Gospel Story Finder

Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.

“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”

Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.

When I told my parents I wanted to serve a mission, they were not happy. My older brother, Ivan, and I were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. I had joined when I was 18, and now, one year later, I had decided to serve full-time. Although my parents ultimately agreed to let me go, my dad warned that when I returned, he could not guarantee he would keep paying my college tuition.
However, I knew that if I served, the Lord would help me.
Throughout my mission, I rejoiced as I saw people embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and progress toward salvation. When I returned home, I started my studies again. But soon my father said, as he had warned, “I cannot pay anymore.”
“How is this possible?” I thought. “I served a mission. I did what the Lord wanted me to do. Why is this happening to me?”
Then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon. Nephi, who had kept all the commandments, was commanded to build a ship, something he had never done before (see 1 Nephi 17:8, 49–51). I felt like I had a “ship” to build. It was a huge problem that I didn’t know how to solve, so I prayed for inspiration.
Soon Ivan talked to me. “Juan Pablo, I heard our father is not going to pay your tuition,” he said.
“That’s true,” I replied. “I think everything is finished for me!”
Ivan’s response was simple, but it inspired me. “Do you know that you can both study and work?” he said. “That way, you’ll be able to pay for your tuition.” It was the first time I realized I could do both! Soon I found a part-time job that enabled me to continue my studies.
I thought again about Nephi and the boat: “Now I, Nephi, did not … build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me” (1 Nephi 18:2).
If I had listened to myself, I would have given up on my education. But the Lord inspired me, through the words of my brother, to continue. Sometimes when we have challenges in our lives, we think the Lord is not blessing us. But I can now clearly see how He blessed me with an opportunity to develop and grow.

Michael G. (right), age 11, from Panama, loves his karate classes and studies hard in school. Once he got to be “principal for a day” at his school because of his good grades.
Michael is already a courageous missionary. When the Church had an information stand at the international fair near his home, Michael and his parents stood at the entrance of the fair, gave people pamphlets about the Church, and invited them to visit the Church’s stand. He also gave a pass-along card to a friend’s family, and the missionaries taught them about the Church. He is looking forward to being a full-time missionary.

2:06 p.m. The missionaries jump on another bus, this time to El Casco, the historic quarter of Toledo, Spain. They stop by an investigator’s business to invite him to an activity that night.
“You can get lost in here really quick if you aren’t paying attention,” Elder Ward says of the maze of narrow streets lined with buildings that seem to lean over those walking below.

7:45 p.m. Two buses later the elders make it to the activity they had planned with the sister missionaries who work in the same city, Sister Kathleen Bonifay and Sister Brittany Hofman.
The people they were expecting to come didn’t. “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Elder Ward says. But after a little footwork, the missionaries are able to gather a handful of other investigators living nearby. After a hymn and a video, you can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost as the missionaries bear testimony of the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ. The activity is a success.
“The Lord takes care of you when you put forth your best planning and best effort,” says Sister Bonifay.

Recently I finished serving as the Mission President in Toronto Canada, I resolved I was going to follow Elder Scott's counsel and write down every impression I felt, however small it may be. Those impressions didn't always come when I was sitting at a table with pen in hand. Sometimes they came at the most inconvenient times. One night, I kept getting out of bed to record impressions that had come. Finally my wife said to me, "Why do you keep popping out of bed?" But I had learned a sad lesson from the past—if I waited until the morning I would usually forget the impression. There is an urgency about recording our impressions while we are still in the spirit.

After we had been married six years, I came to a knowledge that the gospel was true. There is no question in my mind that our previous efforts to serve and please one another were at least part of the reason Jim agreed to look into the Church and allow the missionaries to come. I was reactivated, Jim was baptized, and we were sealed in the temple a year later.
The next six years sped by quickly, and our marriage continued to improve with the foundation and application of gospel principles.
Then one night Jim returned home from an institute class and asked me about several terms he had heard there. “Do you know what these mean?” He spoke them, and they bounced against the blank wall of my mind. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I answered. As we talked, a suspicion arose in us, awesome, even terrible, that we did not fully understand the doctrines of this gospel we professed to believe in—that our knowledge was shallow and unenlightened.
We started a concentrated study program immediately. We went back to the beginning again to understand faith, baptism, repentance, and the Holy Ghost. We chose vacations with the express purpose of studying together, weeks or weekends, in quiet places where we could relax, research, pray, and ponder.
Growth and understanding came in sudden leaps, as well as line upon line. Our efforts again meant selflessness, sacrificing other interests occasionally, in order to keep pace with one another and to share what we learned with our family. To drag a foot was to slow the rest of us, and neither wanted to be guilty of that.
Today, gospel study and service continue to be a central activity between us, a privilege, we hold most precious. As we look back, our first successes seem small now. But we will always acknowledge a certain ray of light that came one late winter evening to two desperate, seeking newlyweds. The gospel has reaffirmed to us that selflessness and service are truly a vital part of our Heavenly Father’s formula for an enduring marriage.

I carried this faith into the first years of my life as a college student at the University of California at Santa Barbara. About that time, however, a philosophy class opened challenges and raised issues about the very existence of God. About this same time, I faced the decision of whether to take a leave of absence from college to serve a mission. To add to the dilemma the Korean War commenced with its disquieting influence on my generation. I wrestled with the issue of God, not exactly doubting, but thinking more deeply about it. I loved the Church, but being somewhat analytical developed a list of doctrinal and policy issues and concerns to which I wanted to find answers. For me the list was somewhat lengthy and formidable.

What carried the day on the question of leaving college to serve a mission was probably a feeling of trust in my parents' and my grandparents' viewpoint on the existence of God and Jesus Christ together with a feeling that there was good and evil in the world and the Church was a source of light, goodness, and truth. I was drawn somehow to that feeling of goodness, not then knowing its source, but despite my decision to serve I wanted to know more and I wanted to find answers to my concerns. Reading the Book of Mormon gave me enough assurance to go on, but it also made me realize how much I didn't know and gave me a thirst to want to know more, much more. If I am right some of you may have had somewhat similar experiences to mine.

I entered my first assignment in northern Montana with enthusiasm, but also full of desire to know more. I read everything about the gospel I could get my hands on, and especially the scriptures which I read over and over until my eyes were sore. Over the next couple of months, I found answers to virtually all of my questions, enough so that I felt complete assurance that there were answers to all of my fundamental questions. We never in this life get to know everything, but I knew enough and had enough experience by then that my testimony had become firm. It has never left me, even though I still have things I would like to more fully understand. I felt sorry for my first companion who had to put up with all of my probing and searching. The result of this early experience was personally helpful and powerful. Study and reasoning had confirmed the feelings of the heart that caused me to volunteer for missionary service.

I had a special experience after reading a quote from an Apostle about simple but effective ways to gain a testimony. When I finished reading it, I immediately remembered a friend whose testimony was wavering. I quickly wrote her a letter and included the quotation.
I took the letter to her home, and I read it to her. At the end I bore my testimony. I can’t describe the powerful spirit that was present. My friend was surprised and thanked me for sharing the quote with her.
From that moment my friend started to change. She began to read the scriptures, pray more often, and attend church. Whenever we visited each other, we shared a spiritual thought and our testimonies. Today she is very active in the ward and serves as my counselor in the Laurel class presidency.Yésica Florencia Martín, Santos Lugares Ward, Argentina Buenos Aires West Stake

Like Church members from Dresden, which was in the far southern part of the German Democratic Republic, members up north in Schwerin experienced great difficulty in finding a home for their branch. For ten years they moved from one rented room to another, then to one family’s living room. In 1956, they were able to purchase a piece of property—but had to do so in the name of the branch president because the Church could not own property. Members were not allowed to tear down a building on the property because it contained an apartment, but they were given permission to build on the remaining part of the land. They were also allowed to tear down an old army barracks eight kilometers outside the city to use as building materials.
Then, after they had hauled twenty-three truckloads of building materials to their site, they were refused permission to build! But after they had fasted and prayed, they were allowed to remodel an old horse barn on the property into a meetinghouse.
The remodeling project required more building materials, which were under strict government control. But members felt that they succeeded in obtaining these with the help of the Lord. (See Schutze, page 22.) On 5 January 1958, Henry Burckhardt, counselor to the president of the North German Mission, dedicated the former horse barn as a meeting place for the Schwerin Branch.
In 1973, the branch was given permission to expand the building, but this meant going through the difficult process of obtaining building materials all over again. A large quantity of building blocks was obtained through the aid of the building supervisor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, who had come to appreciate the industriousness and integrity of the Latter-day Saints. Other building materials could be obtained only in small amounts, after members had stood in long lines to request them. Because work schedules prevented men in the branch from waiting in line, the branch president’s wife took responsibility for obtaining the materials—even though it meant she had to get them to the building site in a hand-pulled cart. (See Schutze, page 24.)

One night after the molasses making was finished, he kissed my sisters and me goodnight and said, “God bless you.” That night he went to sleep and never awoke again.
My heart broke. I didn’t want Ma to see me cry so I went out to the stable. Later she found me and, putting her arm around me, said, “George, you’re the man of the house now. You have six sisters and your Ma is depending on you.”
Well, pretty soon it was seven sisters. Just two weeks after Pa died, LaVern was born.
One evening when I saw Ma slip out alone and go toward the cemetery I followed, and found her kneeling by Pa’s grave, weeping.
Tugging at her arm, I said, “Ma, you mustn’t come here to cry. Come on home.”
Getting to her feet she drew me to her. “My little man,” was all she said.
“If Pa got permission to come for a visit, do you think he’d come to this cold old graveyard?” I asked.
Thoughtfully, she said, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d want to come home.”
Hand in hand we walked silently through the twilight.
Shortly after that, Ma put Pa’s picture on the easel in the living room. “Children,” she said, “in this home we will live exactly as Pa would want us to do. Because he loved the Lord we have been blessed.” Her voice broke, but only for a moment.
We knew she missed Pa, but she kept herself busy making our home happy. As we grew, it became the gathering place for all of the young folks in town, especially on Sunday afternoons when Ma would sing with us around the organ.

Last Spring term, one student walked into my office with tears in her eyes and told me that she had come directly from the testing center because she had failed the exam. She said she had spent many hours studying for the class and did not believe she could have done so poorly on the test. I sat her down and helped her identify what the problems were. I offered her some suggestions and invited her to study harder. Still in tears, she told me that she may need someone to study with but did not know many people because she was new to this campus. I told her she could come and study using the table by my office and ask me questions if needed.

Throughout the term, she came and studied diligently at the table and did not really need any extra help from me. At the end, she passed the course with a grade good enough to major in accounting. When she took an upper level accounting class from me in the Fall, she learned to study in the accounting lab with her classmates and ask tutors for help. Before the end of winter semester, she received a job offer from one of the biggest international accounting firms.

Saturday was a special day for the Olson family, who lived in a sprawling old farmhouse in a little western Canadian town nearly seventy-five years ago.
The ten brothers and their sister knew that Saturday was the day to get ready for Sunday, and everyone was expected to help. Some were assigned to care for younger children, while others helped Father with the outside chores. Indoors, there was washing, cleaning, and baking to do, for even the food to be eaten on Sunday was prepared on Saturday.
Aromas of freshly baked chicken, warm spice cake, and homemade bread were tempting, but everything was carefully wrapped, covered, and put away for Sunday dinner.
After the baking was done, teams of boys helped Mother scrub and clean the kitchen, while their only sister ironed freshly laundered white shirts with the old flat iron that had been heated on the big black coal stove. Sheets were changed and bedrooms tidied, and when the house was finally ready, it was time for the last Saturday chore—the bath. Two or more boys at a time had to share the large round wooden tub of hot soapy water.
After the last child was scrubbed and in his nightclothes, Mother served a favorite treat—hot cider with fresh buttered popcorn or homemade doughnuts. Afterward Father gathered the family together to give thanks to our Heavenly Father for the blessings of that day. Finally the children would climb into bed clean, tired, happy, and ready for the Sabbath day.

When Madilin Neibert received her school’s citizenship award at the end of her seventh grade year, it took her by surprise. As one of only seven LDS youth in her school, she’d spent a lot of time that year standing up for her beliefs. Some didn’t understand or agree with her, but Madilin learned that she didn’t need to go along with the crowd to earn her friends’ respect.
What was it like to be recognized as a good citizen in your school? I’m really grateful that I got that award. It meant a lot to me because I know I’m doing my part to be a citizen and to be kind to others and to my teachers.

How grateful I am that missionaries from the western United States traveled across the world to teach me and my family in England thirty-five years ago. It was not long after our baptism that a fine local brother who was serving as counselor to the mission president said to me, “Find yourself a teacher.” When I inquired of him the significance of this counsel, he expanded it by saying, “Find yourself a teacher who can lift you and inspire and motivate you. But remember, he must be standing on higher ground.”

As the years have rolled by in an unending sequence of experience and service, I have had many such teachers, both in business and church activities. I will mention five only, who will represent those not named. In September 1958 I was introduced to a man with whom I served closely for two years. This was T. Bowring Woodbury, the new president of the British Mission. As he was set apart by President David O. McKay for this important calling, the prophet referred to the opening of a “new era” in Britain with the dedication of the London Temple that very month. “By” Woodbury, as he was affectionately known to his many friends, was a man of vision and valor—these two qualities being essential elements of faith. He imparted of his knowledge and experience to me, and helped me to feel the urgency of the work, and to develop leadership skills. I had many spiritual experiences with him during these two years of close association as we helped to make the promised “new era” become a reality. I became a wiser person.

At about the same time I began to work closely with a bright young chemical engineer, Dick Morris, in the large company where I was employed as a cost-control accountant. He expanded my vision in another way, regarding the industrial scene, the interrelationship of industrial processes, and of personnel. I gained knowledge, but also wisdom—not only in creating statistical reports, but in interpreting them as a basis for decision making. We came up through the organization together, and he eventually was appointed managing director and then chairman of the board. My role expanded too, into management accounting and business management. He was a great teacher.

In the early 1960s, I was very privileged to have President N. Eldon Tanner as a teacher when he served as West European mission president, based in England. The lessons he taught me spanned both church and business, for I learned from him as a newly called stake president, as he shared his similar experiences and suggested ways to improve and develop. I learned from his business acumen and integrity when he served as chairman of the board of Deseret Enterprises Limited, the first Church commercial enterprise in Europe. As director and general manager, I was with him often, and am so grateful that he helped me fulfill this need to be taught and lifted.

Then, during the 1970s and 1980s, I was privileged, along with so many others, to be taught by a prophet of the Lord, Spencer W. Kimball. During my service as a Regional Representative from 1970 to 1975, mission president from 1975 to 1978, and since then as a General Authority, my soul has been lifted as I have been taught from on high through him. This has not only been in meetings and conferences, but in many personal settings. One such time was when I was visiting from England for general conference and I inquired of President Kimball’s secretary if could see him. I knocked on the door and his familiar voice said “Come in.” I started to open the door, but before it was fully open, he was already at the door. I felt a sense of urgency, and real caring. He took me by the arm, showed me round his office, then sat me down across the desk. “How is the work going in England?” he inquired. I gave a brief report, but he knew already; he was teaching me the principle of stewardship and accountability. Then he reached up to his bookshelves, took down a book, and handed it to me. “Have you read this book?” he asked. As I looked at the title I indicated that I had read some of the book but not all. He smiled, took up a pen, opened the book and wrote a message, and then gave it to me again. I shall always treasure that copy of The Life Story of Heber C. Kimball, the first missionary to England.

There are many more great teachers—exemplars of whom I could tell—but I just have one more, my dear wife. How much I have learned from her—in charity, in patience, in endurance, in joyfulness. She has lifted me now for over forty years, and has shown me wisdom as we have counseled together, prayed together, laughed together, and cried together. I am grateful for those pearls of wisdom.

After my experiences over the past few years, I think I understand what Paul might have felt. Like Paul, I now have a “thorn” that slows me, and like him I have prayed countless times for it to be taken away.
As I lay on the operating table, the surgeon’s voice broke through the fog of anesthesia, firm yet gentle: “Stacy, move your left arm. Now your left leg.” He repeated the request, but as my mind desperately sent signals to my body, nothing happened. My left side remained unresponsive, lifeless. In that moment, the fear that had loomed over me—of being paralyzed after brain surgery—became my reality. I remember thinking, “This is it; the risk I dreaded has come true.”
As I fully awakened, I told the surgeon I was trying to move, just as I had for the past 49 years. But my body, once so familiar, was now foreign and terrifying, refusing to obey.
Weeks in hospital rehabilitation turned into months, and months into years of grueling physical therapy. I needed help with nearly every movement. The sadness I felt during those years was overwhelming, far greater than anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t just the physical weight of my new reality that crushed my spirit—it was the emotional toll. It was like I had been walking down a clear, well-worn path for nearly 50 years, only to find it suddenly overgrown with thick roots and towering trees. The way forward was obscured, and navigating it seemed impossible. Each day brought a new battle with sadness, fear, and anger as I fought to regain even a fraction of the physical ability I had once taken for granted.
Eighteen months after the surgery, my husband and I were invited to speak at a religious conference. The topic? “What accessing the grace of Jesus Christ daily looks like.” As we prepared, we immersed ourselves in studying Christ’s grace and how it operates in our lives. Grace, as defined in the Bible Dictionary, is “divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ.”
One week before the conference, I went on a bike ride with a friend. I rode my recumbent trike, which gives me the freedom to move, while she pedaled beside me on her bicycle. We talked as we rode, and as usual I cried. Sadness had become my constant companion, something the medical world might label as situational depression. I opened up to my friend about how lost I felt, about the overwhelming sadness that shadowed my days.
She asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since: “Stacy, what exactly are you sad about? What do you feel like you’ve lost?” I didn’t have an answer. I knew I was sad about my loss of movement, fearful that I would never regain my strength or the ability to do the things I once could. But the source of my sadness remained elusive.
A few days before the conference, the answer I had been searching for came to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I woke up in the middle of the night, a time when my anxious thoughts usually kept me company. But that night, a phrase echoed in my mind: “Graceful—full of grace.” As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s a good point. Being graceful means being full of His grace. I’ll include that in my presentation.”
When I woke again in the morning, the same phrase was there, clear and insistent: “Graceful—full of grace.” I realized then that this message wasn’t just for the people at the conference—it was for me. That was the source of my sadness. That was what I had lost: my physical gracefulness.
As a young girl, I had been a ballerina, dancing through much of my adolescence and into college. I had never thought of myself as graceful, but years of training had ingrained in me a certain physical poise—a way of standing, moving, and balancing. Even after I stopped dancing, that grace remained. And now, in the quiet of those early morning hours, the Lord was redefining the word for me. I no longer needed the physical grace I once had. I had His grace to lean on in my moments of weakness. His grace was sufficient to help me smile, to shift my focus from my limitations to His strength.
Heaven’s message to me was clear: “You no longer need to rely on the physical grace you’ve learned. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”
Graceful.
It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained. It’s not about my grace anymore—it’s about Christ’s grace, filling my heart and mind.
Graceful. It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained.
At the conference, I found myself in a room packed with people, needing to cross to the other side. There was no clear aisle, no easy path to navigate. As I stood up, I whispered to myself, “Graceful.” His grace, not mine. That simple word gave me the courage to move, to weave through the crowd without fear.
The more I let go of my old grace and embraced His, the easier life became. I found the strength to do what I could never do alone. His grace allowed me to see myself as a beloved daughter of God, to give my all, knowing He would fill in the gaps where I couldn’t. His grace brought gratitude even for my weaknesses.
I still wrestle with frustration and fear every day. My “thorn” hasn’t been removed. But now when those dark thoughts creep in, I have a powerful tool: the Savior’s grace. I repeat the word graceful to myself and move forward with Him. I don’t know when or how physical healing will come, but I trust that He knows, and that’s enough.
Like Paul, I am grateful for my infirmity because it has opened my eyes to see Him more clearly in my life. I place my trust in Him, and in return He gives me peace and joy and the assurance that He will deliver me.
The author lives in Utah.

As we face some of the harsh realities of life and the real obstacles that are there for us to overcome, we often make matters much worse by imagining difficulties that never materialize. We are afraid of what might happen in the future, but it is unproductive to spend time fretting and worrying about what "might" go wrong. I love the story of Abraham Lincoln and the Fox River. Abraham Lincoln, as a young lawyer, was traveling through Southern Illinois on the circuit. In his own words, he tells the story "Many years ago when I was a young lawyer and Illinois was little settled, I and other lawyers used to ride the circuit; from county seat to county seat in quest of business. Once after a long spell of pouring rain which had flooded the whole country, transforming small creeks into rivers, we were often stopped by the swollen streams which we with difficulty crossed. Still ahead of us was the Fox River, larger than all the rest, and we could not help saying to each other, if these streams give us so much trouble how shall we get over Fox River? Darkness fell before we had reached that stream and we all stopped at a log tavern, had our horses put out, and resolved to pass the night. Here we were right glad to fall in with Methodists' presiding elder of the circuit who rode it in all weather, knew all its' ways and could tell us about Fox River. So we all gathered around him and asked him if he knew about the crossing of Fox River. Oh yes he replied, I know all about Fox River. I have crossed it often and I understand it well. But, I have one fixed rule with regard to Fox River. I never cross it until I reach it."
Good advice.

Elder Robert L. Backman, when he was general president of the Young Men of the Church, liked to tell the story of a deacons quorum presidency who took it upon themselves to visit every member of their quorum. They made appointments, got together at an appointed time, and went to the homes of their young brethren. One such visit was particularly memorable, when they visited a young man who was just about to become a deacon.
The presidency arrived at their prospective quorum member’s home at the appointed hour and knocked on the door. They were invited into the living room, and the prospective deacon joined them. He was a little nervous and didn’t know exactly what to expect. His parents left them alone to visit. The presidency took the time to explain to him what his duties would be, where and when they met as a quorum, how he would participate in meetings and activities, and then welcomed him into the group.
When the presidency left, the young man’s father asked how the visit had gone, to which he responded, “They were awesome, Dad.”

In Tokyo, Japan, Natsuko Soejima doubted she could teach well. “When I was called to be a youth Sunday School teacher,” she says, “I told the bishop I would be scared. But he said the call was from God, so I accepted.”
As a group, the class intimidated her because of the individual challenges they presented. Two of the youth had hearing disabilities. Some class members who had moved to Japan from other countries spoke only English. She also feared the age difference between her and her class members.
Then, in a teacher council meeting, Sister Soejima found an answer. “We talked about loving each class member, learning their names, praying for them one by one, and teaching—guided by the Spirit—according to their needs,” she explains, “so that’s what I began to do.” She also did something else she’d learned in the council: “I used language that conveyed my love.”
The result? “My heart changed. I began to feel affection for my students. I cared about those who were missing and prayed for them too. As soon as one lesson ended, I started preparing for the next, to have time to think about teaching opportunities. I was overflowing with joy.”

Illustrations by Bryan Beach
K.C. played with his CTR ring during Primary. He tossed it from hand to hand.
Whoops! It slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. He couldn’t see where it fell. Then it was time to go to class.
After Primary was over, Sister Ballard saw a CTR ring on the floor. I wonder if K.C. left this behind, she thought.
She slipped it in her pocket to give to him later.
A few days later, K.C. realized he had lost his CTR ring. He looked everywhere, but he couldn’t find it.
K.C. knelt down. “Heavenly Father, please help me find my ring,” he prayed.
That same day, Sister Ballard was making dinner.
“Take K.C.’s CTR ring to him,” she felt the Spirit say.
I can’t go now, Sister Ballard thought. I’m too busy!
K.C. kept searching and praying. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he said. “Please help me find it.”
“Get K.C.’s CTR ring and take it to him,” Sister Ballard heard the Spirit say again.
She set down the carrots and went to get the ring.
K.C. came downstairs and told his mom what had happened.
“I’ve prayed and prayed, but I still can’t find it,” he said.
Just then, there was a knock at the door …
It was Sister Ballard!
“I felt like you needed this,” she said, handing K.C. his CTR ring.
K.C. smiled as he happily put his ring back on. His prayer had been answered!

In the Granite 12th Ward, Sandy Granite Stake, the girls combined a valuable lesson in sparing someone’s feelings with learning the art of quilting. Heidi Tuft explains that it all started at camp. “It was one girl’s birthday. Somebody called her a nickname that hurt her feelings. We all wanted to apologize, so we wrote a letter and each of us signed it with a nickname we didn’t care for. Our leader signed hers as ‘Frog Master.’ After that, frogs became our mascots.” The girls appliquéd comical pictures of frogs on a quilt top and learned to make the tiny, even stitches required in quilting. Heidi said, “It was hard learning to quilt. We had to keep starting over until we learned how.” When the quilt was completed, the girls presented it to a counselor in the bishopric. The quilt became a visual reminder of the lessons they had learned together. The gift of kindness had been added to their baskets.