Gospel Story Finder

He was not very refined or well educated. His big, round tummy and bald head were pretty intimidating to a skinny wisp of a girl like me, but I knew two things about Grandpa that made it easy to trust him and love him: I knew that he had a testimony of the gospel, and I knew that he thought that I was special.
I remember recognizing these two truths at the same time. Grandpa and Grandma had come to visit. Since we lived in different states, it was a special occasion and our daily routine changed. Sometimes we went on little day trips. Sometimes we looked up relatives I had never met before. But we always went to church.
One Sunday, I was sitting beside my grandpa when it was time to sing the opening hymn. I had just recently learned how to read well enough to follow the words in the hymnbook. I opened to the right page and offered to share the book with Grandpa. He held his half with his blunt fingers, which still showed the permanent stains of his years of working on truck engines. His hands were strong yet gentle.
When we started to sing, I forgot all about his hands. “‘Come, thou Fount of every blessing … ,”* he rumbled, with a surprisingly proper pronunciation. He was in perfect tune and sang with enthusiasm. I trebled along, and Grandpa smiled at me. After the song, he patted me on the knee.
We sang the sacrament song and the closing song, too, just as if we were the only two people in the room singing. I still remember the way it felt to sing with him. It was a warm, cozy peace that filled me up inside. I knew that Grandpa believed every word he sang.
Later, after we were home again and the dinner dishes were done, Grandpa called Grandma to the piano. “Will you please play ‘Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,’ Margaret,” he asked her. “Linda and I are going to sing.”
He explained to me how much he loved that song. He said that it was one he had learned just after he and his family joined the Church in England, and he had loved it ever since.
Then he said, “And now I can sing it with my granddaughter, who sings as pretty as the song.” I could have burst with joy!
Many times over the years, Grandpa and I sang that hymn together, sometimes on our own, sometimes with other family members joining in. As I grew up, I came to appreciate my special heritage of testimony and music. They have always been connected.
Grandpa may not have been rich or famous or handsome, but he loved me. He loved the gospel, and when we sang the hymns of Zion, I learned to love it, too.

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.
Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease killed half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.
Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite blue dress with the white lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome.
During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her and said, “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”
As they finished their dessert, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke.
When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.
“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”
Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

Photograph by Nino H. Photography/Getty Images
I was five years old when I first picked up a golf club. Golf had always been a sport that our family played together, and as the youngest of four siblings who were on the high school golf team four years each, I felt the substantial pressure to live up to their reputation.
In my senior-year golf season, I had shown great improvement, and it started to become a possibility for me to go to state—the first girl in years to go to the state tournament to represent our team. Before I knew it, I found myself in the two-day playoff tournament to go to state. I was determined to try as hard as I could.
This season had also been one of spiritual growth as I began to learn to pray for things such as a calm mind or to plead with Heavenly Father that I would just be pleased with myself after tournaments.
More than any other game I could remember, it felt like I had a constant prayer in my heart. The Spirit was with me as I played the best 18-hole round and broke my personal record. At the end of the day, the scores were posted, and I was in the running for state. The top five of about 40 girls would make it, and I desperately wanted to be one of them.
The next day this mentality took over, and the stress of having to do better than my best took hold of me. Shots that I had practiced over and over were suddenly replaced by shaking hands and an unsteady swing.
I stood over a short shot that I was about to hit into the hole. Much to my embarrassment I missed the shot, and the ball landed no more than two inches from the hole. Angry and frustrated, I didn’t take the time to set up, and I hit the ball prematurely. It missed the hole once again, moving only about half an inch. I looked around, waiting for someone to snicker or say, “That counts too, you know!” Every time you hit the ball it counts as a stroke. But no one had seen. I knew my already-suffering score didn’t need another mess-up stroke and that no one had seen it. But in this same instance the thought came to my mind, “One stroke of honesty holds far greater rewards than that of a dishonest mind.”
I quickly told the girl my honest score, knowing that it was indeed the right thing to do.
Twenty minutes later I made an almost identical mistake, adding yet another stroke of honesty to my score card.
Eventually I pulled out of my bad performance rut and really started to play again, and my score improved greatly.
As we finished our last playoff round, all the girls hurriedly raced to the results board. To my dismay, I saw that I had come in sixth place, and by just two strokes. I felt devastated.
On the bus ride home I reevaluated every shot, but over and over again the two shots that no one had seen seemed to play in my mind.
Just as the thought had come to me earlier, I thought, “Never would I wish to ruin my peace of mind and my reputation as an honest person for something so short-term as the state golf tournament.” With this thought, my mind felt at peace. I felt good knowing that I would never trade those two strokes of integrity for a chance at state.
My decision that day to give up the temporal for the eternal continues to bless my life. I know that if I can do hard things when no one is watching, the Lord will always bless me—even if it means giving up state, and even if it’s only by two strokes.

On several occasions President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, has described an experience he had during a leadership training meeting in which a bishop indicated he couldn’t get anyone to serve as the ward Primary president. The frustrated bishop said he had talked to nine different sisters in the ward, and not one of them had agreed to accept the call.

President Packer told the bishop he knew why none of the sisters had agreed to serve: “You asked them—you didn’t call them.” President Packer said that if the call had been extended properly, it would not have taken nine attempts to get someone to accept the call.

Born in England, Sister Lawson emigrated to Australia in 1966 at the age of 30. She suffers from acute arthritic and bronchial conditions, so her doctor had recommended a warmer climate.
First settling in Perth, a major city on the Indian Ocean shoreline of western Australia, Sister Lawson encountered Latter-day Saints in a local theater group. When she took on the job of stage manager, both the manager of the group and the leading male actor were Latter-day Saints.
Every time the group started or finished rehearsals, the manager called them together for prayer, Sister Lawson recalls. “Even though the rest of us were not members, it gave me a very warm feeling—I always used to quietly pray before I went on stage, and this seemed right, somehow.”
An invitation to attend Church meetings followed, and Sister Lawson was soon baptized. Naturally cheerful and enthusiastic, she served as ward and stake drama director in Perth and became thoroughly involved in the Church.
But her health continued to deteriorate. When she finally needed a cane to walk, her doctor told her she should go to the north of Australia, where the climate is distinctly warmer and much more humid. Ever since then, her home has been in Kununurra, where she works as a medical laboratory technician.
In order to maintain her commitment to the gospel and build her spirituality, Sister Lawson set some standards for herself when she moved to Kununurra that she has maintained ever since. She reads two or three chapters from the standard works daily, systematically working her way through each of them. She also reads every piece of Church literature she can get. “I subscribe to all the Church magazines,” she says.
Twice each month, she receives a phone call from the Relief Society president in the city of Darwin, 700 kilometers away—the center of Church activity in Australia’s vast Northern Territory. The phone calls are a welcome morale booster, as are the photocopies of lessons from the Relief Society and Sunday School manuals which are also sent.
Normally, Sister Lawson has an opportunity to take the sacrament only once every six months. When she can get the time off work, she travels to Darwin for district conference—a weekend trip that costs her an average of [U.S.] $350 for air fares. Occasionally, the mission president or another priesthood holder travels through the town, and Sister Lawson often takes that opportunity to ask for a blessing.
Sometimes, because employees in the mining industry tend to be mobile, other members will take up temporary residence in Kununurra. Even one more member is enough for Sister Lawson to consider it a “branch.”
Her advice to people in isolated circumstances is to “make a friend of Heavenly Father.
“You have to study regularly, talk to him as if he is a real friend, and then try to make a friend of others around you. You don’t have to change your standards just because you associate with nonmembers who feel and behave differently.”
Sister Lawson says it’s especially important to become involved in the community. She is president of the local theater group, treasurer of the local Progress Association, and vice-president of the town’s Cultural Coordinating Committee.
Endowed in the London Temple while on leave, Sister Lawson is 3,200 kilometers from the Sydney Temple—too far to travel regularly. However, she recently established Kununurra’s only genealogical society. Her eventual aim: to serve a temple mission in one of the tropical-climate temples.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higginson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higginson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no more laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of Mother touched every man’s heart.

Let me tell you of a young man I knew when I was a mission president. He was a missionary full of faith. He was Uruguayan. He had been in the mission about three or four months when I arrived, and I noticed that wherever he served, people were being baptized. In the beginning I thought it was because of his senior companion, because he seemed too young, too new, to be the cause—that was my mistake. He knew how to make things happen.

He was called as a senior companion and a district leader. I sent him into a city that had gained a reputation of being a tough, “no results” city. Missionaries had not baptized anyone there for nearly a year—not one person! The members were discouraged. Only ten to twelve members were attending the branch. I didn’t tell him anything—I just notified him of the transfer. Three weeks later, he and his companion began baptizing. He served there about ten weeks. All of his district started baptizing.

It is great to have a missionary who can baptize, but if he can teach others how to do it, his leadership can bless the lives of many.

This missionary never wrote me much in his weekly reports. He would only write, “Dear President, I sure love you. Things are going great. Sincerely,” or “President, the Lord is blessing us greatly. I love the work. Your brother.”

He was called later to serve as a zone leader and sent to supervise the whole upper area of the mission where there were some very challenging cities. His new challenge was to teach the missionaries to do what he was doing. He served there two or three months and was responsible for scores of baptisms, and he literally changed the spirit of the whole zone, member leaders as well as missionaries. Together they wrought a spiritual miracle.

Then came a spiritual struggle for me, a restless feeling about him. I felt impressed that he should be sent to Paraguay. At that time the work was very slow in Paraguay. We averaged only 20 to 25 baptisms a month in the whole country. I wrestled with that and thought to myself, “He has really proved himself here, but to put him in that situation might drag him down in discouragement as it has so many others. He may have a hard time sustaining his faith there.” I had to struggle with my faith to convince myself that he really ought to go, but I obeyed the promptings.

I sent him a telegram transferring him to Asunción, Paraguay, as a zone leader and told him that he should leave the very next day. When he came into Montevideo, he didn’t even come to see me. He was modest and always a little embarrassed to see “the president.”

He departed from the mission home, but he left a letter, which was the first one that I had ever received from him. It said, in effect, “Dear President Cook, I received a telegram today telling me to go to Paraguay, and I thought you ought to know a few things: (1) You can’t baptize in Paraguay. I have had at least ten to fifteen elders tell me of their experiences there. (2) The members are not helping at all. (3) There are some real morality problems among the nonmembers there. (4) Many people live together unmarried. (5), (6), (7), (8) …” And he went through and listed ten to twelve of some of the most negative things that I have ever heard in my life.

I thought to myself, Oh, no, unbelieving people have gotten to him.

But as he finished the list, he said, “I just wanted you to know, President, that I don’t believe any of those things.” Talk about faith! Then he committed himself, after expressing his faith, saying, “I want you to know, President Cook, that on Christmas Day (and the date of the letter was December 1), we are going to baptize 25 people.”

When I read that, I prayed for him and thought, The Lord bless you, elder. You have a tremendous amount of faith, and the Lord will sustain you. You don’t know the country; you haven’t ever been there. You don’t know where you are going to live. You don’t know your companion, the leaders, the members. You don’t know anything, and yet you, in faith, believe that you are going to baptize 25 people in 25 days.

Well, this young man was full of faith and was a real example of a great Latin leader. On December 25, he and his companion baptized 18 people. They hadn’t reached the 25, but 18 was just about all that the whole country baptized in a normal month. It was a great privilege two weeks later to participate in a baptismal service where he and his companion baptized 11 more. His district baptized about 30 that day. Can you see how one righteous man can turn around a whole set of circumstances? He believed, he committed, and he and the Lord did it.

My name is Emma, and I am six years old. I love to read the Friend with my little brother, Dallas, who is four. We especially enjoy reading the stories at the back where children share stories about how they are trying to be like Jesus. We cut them out and save them in a special folder so we can read them again and again. The other day, Dallas and I did something that our mother said was following the example of Jesus Christ.
Our mother was feeling very sad. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know what I could do so she could feel better. Then I remembered that I should try to be like Jesus. Jesus comforts those who are sad. I went over to where my mother was sitting, gently put my arms around her, and held her to my shoulder. She looked up and told me that she felt special to know how much I love and care about her.
Then Dallas came into the room and asked what was wrong. Mother explained that she was feeling sad. He also hugged her and softly said, “Mommy, Jesus felt sad, too, when the men put nails in His hands. They were mean and spit on Him and laughed at Him. I love you, Mommy.” Mother sat up and wiped away her tears. Then she told Dallas and me that she didn’t feel sad anymore, because we had reminded her that Jesus loves us and that He had suffered more than anyone. We felt good knowing that we had helped Mother by following the example of Jesus.

I attended a training director’s seminar in Anaheim some time back, where Mike Vance, director of training for Disneyland Corporation, told of an interesting incident. The Disneyland people had invited a number of those veterans who had been injured or lost limbs during the war in Vietnam to spend the day at Disneyland. The Disneyland Corporation sent its airplane—I think it is called Mickey Mouse 1—up to an airbase near San Francisco to pick up all these men to fly them down, and then took them out to Disneyland, where they spent the whole day. Then, said Mike Vance, “as they were about ready to part—all these military men, standing there with out any arms, but just hooks hanging down—there was a sudden feeling of uneasiness, and no one knew what to say. Than, all at once, Sasha, one of the guides, went over to them and said, ‘Men, before you leave, do you mind if I just shake your hooks?’ And she shook hooks with each one of them.” As you know, metal conducts warmth and heat; and I am sure that as she grabbed hold of their hooks and shook them her warmth extended right into their hearts.

The men were flown back to their base, and several weeks later the Disneyland people received a letter from their commanding officer saying what a great experience it had been for all of them to go down to Disneyland and spend the entire day there. It continued, “My men were terribly impressed with everything that was done, but do you know what they remember most? A young woman by the name of Sasha, who shook all of our hooks.” That, you see, is charity.

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
8. The eighth purpose or type of revelation consists of those instances where the Spirit impels a person to action.
This is not a case where a person proposes to take a particular action and the Spirit either confirms or restrains. This is a case where revelation comes when it is not being sought and impels some action not proposed. This type of revelation is obviously less common than other types, but its rarity makes it all the more significant.
Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

In the early ’90s, before Melbourne had a temple, our stake hired a bus once a month to take us to the Sydney Australia Temple.
In preparation, I would ensure my visiting teaching was done. One Tuesday evening before a Friday bus trip, my companion and I visited one sister. As we sat chatting, her husband came into the lounge, and I felt to ask him for a priesthood blessing.
In that blessing, he said that two of the sisters whose work I would do in the Sydney Australia Temple would come and thank me in the celestial kingdom, which of course, was very nice to hear.
The next day, I received a phone call and was told that the bus wasn’t going to the temple on Friday.
I thought, “Oh dear, what am I to do?” I rang my friend, Bev, who always went on the bus, and she confirmed that the bus trip was cancelled.
I suggested that we hire a little bus for a few of us to go, but she didn’t want to do that.
“What about these two sisters?” I thought, recalling the words in the priesthood blessing I’d received. “I have to get to Sydney somehow!”
I worked on Fridays for a lady who owned a home in Ivanhoe for people with special needs. I did a lot of cooking and was responsible for all the meals there, which needed to be served exactly on time. The day before we were meant to bus to the temple, 24 ladies were to have dinner at 5:00 pm. I needed to have them fed and everything cleared away by 5:25pm so that I could get to the travel agency and book my airline ticket to Sydney.
Throughout the day, whenever I had a chance, I kept ringing the travel agent hoping to secure a ticket but to no avail. Anne, the travel agent, said to me at one point, “Give up, Bev.”
Well! That was like waving the red flag at the proverbial bull!
I managed to clear the evening meal and ring the bell and by 5:25 pm, with my bag in hand, I was waiting at the front door ready to leave—then off I went in my car to the travel agency.
Fortunately, another client was booking an overseas trip, so the office was still open when I arrived at 5:35 pm. The agent who assisted me looked at the screen and said, “I don’t think you’re going to find a flight.”
I stood there, smiled, and waited, and then she said, “Hang on. There is still one left.”
I said, “Thank you,” paid for my ticket and raced out to my car to get to the airport as soon as I could.
I knew I was a little late getting to check-in. I apologized to the attendant and asked, “Am I okay?” She had a look, found that the plane was running 20 minutes late, then handed me my ticket and said, “Go to Gate 11.”
From the Sydney Airport, I needed to catch a train to my girlfriend’s house in Epping, which is not far from the temple. When I landed, I thought I might get a taxi to her place instead, but it was 11:00 pm by then and no taxis were available. I had to walk in the dark for nearly two kilometres.
When I finally arrived at her home, I saw there were no lights on I had to carefully make my way down the dark driveway, lugging my suitcase, one step at a time, to knock on the door.
My friend had thought I wasn’t coming because I’d forgotten to tell her about the mayhem I had been through, but all is well that ends well.
I was able to do the work for those two sisters, and I often think of the time when I will greet them in the celestial kingdom of God.

When Cassie fell in love with Albert, she worried about falling into the same negative communication patterns she had seen in her first marriage. So they took a marriage class together, where they learned to:
Practice listening skills.
Honestly share feelings.
Cooperate, not compete.
Agree to disagree when needed.
Discuss money management.
“Building a successful marriage takes practice, but we love each other enough to make it work,” Cassie said.

I sat in my living room crying. It had been only a few days since I had had a miscarriage, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the loss of our baby. So many things reminded me of the tragedy, especially my closet full of maternity clothes.
Every time I went into my room, the clothes seemed to stare at me from their hangers. Most of them were brand new and never worn, reminding me that I was no longer pregnant. I was still too weak to stand up for more than a few seconds to put them away.
Suddenly someone knocked on my door. When I opened it, I saw my visiting teacher standing on the doorstep. It was the same visiting teacher who had been watching my children when my doctor confirmed to my husband and me that I had miscarried.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I need your help putting away my maternity clothes.”
I led her into the bedroom, emptied drawers, and stripped hangers. Then I lay in bed while she folded my clothes and gently laid them in boxes. After she had taped the boxes and carried them downstairs so I wouldn’t have to look at them, I felt my spirits lift.
Afterward she went into the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and tidied up—things I still wasn’t able to do. When she left, my house was clean, my clothes were out of sight, and my heart wasn’t quite so heavy anymore.
The Apostle John taught, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18). When we reach out to share the Savior’s love, we are strengthened by His courage. Because my visiting teacher was filled with the love of Christ, she came immediately when the Spirit prompted her to come.
We received many expressions of love during that terrible time, including flowers, cards, cupcakes, and childcare, all of which we appreciated. But the expression that helped the most was when my visiting teacher, not knowing how badly I needed her, knocked on my door, and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox” in the December New Era was an excellent article. I hope that the many girls who are writing to missionaries will read it and apply the wonderful and appropriate suggestions given therein. I have a strong personal testimony of what the right kind of letters can do for a missionary because I received many such letters during my recently completed mission to France and Switzerland. I cannot remember a single instance in which my friend wrote a letter that was in any way selfish or distracting. There was, of course, news from home, but the majority of the space was used to write thoughts, feelings, insights, and testimony that could only encourage and uplift me. Instead of feeling homesick or full of self-pity after reading her letters, I felt grateful and desirous to work all the more diligently for the Savior. The article spoke of building self-esteem in elders. The friend who wrote to me understood this well and often expressed her respect, her confidence, and her belief in me as a servant of the Lord. This can work miracles and was especially important to me during a very difficult period of my mission. I know that her support played a large part in helping me overcome the difficulties I faced during those months. My friend even earned, at one point, the “Most Edifying Letters to a Missionary Award” presented by the special awards committee of the Switzerland Geneva Mission. I was the committee. I will never cease to be grateful to the Lord for the blessing this sister was to me during my mission.
Walter LenelPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania

Some years ago I accepted an invitation to a fathers and sons outing, where the participants spent an arduous but interesting day mounted on horses on a trip to Bloomington Lake in the mountains of Bear Lake County, Idaho. Late at night, after the campfires had all burned out and everyone had settled down under the open heavens, I lay on my back, gazing overhead. It was a moonless night, and I have never seen such a beautiful sight. The heavens were alive with the brightness of stars and planets. How small I felt in comparison to that vast universe! A sense of appreciation came over me as I thought of God’s glory, of his handiwork, the earth, the heavens, all created for one purpose—his children, mankind. That experience has remained with me. I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of it.

Sixteen-year-old Tawnya Cazier, who lives in northern Idaho, has a best friend like that, and she doesn’t even mind the face-licking part. Her friend’s name is Nephi, and he’s a 75-pound malamute, the leader of her dogsled team. Nephi has saved Tawnya more than once, and he came into her life at a time when she was in desperate need of a good friend.
At 13, Tawnya was diagnosed as having a severe case of diabetes. Her blood-sugar levels were so erratic she had to stay out of school for a year. Many times her parents took her for special treatment in a clinic more than a thousand miles away from their home near Spirit Lake. All this took its toll on Tawnya. “I complained a lot, and I became very lazy,” she said.
It hurt Tawnya’s father to see his daughter’s suffering. He’d been diagnosed with diabetes when he was younger too and knew what she was going through. He decided Tawnya needed something to perk up her spirits. He’d always had an interest in dogsledding, but had never been able to pursue it. He noticed that Tawnya followed closely Susan Butcher’s progress in the Iditarod, the world’s most famous dogsled race, and thought dogsledding might be a good hobby for Tawnya. Since they were living in a sparsely populated, wooded area known as “Frazier’s Icebox,” where snow lasts into June, he asked, “Why not?”
Tawnya loved the idea, so they began putting together a homemade sled with skis for runners. They also began acquiring dogs from friends and from newspaper ads that said, “Free to good home.” Nephi was the first and the best. He was a natural leader, loved to run and work, and had the strength of three dogs. He would prove this many times as they took him all over the Northwest for weight-pulling competitions, which he often won.
Although Tawnya loves competition, the weight pulls are the only contests Tawnya has entered. What she’d really like to do is enter her team in the 150-mile Junior Iditarod, held each year in Alaska.
“I thought that would be the most awesome thing in the whole world, since I can’t compete in the real Iditarod until I’m 18,” she says. “So I wrote for the information on it, and they sent me a packet. I was so disappointed when I learned it was held over a weekend, on Saturday and Sunday. I asked them if they could change it, but they wouldn’t.
“That was a big hang-up. I wanted to run it so bad. I really had to fight with myself. But I finally got to the point where I realized that this would go against everything I’d ever been taught. It wasn’t worth it.”
So instead of training for the big races, Tawnya is content spending a couple of hours each day after school with her dogs. In the summer, when there’s no snow on the ground and her sled is useless, she hitches the dogs to a three-wheel cart. On Saturdays she cleans the dog runs, but Sundays she reserves for church.
“I like to go to church, read the scriptures, nap, write letters to missionaries, and spend time with my family,” she says. “It’s the one day of the week we can be together and just relax and talk. Most of the other days we’re all going in different directions.” Tawnya is the oldest of nine children, and they live together with their parents in a large mountain cabin.
The dogs have been good for the whole family. The younger children enjoy helping Tawnya feed and care for them, and, of course, they love rides on the sled. The dogs, in turn, love the children, and are extremely gentle.
“They have been bred through the years not to bite,” Tawnya explains. “The Eskimos couldn’t afford to have a vicious dog that would attack other dogs or people. Many times the dogs lived inside with the families. These dogs have been bred to love being around people and to love pulling a sled.”
The enthusiasm the dogs have for pulling is obvious the minute Tawnya walks outside with harnesses in hand. The dogs prick up their ears and begin barking and jumping. They’re eager.
“I learn lots of things from these dogs,” Tawnya says. “Enthusiasm for what you’re doing is one of them. Another is obedience. You don’t use reins with them, just voice commands. If they didn’t listen to what I told them, I could have had some really bad accidents. Once, if the dogs had followed their instincts and kept running, rather than stopping right when I told them to, we would have gone right between a mother bear and her cub. I don’t think any of us would have survived that.”
Tawnya has also learned that physical handicaps, like diabetes, don’t have to keep you down. Although she gives herself blood tests and shots three times a day and constantly has to be aware of how the food she eats and her physical activity will affect her insulin level, Tawnya doesn’t let that limit her. She’s back in school now, achieves straight A’s, and goes to seminary early each morning. She also finds time to spend with her friends, who love her dogs as well.
One of Tawnya’s favorite Mutual activities involves taking the youth in the ward on a dogsled ride out to a spot where a large bonfire has been built. They sit around toasting marshmallows and singing. The dogs, who love it as much as Tawnya does, sometimes join in on the chorus. Tawnya’s hobby has become well-known in the ward. Even the bishop has been for a ride on her sled. “He loved it!” she says. The missionaries have enjoyed it too.
It would be hard for anyone to resist such an offer, especially coming from this girl. Tawnya is as warm and down-to-earth as they come. Unless she told you, you’d never guess she suffers from a life-threatening disorder.
“I used to ask, Why me?” she says. “I used to wonder why I have to go through all this—be sick, give myself shots and blood tests, watch what I eat, and all that. But then I realized that the Lord knew I could handle it. It’s a comfort to know that the Lord has confidence in me. It gives me the strength to go on.”
Tawnya says she’s grateful for the strength she also derives from the support of her friends, family, and of course, her dogs.
“My dogs teach me so much,” she says. “I learn how to treat people by watching how they treat me. At first I thought I had to have patience with my dogs, but then I realized they have to have patience with me. Nephi shows me so much love, even when I’m not at my best. I want to be able to show that to other people. Nephi really is my best friend.”

During the recent flood disaster at Rexburg, Idaho, one man was separated from his family by the raging torrents. He feared the worst but six hours later found that all had survived the ordeal. The next day he remarked: “I have lived my life under the false illusion that security was achieved by the accumulation of this world’s goods; but now, with all that swept away by the flood and my wife and children spared and at my side, all is well. I feel like a millionaire, and we are ready to start all over again.”

I am a banana seller and a graduate of policy studies and administration from the University of Calabar, Nigeria.
I worked with my certificate as a degree holder but was underemployed, my salary at the end of the month was not enough to take care of my basic needs so I quit the job to sell bananas.
When I was introduced to the self-reliance devotional, I found it very interesting and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
During my group meeting, I learned a lot of principles that enabled me to start my own business.
Some of the principles I learned that have made my business successful are:
Payment of tithes.
Fasting and praying for the progress of my business.
Spiritual self-reliance (my faith has grown tremendously in the Lord)
Networking for clients (I have an umbrella shop. I also hawk my goods)
I have an expense book for cash in and cash out reports.
I have developed daily savings.
I have a salary from my business.
Now I can afford my basic needs, provide for those around me, and have enough time to plan for myself and my business.
The experience I gained during my group meeting has blessed my life, and I have encouraged everyone around me to join any of the self-reliance groups to also experience a change in their lives.
I may not be fully self-reliant now, but from my efforts, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

My wife and I are at a very exciting point in our lives, with two teenage girls in our home who have so many questions, and I am always amazed at my beloved wife, Busi’s, answers. She just never gets tired or impatient with them. A little while ago she explained the importance of reading the scriptures daily and used an analogy that has stuck with me.
She started by asking them how often they brush their teeth. They looked at her as if to say, “What kind of question is that?” Almost instantly they answered her question with, “Mom, that’s easy—we do it at least once a day!” She then proceeded by asking them, “Why don’t you just brush them once every week or once a month?”
I wondered where this conversation was going until she explained to them how brushing our teeth can be compared to reading the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. We don’t read once a week or once a month. In the same way, we don’t wake up one day and read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Instead, we must strive to follow the counsel from living prophets and apostles by making time as families and individuals to read daily from its sacred pages.
President Boyd K. Parker (1924–2015) once said, “In a world ever more dangerous . . . the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, has the nourishing power to heal starving spirits of the world” 1 . When we look around us, whether it be while watching television or reading newspapers or just going through mainstream social media, we are forever bombarded with a host of negative things happening around us. I have learned that as my family and I have made time to read daily from the Book of Mormon, we have grown closer to each other and have had an increased desire to be more Christlike.
The Prophet Joseph Smith has this to say regarding the Book of Mormon, “a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.” 2 I know that this promise from the Prophet of the Restoration is true. I also know that President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation for us to hear Him 3 will become a reality as we read daily from the Book of Mormon. From its pages we will hear the Saviour’s words and His promises. We will also hear His teachings as taught by His prophets. From those teachings we will gain the assurance of His divinity, especially of what we can do to learn of Him and to become like Him.
If you have not started reading daily from the Book of Mormon, please don’t get discouraged, or more importantly, do not give up. Please make a resolution to start reading a few verses every day. The most important thing is to start somewhere, and I promise you that once you start, you will experience the promise that was made by the prophet Alma in Alma 32:28 when he said, “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if you give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if you do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breast; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—it must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”
I testify of the power of daily reading from the Book of Mormon. I have seen the fruits of it in my life and in the lives of many of my friends and loved ones.

A lovely young lady told the following story at a stake conference. She said, “I am a convert from upstate New York. My parents wanted their children to have eternal marriages.
“Our family moved to Utah, and eventually I found myself a husband. He was the president of the local motorcycle club and wore a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots. We rode motorcycles together—perhaps not what my mother had hoped—but by that time I had wandered from the Church.
“We moved into a house. Often our friends would gather there. I’m afraid our neighbors were quite uncomfortable with us. At least one neighbor took her children into her house when we were roaming about.
“But do you know what our neighbors did? They mowed our lawn because we didn’t have a mower. They brought flowers when one of us was sick, and quite often they brought food and fixed things around the house. Our little daughter was included in the neighborhood children’s activities and was even given a party on her birthday. When we tried to thank our neighbors, they just said, ‘Well, we all like to help each other.’ They made us feel welcome there.
“About 10 months later, we traded our black leather jackets and motorcycle boots for the white clothing of the temple. As we knelt across the altar from each other and looked around that room, there were our neighbors, those who had been mowing our lawn and making things better for us.”