Pedro make harps was a lesson in concentration. He would pick out a prospective candidate for the harp from his seasoned wood pile, and like a raccoon selecting his food, pass the stick from hand to hand, eyeing it from this angle and that, all the while running his fingers across the grain; an appropriate grunt would finish off the process. The grunt meant that judgment had been affixed: the stick would either become a polished part of the finished instrument or serve as kindling to roast Pedro’s speciality: pepper-dipped guinea pig.
Then, using primitive carpenter’s tools, Pedro would build a precision musical instrument. For many, beauty exists only when perceived, but not for Pedro. His harps were art inside and out. No matter where the wood was used, it had to be the best. Even unnoticed ribs well within the dark interior were seasoned and planed.
But while Pedro’s academic curiosity and craftsmanship would have made him stand out in any community, one other quality made him unique. There have been few characters in the course of written history with whom faith and fact were synonymous. Pedro was one of these.
Even for those of us who use the term daily, faith is a paradox. Conspicuously absent in many who bear its robes, it sometimes finds a more congenial soil under homespun wool and leather thongs.
At any rate Pedro’s faith was both simple and factual. We had bought a diesel engine that generated electricity for our school and church building. A film arrived from Church headquarters depicting the struggles of early pioneers in southern Utah. President Lorenzo Snow, president of the Church at that time, promised the pioneers that a devastating drought would end if they would pay their tithing.
That year Pedro’s village was experiencing a drought. Potatoes and corn were drooping in despair at the rainy season’s slow arrival.
Pedro arrived the morning after the film was shown to pay ten soles (less than 50 cents) in tithing. He then went home and sat on his porch to wait for the rain.
It rained.
It is nearly ten years now since I have seen Pedro. He was an old man then. Perhaps the murmur of articulated syllables no longer escapes from the adobe dwelling’s open window.
On my dining room table rests an 18-inch replica of a Peruvian harp, a cherished gift from the Noria workshop. Its finger-stained ribs and hand-carved bridge are surrounded by machine-planed woods, synthetic carpets, and imitation hickory paneling. The bridge of the instrument ends in the sculptured head of a bird. Its unblinking eye and symmetrical bill are fitting memorials to Pedro Noria de Toledo.

Ten years ago as my wife, Kathy, and I were living in São Paulo, Brazil, President David Marriott was presiding over the Brazil São Paulo Interlagos Mission. He and his wife, Neill, and their sons Will, Wesley, and Trace lived near us. They had left their home, their business, and many in their family to respond to a call from the prophet to serve a mission.
President Marriott called me one afternoon. Their precious, righteous 21-year-old daughter, Georgia, a senior in violin performance at Indiana University, had been hit by a truck while riding her bicycle home after a Church meeting. On first report, Georgia was doing well. Hours later her condition dramatically worsened.
Family and friends began fasting and praying for a miracle for Georgia. Her mother flew through the night from Brazil. Arriving in Indiana the next day, she was met by her older children, who tearfully explained that they had been with Georgia as she passed away.
I watched the Marriott family at the time of this experience and in the months and years that followed. They wept, they prayed, they spoke of Georgia, they felt immense pain and sadness, but their faith did not falter. In this morning’s session, we heard of similar faith in the beautiful lives of the Bowen and Wilberger families.1
I began with the story of the Marriott family. Last week Kathy and I joined them at Georgia’s grave. Ten years have passed. Family and friends spoke of the love and memories they have of Georgia. There were white helium balloons to celebrate her life. Amid tears, Georgia’s mother tenderly spoke of the increased faith and understanding she has received, and Georgia’s father quietly told me of the promised witness that has come to him.

I think, too, of Barbara Taylor, whom I met in 1962, on the day I entered Hong Kong as a new missionary. Sister Taylor was the wife of President Robert Sherman Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission. The day after I arrived, she took me visiting teaching. With a couple of sister missionaries who could speak Cantonese, we took a bus to the harbor, then a ferry to a place called Aberdeen.

Among the homes we visited were some dug out of the side of a hill. We reached these homes by hiking up hand-dug stairs, scattering chickens and children as we climbed. As we visited with one sister—a beautiful young Chinese mother—I saw and felt things I had not felt before. I looked at the refugee families on the side of that hill and realized they were children of God who deserved all the help I could give them in making sense of life on earth with all the challenges they faced. All around me were hosts of waiting youth, speaking a language I could not understand—yet communicating with me through smiles and feelings, eager to learn and grow and help.

Years earlier I had a much smaller but no the less important experience. I was serving as a counselor in a Bishopric. I was looking for a better job then I currently had so I could support my family better. I went to a job interview and was chosen for one of two positions. There were two different schedules one that was from Sunday to Thursday and the second one Tuesday to Saturday. I was called back for a second interview and asked to take the schedule beginning on Sunday. I told the person hiring me that I could only take the job from Tuesday to Saturday and if the only opening was the Sunday schedule I would have to decline the offer. Two days later I received a phone call telling me that I had been offered the Tuesday schedule and when could I start? The Lord was testing me to see what I would do in that situation.
I could have rationalized like Laman and Lemuel taking the easier road. However I wouldn't have had the faith promoting experience if I hadn't kept my promises I made to the Lord at baptism to keep the commandments. The experience while small helped build my faith. Adversity can be a qualifier and bring blessings into our lives if we see them as opportunities and not wonder why me?

That trust has blessed my life and the lives of my family. Years ago I heard President Ezra Taft Benson speak in a conference like this. He counseled us to do all we could to get out of debt and stay out. He mentioned mortgages on houses. He said that it might not be possible, but it would be best if we could pay off all our mortgage debt.
I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, “Do you think there is any way we could do that?” At first we couldn’t. And then by evening I thought of a property we had acquired in another state. For years we had tried to sell it without success.
But because we trusted God and a few words from the midst of His servant’s message, we placed a phone call Monday morning to the man in San Francisco who had our property listed to sell. I had called him a few weeks before, and he had said then, “We haven’t had anyone show interest in your property for years.”
But on the Monday after conference, I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.
The man on the phone said, “I am surprised by your call. A man came in today inquiring whether he could buy your property.” In amazement I asked, “How much did he offer to pay?” It was a few dollars more than the amount of our mortgage.
A person might say that was only a coincidence. But our mortgage was paid off. And our family still listens for any word in a prophet’s message that might be sent to tell what we should do to find the security and peace God wants for us.

Janaina is a convert. She first went to church with a friend and then with her Aunt Isabel, a member. Elder Nacimento and Elder Hill taught her family, and even when everyone else stopped taking the discussions, she continued and was baptized. Her parents later joined the Church too.
She remembers, “When I listened to the discussions and started going to church, I felt something good happening in my soul. Before, I was rebellious and argued with my parents, but now I started obeying my parents and trying to honor them. When I learned that Jesus was my Savior and that there were prophets on the earth to guide me, I felt great joy. The missionaries taught me to pray, and when I prayed, something that was bad inside me left, and a good spirit took its place and is with me still. I’m a different person than I was, and there’s a lot more love and happiness in our home.”

After graduation, Christine and I moved to Palo Alto, California, where I started graduate studies at Stanford University. It would have been easy for us to get lost in the wave of move-ins as part of our new ward’s annual intake of graduate students coming out of BYU. But the Lord sent two men into our lives who changed us forever. Hank Taylor and Peter Giles had graduated from BYU years earlier. With Silicon Valley’s ascendance, these men were always representing their alma mater and the Church with distinction. They raised their families in the gospel and helped establish the Church in the Bay Area. Brother Taylor had served in the stake presidency and Brother Giles was one of the former bishops of our ward.

By the time we arrived in Palo Alto, some might have thought these two brethren were past their prime in Church service. But no one had told them that. Both Hank and Peter looked at all these new graduate students and decided part of their service would be to teach us what it means to serve in this Church. I was called as just another Young Men advisor—one of many. But these leaders then taught me how to minister to those in need, how to welcome others into the ward, and how to embed myself in the lives of the youth. Here is a picture of the three of us years later on a return visit to our Palo Alto ward. [A picture was shown.]

I’m not sure the young men in that ward really benefited much from my role as just one extra Young Men advisor. But a few years later, I found myself across the country with a call to serve the youth in inner-city Boston. This time there was no Hank Taylor or Peter Giles to mentor me. My youth were of Haitian, Dominican, and West African descent. I loved those boys. I gave everything I had to them, ministering in their homes and helping them build their testimonies in Christ. Those young men have since served missions, graduated from BYU and BYU–Idaho, and married in the temple. They are now building their own families and building the Church. I doubt any of those young men will ever know Hank Taylor or Peter Giles, but their lives were blessed forever because of what I learned from those early mentors about what it means to serve in this Church.

I always knew God cared about us, but I never realized how much He cares. It took a long day in Mexico for me to even begin to fathom how intricate His designs are.
My family rose on a Saturday morning, so early that the San Diego, California, sky had only just begun to turn the soft gray of predawn June. We packed into the car, all eight of us squashing into every available seatbelt of our van.
Our group—a collection of stake leaders, high councilors, and their families—met up at the church, forming a caravan of nine cars. President Heap had included Project Mercy in the stake calendars with good reason. An isolated Tijuana community needed volunteers to help build houses for their families, and who among us couldn’t spare a single Saturday?
The 20-mile (32-km) drive from San Diego to Mexico passed quickly. In the streets of Tijuana, my first impression was that no one cared about these neighborhoods. Surely, no one looked very hard at them, if they even admitted to seeing them at all.
We reached our destination on the outskirts of Tijuana soon after the sun began rising to greet us. All around we saw clusters of families. Their clothes were worn. Many had no shoes. Dogs trotted through the grounds, unclaimed and uncared for. Each family was delighted at our arrival: today they might have a home.
Our supplies were simple, our directions simpler still. Laborers had poured concrete foundations a month ago. Planks of plywood lay neatly stacked to one side of the road. Build four walls; add a roof; paint the finished handiwork of last week’s volunteers. And so we did, bursting into activity. The men immediately pulled on gloves and strapped on tool belts. The women handed out paintbrushes, mixing bright, fresh colors into large paint buckets.
The sun broke over us glaringly. Each and every one of us broke into a hard sweat before the second hour was up, but at the end of the day we left two families with freshly painted houses, and one with a new home altogether. It was still unpainted, but I could see that it didn’t matter to the father. He looked past the rough surfaces to the stable walls.
This last family transformed my day’s labor into joy. President Heap asked to say a blessing over their new home, and they allowed it. We all clustered into its one common room, the father standing beside President Heap. Brother Woods, still fluent from a Spanish-speaking mission, offered words I couldn’t understand, but which rolled through the house and left peace in their wake. The family bowed their heads with us in gratitude. The father cried.
After the prayer, we gathered into the cars and reversed down a narrow lane, into a wide, flat area before we could turn and pull onto the road’s shoulder. My family, last in the caravan, took the most time in this procedure, our van being the largest car in the group. I reflected back on all I had seen, now mindful of the stability of my own life. I had full access to the “necessities.” These families gained them in gradual, lurching steps, always according to the schedules of helpful strangers.
The day left us tired and satisfied, but with one regret: no one had thought to bring a Book of Mormon.
With all the men and women who had come, I wondered how we could have forgotten this single item. Finally our van was turned around, rolling into place on the road. No others from our group left. A hand pointed out an open window, over the tracts of desert.
Hiking across the road, 30 feet behind us, were two missionaries.
President Heap stepped out of his car and waved the missionaries over. They spoke for a few brief minutes, before President Heap pointed them on, smiling, toward the home we had left only minutes ago.
Even though none of us had thought to bring a Book of Mormon for that family, Someone else had thought to provide one.
I recalled my first impression of this place and realized how wrong I had been. Someone had seen this neglected community. Someone had cared.
When we had forgotten, He had remembered.

Have you ever had to ask yourself, “What’s more important, my friend or our friendship?” I faced that problem when a note fell out of my friend Kate’s* pencil pouch. I read it and realized that my friend was using drugs. I was devastated. I tried desperately to talk to her, but she ignored me.
Kate was my friend, and I realized that no matter what she said or did, her safety was most important to me. Every time I thought of it, I wanted to cry. I knew that Kate might never forgive me if I told on her, and she might tell my other friends that I wasn’t trustworthy. I asked my mom to help me, and we prayed, talked, and read the scriptures. I was looking for something to help me help my friend. We found a scripture that gave me courage to do whatever I had to do and to live with the consequences: “For I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions” (Alma 36:3). I knew that if I did what was right, God would support me.
I decided to tell the resource officer about Kate’s drug problem. Later that afternoon Kate was called to the office. When we changed classes, she was with her guidance counselor and a police officer. Kate caught my eye, and I could tell she knew I had told on her.
Several weeks went by before Kate would talk to me. I dreaded what she would say, but I was surprised that she wasn’t angry anymore. Our friendship had changed, but in some ways, it was better than before. She seemed to understand that I had done it for her sake. I never wanted to lose her friendship, but it was more important to love her enough to try to stop her from hurting herself and the people who love and care for her.
Yes, this experience was painful, but I learned that if we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart; and lean not unto [our] own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5), anything is possible.

One of the hardest things for many of you is modesty. How can we apply the spiritual power of our baptism to the principle of modesty? We hope one of the things that makes you different from the world is the way you dress. Marcie Matthews, a Laurel from Chicago, Illinois, shares her story:
“1998 was a year that I was able to see the results of many Young Women lessons, talks, and advice come into play. I am an average Mormon girl. Being able to keep my life this steady and strong has not been easy. I make goals all the time to help strengthen my testimony and my standards.
“Recently we had a Mutual activity on the importance of modesty. Every lesson before I felt like I was a modest dresser, but I knew there was still something I could change—my shorts and the length of my skirts. It was the one weakness that I knew I had but had placed far behind in my head. Everyone wore short shorts, Daisy Dukes, and miniskirts, and I had bought mine with my own money. Then I heard the lesson on modesty. I went home wanting to go straight to my closet and throw away everything that was not modest so it wouldn’t be there to tempt me. After, I told my parents. I guess I was looking for them to tell me that there was no problem in the way I dressed and then let me go.
“Later that night my dad told me he was proud of me and that he would like to buy me a couple of knee-length dresses for church. The next step was to go through all my clothes and give away everything. It was hard for me to part with my favorite skirts and the shorts that I loved so much, but I did. You will never see me in short shorts or short skirts again.
“I have never felt better about myself. I love being able to walk into the temple and church and feel like I am a child of God and am representing Him … by the clothes that I wear.
“I challenge every young woman to take this step. It will help you find out who you are and what you stand for. When we have to give up something that is a part of us, the blessings will pour in more than you can imagine” (letter in possession of Young Women office).
Marcie’s great example epitomizes our Young Women theme. You know, the part that says, “We stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things”—and in all prom dresses.

Nestled on the southern edge of New Jersey are several small towns. Many of the families here earn their living from the sea. The Cape May Lighthouse guides the fishing boats and ferries around the dangerous rocks and shoals. Just as the lighthouse leads boats to safety, Chandler and Michael Altieri trust the gospel light to guide them past spiritual rocks and shoals.

Sister Christine Altieri joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was ten years old. Although she did not marry a Church member, her husband, John, supported her in her beliefs. One by one their children were born: Corie (15), Lauren (13), Brittany (12), Michael (10), Chandler (7), Ty (5), Abigail (2), and Drew (11 months). Their family shared a lot of happiness and love. But one thing was missing: Dad had never joined the Church. He attended regularly and participated as fully as he could without being a member. But his family wanted him to become a member so that they could be sealed together as an eternal family.
Michael was going on eight. His dad had never had the opportunity to give a name and a priesthood blessing to or baptize any of his children. A few months before his birthday, Michael decided that, “All I want for my birthday is for Dad to baptize me.” Michael, his mother, brother, and sisters fasted and prayed harder than ever that their father would decide to join the Church and be able to baptize Michael.
Weeks passed, then months. “We kept praying and praying and praying,” Michael recalled. The week before he turned eight, his mother said, “It didn’t work. We need to talk to the branch president about your baptism and who will perform it.”
“But Mom, we’re praying, we’re praying.”
The next Sunday Brother Altieri volunteered to talk to the branch president about Michael getting baptized and to take care of all the details.
In sacrament meeting, the family was stunned with joy when the branch president announced an upcoming baptism—not Michael’s, but his father’s! The family’s prayers had been answered! Brother Altieri was baptized that week, and the following week, Michael’s dream was realized when his father baptized him. Michael said, “I had really wanted him to baptize me, and it finally happened. It felt really good.”
Chandler had also prayed that her dad would be baptized. She is now looking forward to her own baptism. “I want to be baptized so that the Holy Ghost will be with me.” She is preparing to be baptized by listening to President Gordon B. Hinckley and following his counsel. “I try to choose the right and to be kind to others.”
The Altieri family was later sealed together in the Washington D.C. Temple. “When we were sealed, Mom and Dad had to go somewhere for about three hours,” Michael remembered. “We stayed in this nursery place. We picked out white clothes and put them on. A temple lady showed us a movie that explained what being sealed was all about. At first she put in the wrong film. It was in Spanish. I thought maybe we needed to learn to speak Spanish. But then she put in the film in English. After the film, we went into the sealing room. Some other people were there, even the stake president. Then we were sealed, and I was so happy!”
Chandler still has the white ribbon she wore in her hair that day in the temple. “We were sealed so that we can be together for all eternity.”
Besides seeing his family sealed together, Michael has another hope—of becoming a champion wrestler. He’s been undefeated for three years in his weight and age division in the South New Jersey Wrestling Association. But sometimes he has to make tough choices between two things he loves—wrestling and the Church.
A few years ago, a very important tournament was coming up. Michael’s parents thought that the tournament was on a Saturday, and he signed up to go. When they found out it was on a Sunday, his father asked him if he still wanted to be in the tournament. Although he knew that his team was counting on him to score some team points for it, he said, “Well then, I can’t go.” He explained, “It’s hard not to go to Sunday tournaments, but I don’t, because it’s against a commandment. And I’ve had a lot of blessings.” Since making that decision the first time, not competing on Sundays has been easier. And his decision has showed others that he lives what he believes.
Chandler also lives what she believes. Not long ago her family was fostering a dog they called Puppy. Puppy had been mistreated the first nine months of his life, then was taken away from the people who mistreated him. But he was now skittish and frightened of people. Before he could be adopted, he had to learn to trust people and to get along with children. Teaching him that was what the Altieri family volunteered to do.
One day, he got loose and ran away. “We looked and looked for him,” Sister Altieri said, “but we couldn’t find him. Some of us got in the car to go looking for him. As I was driving, Chandler said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help us find Puppy. We had driven miles, and I thought that we’d never see the dog again. We turned down a road that ran along railroad tracks. Beside the tracks were thick woods. And by the railroad track, we could just see this head sticking up—it was Puppy! I’ll never forget it.”
Mom said how amazed she was that they found Puppy. “But we said a prayer, Mom,” was Chandler’s simple reply. She knows that Heavenly Father answers her prayers. Eventually Puppy learned to trust people and to play with children, and he was adopted by a good family.
Michael tries to be like Jesus by staying out of bad situations. “Sometimes my friends go back into the woods, but I don’t go. They do things back in there that I don’t want to do, like shooting off firecrackers (which is illegal), starting fires, and smoking.” One fire that was started in the woods came right up to the back of the Altieri property before it could be put out. “I tell my friends, ‘Let’s not go.’ Sometimes they listen to me, and sometimes they don’t. But I won’t go.”
Both Michael and Chandler strive to follow the gospel light as they make their way through life’s sea of choices. And by their examples they try to help others find the way, too.

The October dawn was cool as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight in my 10-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food I carried. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already far away from Salt Lake City. Now we were moving even farther away.
Mother called, “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months before when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was ill. One look at Father told us something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
Father took her in his arms, and with tears streaming down his face he said, “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving we had finally been able to buy farmland and build a comfortable home for the 10 of us. We had horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements farther south. President Brigham Young had asked our family to move. He counseled my father to sell all we had so we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona was a place where there was very little water and nothing to see. The prophet had called people there last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said almost no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, isn’t it, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington, USA