Gospel Story Finder

When my husband was serving his mission in Switzerland, he and his companion felt like they should walk down a road they hadn’t tried before and saw a lady sitting on a bench. They didn’t know yet, but she had been baptised when she was around 20 years old and had left the church not long after. A few years later she had a son, who was now 9 years old. While she was waiting for him to come out of school that day she had started thinking about the church. She remembered the missionaries and the songs she used to sing. She looked up the church and found a video about missionaries on her phone and was watching that video when she looked up and saw two missionaries were standing there. She realised an unspoken prayer had been answered.

When I turned eight, I was finally old enough to have my own FamilySearch account! At first I was nervous, but my parents and siblings taught me how to index and create my family tree so I could help my ancestors. After that, I no longer felt nervous. I felt supported and prepared.
Then I felt the desire to become a family history reviewer like my parents and siblings. I chose that to be one of my goals for the Children and Youth program. To reach this goal, I had to index 1,000 records.
Sometimes I felt overwhelmed. But my parents reminded me that I wouldn’t do it all in one day. Instead, I should focus on doing just three records a day, and before a year I would meet my goal. They said if I had a hard time understanding the images, they would help me.
I prayed to Heavenly Father so that He could help me meet my goal. I felt much better after my prayer.
I didn’t give up and continued to index day after day. After a year, before I turned nine, I had already indexed over 1,000 records and had been given the reviewer status. I was very excited!
Now I always go with my parents to the Trujillo Peru Temple. I help print the ordinance cards, cut them out, and give them to each family member so they can perform the ordinances while I wait in the temple gardens. Soon I will be able to go inside to do baptisms.
I am 10 years old now and already have 15,100 records indexed! I am very happy and excited to continue to reach my goals to be more like Jesus Christ.

If anyone had ever told me that I’d gulp down three tablespoons of mustard, I’d have said they were crazy. But being raised in a big family can do strange things to a person.
It had been one of those days that only somebody who has been raised in a big family could possibly appreciate. I had been working all month at school to complete a social studies unit, and our grades had been announced. I had received an A plus, and I couldn’t wait to get home so I could tell my mother.
When I bounded through the door, eager to bring the good news to my mother, I heard a screech.
“Come here! Quick!” my mother shouted.
I ran into the kitchen and saw my mother trying to put my two-year-old sister on the kitchen table.
“Hurry,” Mom continued, motioning me over to the table. “I need you to hold her down while I try to get this rubber plug out of her nose!”
I grabbed my young sister’s thrashing hands while Mom tried to dislodge the plug with a pair of tweezers.
“How’d she get a …” I started to ask above my sister’s screams.
“Don’t ask questions,” Mom interrupted. “Just hold her still, please!”
Later, with the rubber plug operation finally completed, I started to tell Mom about my school project.
Suddenly, my kindergarten-age sister came crashing through the front door screaming at the top of her lungs.
“I’m bleeding to death! I’m bleeding to death!” she shouted all the way into the kitchen. She walked into the kitchen bleeding from two big holes in her long stockings.
Then the baby started crying from downstairs.
“Will you go take care of the baby while I clean your sister up?” Mom asked as she carried my sister upstairs to the bathroom.
I slowly walked downstairs and into my baby sister’s room. She stopped crying as soon as she saw me and started to jump up and down in her crib, coaxing me to pick her up.
She wrapped her pudgy arms around my neck as I carried her to the family room and sat her down on the couch. I changed her pants and tickled her, and she started to laugh. As I reached down to pick up a toy for her to play with, she rolled off the couch and onto the hard floor.
She was screaming when I picked her up and started to run upstairs with her. A lump was already starting to swell on the back of her head.
“What did you do?” Mom asked taking the baby from me. “Can’t you be more responsible?”
I ran out of the room sobbing and went downstairs to the furnace room.
When I heard the baby stop crying, I crept out of the furnace room and started to go upstairs.
Just then I heard Dad come through the front door and greet Mom with, “Well, how’s your day been, dear?”
Mom collapsed into Dad’s arms and said, “Well, Grant shaved off all his hair. He said he was afraid that he was starting to look too much like the establishment. Diane said she’s never going to school again because her boyfriend told her she was too fat. Mary’s got the flu or something. Linda thinks I’m the most terrible Mom in the world because I won’t let her wear her dresses as short as all the other girls. Joy fell down and skinned both her knees on the way home from school. Dawnene ran outside without any clothes on and danced around in the front yard until the neighbor boys called and told me what our three-year-old was doing. Lori got a rubber plug stuck in her nose, and Janene let Lisa fall off the couch and bump her head.”
“Sorry I asked,” Dad said as he ran upstairs. “I’ve got to get packed and ready to go. My plane leaves in an hour.”
I went back downstairs to the furnace room. It was the only place in the whole house where I could be alone. I had fixed myself a little desk and chair and called the room my “laboratory.”
Suddenly I heard Dad’s voice booming through the heat duct, “Who’s been using my razor?”
I suddenly remembered leaving Dad’s razor in the girls’ bathroom again.
“You’d have to get the black plague to even get noticed around here,” I mumbled to myself as I slid my thumb over the cover of my social studies unit that I was so proud of.
Then I remembered a conversation I had had with a girl friend earlier that day. She told me that if you ate three tablespoons of mustard, it would make you throw up for sure.
Suddenly, throwing up seemed like a good way to get a little attention and forgiveness at the same time. Mom would forgive me for letting the baby fall off the couch, and Dad would forgive me for sneaking his razor again.
Just then I heard Mom call, “Time for dinner. Come and get it or I’ll throw it out.”
All the kids ran like a stampede for the kitchen. I quietly slipped into my place at the table while Dad gulped a glass of milk.
“Got to go. See you Saturday,” he said as he pecked Mom on the cheek and left.
Two of my sisters were giggling about Grant’s bald head until he gave them both an elbow. Diane wouldn’t touch her food because she was suddenly on a diet. Mom asked me to run a tray of food up to Mary. Linda was still sulking about her old-fashioned wardrobe. Lori started to stuff a bean up her nose just as the baby kicked over my glass of milk, and Dawnene started crying because she wanted to have two bandages on her knees like Joy.
Later, after I’d finished doing the mountain of dishes, I opened the refrigerator door and stared at the mustard. I looked around to see if anybody was watching, then quickly pulled a tablespoon out of the kitchen drawer and plunged it into the jar of yellow goo.
I brought the spoon up to my nose and turned away at the smell. Then I held my nose with one hand and shoved the spoon in with the other. That was quickly followed by two more heaping spoonfuls.
I quickly put the jar back in the refrigerator and rinsed the spoon off in the sink as a chill ran up my spine. Then I waited by the sink for something to happen. I waited and waited but still nothing.
Two of my sisters ran into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing.
“I don’t feel well,” I said, trying to act a little greenish.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you,” they taunted as they skipped back out the door.
I walked back down to my furnace room and waited again. But nothing happened.
I ate three tablespoons of mustard for nothing, I thought. I felt so embarrassed at myself that I went upstairs and went to bed early so I could avoid everybody.
As I lay in bed, I felt like I did the night I jumped off the top bunk bed because my Sunday School teacher told me you could do anything if you had enough faith. Well, I wanted to fly really bad. I refused to tell anybody in the family where my goose egg came from.
Later, Mom tiptoed into the bedroom I shared with three sisters and found me rolled up in a ball underneath a pile of quilts in my bed.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked as she tucked the blankets around me. “Joy said you were feeling sick.”
“I’m feeling fine,” I said avoiding her eyes.
“You sure did a nice job on the dishes,” Mom continued. “I saw your schoolwork too. You got an A plus. That’s wonderful, honey. I know you’ve been working hard on that project.”
I sat up in bed feeling a lot better.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you about the baby,” Mom continued. “You’re always so responsible with your younger sisters. I’m sure it was just an accident. It’s happened to me before too.”
“Really?” I said. “I’m the one that took Dad’s razor too, Mom. I know I’m not supposed to use it, but Mary and Diane always lose mine.”
“I’ve borrowed Dad’s razor without asking a few times myself,” Mom answered.
“Really?” I asked putting my arms around her neck.
I never ate three tablespoons of mustard again.
At that moment I realized that my mother was not only aware of me and my problems, but that she also cared a great deal in a very specific way. She had already experienced many of the things I was going through.
Earlier that evening it had seemed impossible to feel important since I was just one in a crowd, but suddenly I received a sweet assurance that I was not unnoticed and that I was loved.
And there have been other times since that night, times when my solitary struggles have seemed too heavy to bear. There have been times when I have felt lost and alone and not understood, times when I wondered if anyone knew my heart or cared.
Then thoughts of that evening and those three tablespoons of mustard come back. And as I felt assured of my earthly parents’ love that night, though I was only one of many, I also feel assured of my heavenly parents’ love. Even in the vastness of the eternal plan, they know me and they love me and they care. “And not one of them is forgotten before God” (Luke 12:6).

A few months ago I was able to work in an elementary school, helping to teach struggling first graders how to read and write better. One boy I worked with, Steven, acted quiet and uninterested every time we got the books out. I wasn’t sure how to help him. Nothing I tried worked. I just desperately wanted to let this boy know how important reading and writing were.
One day I sat there next to him, both of us silent as the rest of the class buzzed around us. Steven was slumped halfway around in his chair. As I surveyed his untied shoelaces and the dirt and streaks of grass stains on his clothing, a picture of myself at the same age sulking on the kitchen floor came to my mind. I realized that for Steven to trust me he needed to know that I cared about him and not just his reading and writing ability.
“Wow, you sure are dirty,” I commented to his back. “You must be a really good soccer player at recess.”
Steven looked at me sideways and said, “No, I got in a fight.”
I was quiet for a few moments before I asked, “Are you okay?”
And then, still without really looking at me, Steven started to tell me about his day. We spent the whole half hour talking. By the end of our time, I knew Steven would be more excited to see me in the future. And, in a few days, we were working on his reading skills.

By this time, I wanted to continue going to church on my own, but that was such a challenge! It was hard for me to sit alone at church. I felt like everyone was staring at me and feeling sorry for me because my family wasn’t with me. To ward off sympathy, I would sit with my head bowed, reading a book until the meeting started. I felt sorry for myself and thought the challenge wasn’t worth it. I decided that without a family, the Church was not going to be true for me.
It was another small miracle of friendship that brought me back. Wendolyn and I had been friends since childhood, but we’d slowly drifted apart. One afternoon, Wendolyn and her mother sat me down and told me about the importance of going to church. They offered to have me go and sit with their family. My main stumbling block was removed! I had people to sit with who cared!
Through the rest of my high school years, my friendship with Wendolyn deepened, and my testimony of the gospel along with it. Wendolyn’s mother even offered to help me pay for a mission if I ever decided to go. I was touched by their willingness to sacrifice for me and for the gospel.
I know it is sometimes hard to accept an outsider into your family, but these two families accepted me, and to them I owe my active participation in the Church today. I will be eternally grateful to these friends. What small miracles of friendship can do!

In 1838 the Saints in Missouri were ordered to leave the state or be killed. In October of that year, while meeting with the state militia (army) to resolve some problems, many Church leaders, including the Prophet Joseph Smith, were arrested for crimes they had not committed.
Towards evening I was waited upon by Colonel Hinkle, who stated that the officers of the militia desired to have an interview with me and some others. … I immediately complied. … Instead of being treated with … respect … , we were taken as prisoners of war, and treated with the utmost contempt.
Myself and fellow prisoners were taken to [Far West]. … I found my wife and children in tears, who feared we had been shot. … I was then obliged to take my departure. … My [wife] wept, my children clung to me, until they were thrust from me by the swords of the guards.
The prisoners were taken first to Independence, Missouri, then to Richmond, Missouri, where they were jailed while awaiting trial.
[We] were brought … for trial, charged with … high treason … , murder, burglary, arson [setting fires], robbery, and larceny [a kind of stealing]. …
Those of us who had been sentenced thereto, were [moved] to Liberty jail. …
After we were cast into prison, we heard nothing but threatenings, that, if any judge or jury, or court of any kind, should clear any of us, we should never get out of the state alive. …
Those who have not been enclosed in the walls of prison without cause … , can have but little idea how sweet the voice of a friend is; … and when the heart is sufficiently contrite, then the voice of inspiration steals along and whispers,
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment. …
“If thou art called to pass through tribulation; …
“If thou art accused with all manner of false accusations … and thou be dragged to prison, and thine enemies prowl around thee like wolves for the blood of the lamb;
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; … and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“… Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.” (D&C 121:7; D&C 122:5–9.)
In April 1839, after being in prison for about five months, the prisoners at Liberty jail were transferred to Boone County, Missouri, for another trial. They escaped with the assistance of the sheriff and the guards and fled to Illinois to join the other Saints who had been driven from Missouri.
(See History of the Church, vol. 3, pages 188–189, 193, 209, 215, 242–243, 293.)

Shortly after the 1985 April general conference, a guest band and chorus were to perform with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This event was being recorded, so there was a great deal of equipment set up in the Tabernacle.
The department I managed was responsible for tuning the great pipe organ. Fluctuation of the building’s temperature greatly affects the sound of this fine instrument. The performance had occurred on an especially warm night, so afterward we had left the Tabernacle doors open to allow the fresh evening air into the building. The organ could then cool down and be tuned for the next evening’s concert.
Unknown to us, a sparrow had flown into the Tabernacle while the doors were open. The building was later closed, and the bird was not discovered until the next morning.
When I arrived at work, I received a phone call from my employees, who had spent several hours trying to remove this bird from the Tabernacle. The Salt Lake City animal control people had been called, and they came with long-handled nets to capture the sparrow.
When I entered the building I found my employees racing back and forth through the Tabernacle, waving the long nets at the frightened bird. As they would run to one end with the nets, the frantic sparrow would fly to the other end of the building.
It flew from the top of the facade of the great pipe organ to the back of the building, where it would perch atop a bench. The only thing the nets accomplished was to terrify an already frightened bird. It couldn’t recognize that all the doors in the building were open for its escape.
The animal control people brought some pellet guns. Although they were not allowed to fire them on private property, they pointed out that our employees could borrow them to shoot the sparrow.
I immediately stopped that idea. The ceiling in the 118-year-old building was the original—made from plaster combined with fine animal hair to give it stability and its beautiful acoustic—and I didn’t want it damaged by pellets. There were other practical reasons not to shoot at the bird, including the risk of damaging the delicate recording equipment and musical instruments still on the stand. But more important, I did not feel it would be appropriate to kill this tiny creature. I remembered a talk by President Spencer W. Kimball about not shooting little birds.
The animal control people then suggested setting poisoned food out for the bird. I didn’t feel right about that, either. But the bird needed to be removed from the Tabernacle as quickly as possible. That night there would be a full house with several General Authorities and other dignitaries in attendance.
As the bird continued to fly back and forth, chirping loudly, the thought came to me that if this bird was important to Heavenly Father, perhaps I should ask him how to get it out of the building. I turned my back to the others, bowed my head, and said a simple prayer: “Heavenly Father, if this sparrow is important to you, could you please let us know how to safely remove it?”
I immediately had a strong impression of what to do. Closing the prayer, I turned and gave instructions to the workers. They turned off all the lights in the building, shut the window blinds, and closed all but one of the doors.
At that moment, the bird was perched on top of the organ’s facade. Suddenly he left his high perch, swooped down low, and flew out the open door to freedom.

“One time when Dad was a little boy his eyes were badly burned, and the doctor told him he would never see again. When the doctor changed the bandages, it was very painful so Dad would sing songs to help him get through the ordeal. To comfort his parents he would tell them not to worry because he was going to be fine. His faith proved so strong, even as a young boy, that not only does he see normally now, but no visible scar remains.”

In late September 2005, a group of Saints from the island of Chuuk in the Federated States of Micronesia made a journey west to the Manila Philippines Temple. This trip, which took them thousands of miles from their tiny island in the Pacific, was the first temple excursion from the island of Chuuk.
The group consisted of three sisters and two families from the Mwan and Mechitiw Branches of the Namoneas Chuuk District. They were accompanied by Elder Gordon and Sister Jerry Stewart, a senior missionary couple.
They spent four days doing temple work for themselves and for their ancestors. Members of the group expressed gratitude for the rare opportunity of receiving their temple blessings and felt it worthy of all their sacrifices to be able to do so. “I may someday be able to buy another little boat, but I will probably never have the chance to go to the temple again,” said Simion Anap, president of the Mechitiw Branch.
As part of the trip, President Anap’s family reunited with their daughter, Tersy, as she completed her mission in the Philippines Manila Mission.

Seeing the glass cup flooded my mind with pleasant memories. Glass sacrament cups were being used at the time I reached my 12th birthday, a very significant milestone in my life. My 12th birthday happened to fall on Sunday. For years I had watched the deacons pass the sacrament, anticipating the day that I would be blessed to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and have that privilege.
When that day finally arrived, I was asked to come to church early and meet with Brother Ambrose Call, second counselor in our ward bishopric. Brother Call invited me into a classroom and asked me to offer a prayer. He then opened the scriptures and read section 13 of the Doctrine and Covenants to me:
“Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of Levi do offer again an offering unto the Lord in righteousness.”
Brother Call then asked me to comment on this section. My explanation was surely not complete enough, so Brother Call took some time to explain to me what it meant to be a bearer of the holy priesthood. Being worthy to hold the priesthood entitled me to use the power God delegates to man. One who worthily holds the priesthood can legitimately perform the ordinances God has prescribed for the salvation of the human family. This authority comes directly from the Savior Himself through a continuing line of priesthood holders.
My interview with Brother Call must have been somewhat satisfactory, for I was taken into the deacons quorum meeting. There, the members of the bishopric laid their hands upon my head, and the bishop, who happened at the time to be my father, conferred upon me the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I was also sustained by the other deacons to become a member with them in a quorum of the priesthood.
In sacrament meeting that evening, I had my first opportunity to exercise the priesthood by passing the sacrament to the membership of our ward. The sacrament took on new meaning to me that day. As I watched the tray go up and down the rows of the members of the Church, I noticed that not everyone approached the sacrament with the same attitude. There were those who seemed to partake of the sacrament just as a matter of routine, but there were many, many who accepted the sacrament with great reverence.
Over the years, I have participated, as all of us have, in many sacrament meetings, and to me they really are more than just another meeting. Partaking of the sacrament provides us with a sacred moment in a holy place. We do it in accordance with the commandment the Lord gave us in section 59 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day” (v. 9).
From the very beginning, before the world was organized, God laid out a plan whereby He would offer blessings to His children based on their obedience to His commandments. He understood, however, that we would be distracted at times by the things of the world and would need to be reminded regularly of our covenants and His promises.
One of the first commandments given to Adam was that he should worship the Lord and offer the firstlings of his flocks as an offering to Him. This ordinance was given to remind the people that Jesus Christ would come into the world and would ultimately offer Himself as a sacrifice.
“And Adam was obedient unto the commandments of the Lord.
“And after many days an angel of the Lord appeared unto Adam, saying: Why dost thou offer sacrifices unto the Lord? And Adam said unto him: I know not, save the Lord commanded me.
“And then the angel spake, saying: This thing is a similitude of the sacrifice of the Only Begotten of the Father, which is full of grace and truth” (Moses 5:5–7).
From that day down until the time of our Savior, Heavenly Father’s children were commanded to offer sacrifices. It was discontinued with the Savior’s atoning sacrifice. Then, the night before He completed that sacrifice, the Savior instituted the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to help us remember Him and the Atonement He made for all mankind. Thus, in the ancient law of sacrifice and in the sacrament, the Lord has helped us be certain that we do not forget His promises and the requirement that we follow Him and obey His will.
In the New Testament we have an account of the Lord administering the sacrament to His disciples. This is found in Matthew, the 26th chapter:
“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.
“And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it;
“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins” (vv. 26–28).
The Book of Mormon, in 3 Nephi, chapter 18, gives us a detailed account of the Savior’s administration of the sacrament to the Nephites:
“And it came to pass that Jesus commanded his disciples that they should bring forth some bread and wine unto him.
“And while they were gone for bread and wine, he commanded the multitude that they should sit themselves down upon the earth.
“And when the disciples had come with bread and wine, he took of the bread and brake and blessed it; and he gave unto the disciples and commanded that they should eat.
“And when they had eaten and were filled, he commanded that they should give unto the multitude.
“And when the multitude had eaten and were filled, he said unto the disciples: Behold there shall one be ordained among you, and to him will I give power that he shall break bread and bless it and give it unto the people of my church, unto all those who shall believe and be baptized in my name.
“And this shall ye always observe to do, even as I have done, even as I have broken bread and blessed it and given it unto you.
“And this shall ye do in remembrance of my body, which I have shown unto you. And it shall be a testimony unto the Father that ye do always remember me. And if ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you.
“And it came to pass that when he said these words, he commanded his disciples that they should take of the wine of the cup and drink of it, and that they should also give unto the multitude that they might drink of it.
“And it came to pass that they did so, and did drink of it and were filled; and they gave unto the multitude, and they did drink, and they were filled.
“And when the disciples had done this, Jesus said unto them: Blessed are ye for this thing which ye have done, for this is fulfilling my commandments, and this doth witness unto the Father that ye are willing to do that which I have commanded you” (vv. 1–10).
His instructions are very clear that we should be willing to do what He has commanded us to do. It would surely be expected that in our day we would again be commanded to partake of the sacrament. As the Doctrine and Covenants tells us:
“It is expedient that the church meet together often to partake of bread and wine in the remembrance of the Lord Jesus” (D&C 20:75).
The purpose of partaking of the sacrament is, of course, to renew the covenants we have made with the Lord.
Elder Delbert L. Stapley instructed us in this when he said about covenants:
“The gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is a covenant between God and his people. … When baptized by an authorized servant of God, we covenant to do God’s will and to obey his commandments. … By partaking of the Sacrament we renew all covenants entered into with the Lord and pledge ourselves to take upon us the name of his Son, to always remember him and keep his commandments” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1965, 14).
The sacrament is one of the most sacred ordinances in the Church. Partaking of the sacrament worthily gives us an opportunity for spiritual growth.
I remember that when I was a child, beautiful music was played during the passing of the sacrament. The Brethren soon asked us to stop that practice because our minds were centered on the music rather than on the atoning sacrifice of our Lord and Savior. During the administration of the sacrament, we set aside the world. It is a period of spiritual renewal as we recognize the deep spiritual significance of the ordinance offered to each of us personally. If we were to become casual in partaking of the sacrament, we would lose the opportunity for spiritual growth.
Elder Melvin J. Ballard once said:
“I am a witness that there is a spirit attending the administration of the sacrament that warms the soul from head to foot; you feel the wounds of the spirit being healed, and the load is lifted. Comfort and happiness come to the soul that is worthy and truly desirous of partaking of this spiritual food” (“The Sacramental Covenant,” Improvement Era, Oct. 1919, 1027).
When we partake of the sacrament worthily, we remember the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior, that He gave up His life and took upon Himself the sins of the world that we may have the blessing of immortality. We take upon ourselves the name of our Savior and promise to always remember Him and to keep His commandments—that is, to “live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God” (D&C 84:44).
Parents, you have the responsibility of teaching your families the importance of attending sacrament meeting weekly. It should be a regular family practice. Every family needs that time of renewing and committing to live the gospel in accordance with the teachings of the Savior. Families, properly prepared, will attend sacrament meeting with a spirit of reverence and with gratitude for the opportunity of partaking of the sacred emblems.
I remember an experience our family had while on vacation at a resort area. Because the period of our stay included a Sunday, we made arrangements to attend a sacrament meeting at a nearby chapel. So did hundreds of others staying at the resort. The chapel was filled to overflowing. Before the meeting started, the bishop invited any attending deacons who were worthy and properly dressed to participate in the passing of the sacrament. An adequate number, dressed in white shirts and ties, came forward to receive instructions on how to handle such a large congregation. The ordinance was administered reverently and efficiently. As I observed the congregation, I saw that many were deeply moved by the spirit of the meeting.
After we returned to the resort, there was an obvious difference in the Sabbath-day activities compared to that of the weekdays. Boats remained tied at the dock; the lake was almost free of swimmers; and the dress for the Sabbath day was very appropriate. Those families saw the fulfillment of the Lord’s promise: by going to the house of prayer on His holy day and renewing their covenants to obey the commandments, they were able to keep themselves more fully unspotted from the world (see D&C 59:9).
May there be instilled in each of us an increased reverence for the Sabbath. May we more fully realize the special blessing of being able to partake of the sacrament and its significance in our lives. May we always remember Him and keep His commandments, which He has given us to fulfill the purpose of life and the hope of the eternities that are to come. This is the Lord’s work in which we are engaged. God lives. Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world. We’re permitted to be part of this great gospel plan, of which the sacrament is such a vital part. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) was a young man, he and his family lived on a farm during the summer. He had this experience there:
“There was a dead tree I wished to pull. I fastened one end of a chain to the tractor and the other end to the tree. As the tractor began to move, the tree shook a little, and then the chain broke.
“I looked at that broken link and wondered how it could have given way. I went to the hardware store and bought a repair link. I put it together again, but it was an awkward and ugly connection. The chain was never, never the same.”1

My friends and I crept up to the darkened porch. We placed the package in the middle of the welcome mat and pressed the doorbell, setting off a ring inside the house. The three of us ran and hid behind some bushes.
A light went on, and we watched as the object of our “attack” opened the front door and looked around before noticing what lay at her feet. She bent down, picked it up, and stood there on the porch reading the letter we’d written just for her. A smile slowly crept across her face, and her eyes scanned the area. Seeing nothing unusual—we were too well-hidden—she took her treat into the house.
It was just after the school year began. A few of us had wanted to make our senior year extra special. We decided to take our fellow seniors some cookies and a special note, telling them something we admired about them and calling ourselves the “Ram Phantom” because our school mascot was a ram. It took only once, and we were addicted. Soon every Saturday night was spent coming up with people we thought needed a pick-me-up.
That night Andrea (name has been changed) was on our list. I was especially excited because she was also in my ward. Andrea was painfully shy, and I had watched her all week at school, noticing that she seemed even more down than usual. So when we were discussing names, I made sure to bring her up.
The next day during Young Women, the lesson was on service. Our teacher asked for examples of service given and received. The entire class was surprised when Andrea’s hand went up. She said she had been having a really hard time lately. In her prayers she had been asking Heavenly Father to show her that someone noticed her, that someone really cared. Then last night, the doorbell rang, and someone had left her cookies and a note. She told us it was an answer to her prayers to know that someone thought good things about her.
At school the next day I noticed a change in Andrea. She looked people in the eye, perhaps wondering if they were the Ram Phantom. I told my friends what Andrea had said, and a feeling of peace settled over us, knowing we’d made a little difference in someone’s life.

Six worlds were about to get ROCKED! Specifically, the individual worlds of my family and myself.
I’ve always had a strange obsession with glow sticks (let the raised eyebrows commence), and now I had a way to create my very own, insanely awesome, massive glow stick with a few basic ingredients from the store. This handy bit of knowledge came compliments of an Internet video I’d seen earlier that day.
“Prepare to be amazed!” I said as my family crowded into a dark bathroom for the science experiment. I combined the mystical-yet-everyday ingredients of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and a soft drink into a container. Then I turned out the lights and sat back to watch the show.
One problem. Combining those three ingredients doesn’t produce any sort of glow whatsoever. Zero, zilch, nada.
It was a hoax. I found out later that the people who made this video secretly added—wait for it—a glow stick to their bogus science gimmick. They set out to deceive people and got me good. My family and I all felt disappointment as we realized we’d been duped.

Lauren had just finished her nightly prayer and started to get into bed when she noticed the hat. Chuckling, she picked it up from the desk chair where Sarah had left it. It was just like Sarah to forget her hat. She was always forgetting things.

Lauren put Sarah’s hat next to her own on the dresser. The two were identical, except that Lauren’s was slightly larger. They had bought the hats together at the first of the summer and had worn them all summer long. It was hard to believe that school would be starting next week. But there were still a few days left, and they had spent the afternoon planning just how to spend every minute until school started.

Sarah and Lauren had been best friends since before kindergarten. They had been in the same class every year in school. They both had red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. They both loved peppermint ice cream, the color lavender, the same books, the same games, the same music, and the same people. Everywhere one went, the other wanted to go, too. They were almost inseparable.

As Lauren turned again to get into bed, Mom came into her room. Lauren’s smile faded when she saw her mom’s face. Something was very wrong.

“Lauren, I have something very hard to tell you,” Mom said, sitting next to Lauren on the bed. “This evening Sarah was out riding her bike with her brother. She was hit by a car.”

“Hit by a car! Was she hurt? Where is she now—in the hospital? I have to go see her right now!”

“Sweetheart, Sarah died instantly. I’m sorry.”

“Died! She can’t have! I was with her all day long. She left her hat here. We’re going swimming tomorrow morning. Then bike riding, then …” Tears streamed down Lauren’s face, and she shook all over. Her mind kept racing on: Sarah can’t be dead! We’re going to be in the same class next week. We’re going to wear lookalike outfits the first day.

Mom held Lauren tightly as she sobbed. When the sobs quieted, Mom said, “I know how sad and hurt you feel right now. It always hurts a lot when you lose someone you love. This is a very hard time for you. But remember that Sarah is surely happy in the spirit world. She loved Heavenly Father very much.”

“It’s not fair!” Lauren cried. “It’s not fair at all! Why should Sarah have to die? She’s too good—why couldn’t some bad person die? She’s just eleven years old—why couldn’t Heavenly Father take some old person who was ready to die?”

“I know it doesn’t seem fair, and we may never understand in this life. But we can’t change what has already happened. And we must learn, somehow, to accept it.”

Lauren cried herself to sleep that night. She cried all the next day too. She cried not only for Sarah, but for herself. She didn’t know how she could go on living without her best friend. How could she go to school without Sarah? She wondered if Sarah was missing her as much as she missed Sarah. Where was heaven, anyway? What was it like? Would Sarah have a best friend there, too? A thousand more questions kept going around in Lauren’s mind.

The night before Sarah’s funeral, Lauren suddenly became very frightened. She had never been to a funeral before. What was it going to be like? What would happen? Would it be scary? She didn’t want anyone to put her best friend into the ground and just leave her. The tears and sobs started again, even harder than before.

As Lauren sobbed, she felt Mom’s arms around her. “Mom, what is it going to be like tomorrow at the funeral? What will happen? Does it hurt to be buried?”

Mom was quiet at first, looking as though she couldn’t quite put her thoughts into words. Then she smiled through her own tears and said, “You wait here. I’ll be right back.” A minute later she came back carrying a package of photographs.

“Lauren, Dad picked these up from the camera shop today.” She handed Lauren a package of photos.

Lauren looked at the one on top, and there gazing back at her was Sarah. Sarah was smiling and waving. Lauren looked back at Mom.

“These are the photos we took of you and Sarah at our picnic last month, remember?”

Of course Lauren did. How could she ever forget such a fun day?

She studied each photo. There were Sarah and she splashing in the creek with their pant legs rolled up. There they were climbing like monkeys in an old oak tree. How did Sarah keep her hat on when she was hanging by her knees in the tree? Lauren wondered as she looked at that photo. She started to laugh when she saw Sarah pulling one of her funny faces in the last photo. It felt so good to laugh again. For just a moment she forgot that Sarah had died.

“These photos aren’t actually Sarah, are they?” Mom asked. “They’re just likenesses. Even after a photo is taken of a person, that person goes on living. The likeness is left for others to see. Well, sort of like these photos, Sarah’s earthly body is left, but the real Sarah is living still. Unlike a photograph, her body will be buried, so you won’t be able to see it after tomorrow, but Sarah has gone on without her earthly body for a while. I want you to remember that tomorrow and always, Lauren.”

Mom went on to explain what the funeral would be like the next day. It helped Lauren to know what to expect. Although there wouldn’t be anything spooky or scary, she was still a little afraid. It helped to know that her parents would be with her.

Beautiful music was playing softly as Lauren and her parents entered the meetinghouse the next day. Lauren’s stomach felt empty and strange as they walked into the chapel. There were lots of people. Everyone looked so sad. Lauren fought back the tears as they walked to the front of the chapel, where Sarah’s family sat. Lauren held Mom’s hand tightly as she went up to Sarah’s mother, who had always seemed almost like a mom. When Sarah’s mother saw Lauren, she bent down and hugged Lauren close for a long while. When she stood up, Lauren saw tears and pain in her eyes.

“I thought you might like to have this photo of Sarah,” Lauren said, handing her one of the new photos. Sarah’s mother’s face lit up with a smile as she studied the photo.

“Thank you, Lauren. Thank you so much.”

Lauren and her parents sat down then. All through the funeral, Lauren saw Sarah’s mother looking down at her photo. As she looked at it, a small smile would cross her face. Lauren knew that the photo was helping Sarah’s mother remember that she and Sarah would be together again someday.

Lauren knew that Sarah was still her best friend. She would miss Sarah, but she was sure that Sarah was happy in the spirit world.

I had been going over an extensive reading list for the comprehensive exam I needed to pass to obtain my master’s degree in English. I hoped my preparation was adequate, but I worried that it was not. I had gone back to school at age 35, and remembering concepts often seemed more difficult than it had been when I was younger.
The test was to occur on Monday, and when Sunday morning came, I began to rationalize that my time would be better spent studying rather than attending Sunday School and Relief Society. I had almost decided to attend just sacrament meeting, but in the end I felt too guilty. I wondered what sort of example I would be setting for my young children. So I went to Sunday School and Relief Society.
The Gospel Doctrine lesson covered the book of Job, and the instructor, Brother Clayton Smith, was an eloquent and humble teacher who delivered a powerful, spiritual message. I held the scriptures open on my lap during the lesson and found my eyes drawn to a few particular verses that I read over and over again.
The next day I arrived at the room where the test was to be administered, and the proctor handed out the exam. It consisted of three essay questions, and I had three hours to complete them. Imagine my surprise when I read one of the questions: “Discuss the concept of suffering as illustrated by at least three literary works from the reading list.” The book of Job was one of the works on the list.
I was truly amazed at how easily I answered that question, my response highlighted with direct quotes from the verses I had read the previous day in Sunday School. Breezing through that essay allowed me extra time to complete the other two questions.
At the conclusion of the test I felt very grateful for my “extra” preparation. I also felt that, having participated in Brother Smith’s lesson, I had gained a spiritual perspective on Job that allowed me to answer the question with greater depth, fervor, and understanding than would otherwise have been possible.
Several weeks later, when the results of the test were posted, I discovered that I was the only student who had been awarded honors.
That was a Sunday School lesson I will never forget, particularly as it reinforced the concept of keeping the Sabbath day holy and never missing my meetings. I am grateful I was inspired to attend Gospel Doctrine that Sunday morning rather than cramming for my exam.

Some time ago I spoke with a priesthood leader who was prompted to memorize the names of all of the youth ages 13 to 21 in his stake. Using snapshots of the young men and women, he created flash cards that he reviewed while traveling on business and at other times. This priesthood leader quickly learned all the names of the youth.

One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture. In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.

At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: “I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.”

The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, “It means God knows who I am.” The remainder of the conversation between this young man and his priesthood leader was most meaningful, and they agreed to meet and counsel together from time to time during the following months.

That young man received the Lord’s tender mercies through an inspired priesthood leader. I repeat again, the Lord’s tender mercies do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Faithfulness and obedience enable us to receive these important gifts and, frequently, the Lord’s timing helps us to recognize them.

In a video series on mormonchannel.org, a young man named Bubba shares his story about how his life was headed for disaster.1 He had grown up in a violent home, where his father was murdered when Bubba was only three years old.
Bubba grew up choosing the same life he’d always seen. He joined a gang and started fights with anybody who crossed him. By high school he figured he would end up in prison before long. And he didn’t care.
God intervened. At this dangerous crossroads in his life, Bubba met a Latter-day Saint family who showed him loving kindness and goodness. He’d never been around people like this before—people who showed compassion and love. He started spending as much time with them as possible. When he asked the family why they acted the way they did, they said it was because of their faith in Jesus Christ.
He wanted to find out what they knew. He began praying and studying the scriptures. And soon he felt something he’d never felt before. “Surely there is a God, and He loves me!” Bubba says. With God’s help, Bubba began to build his life over again with Jesus Christ as the foundation, leaving his old life behind.
“My nature changed. Who I am as a human being is different than who I was. Now I have a purpose. I have a destiny,” he says. “I have somewhere that I’m going.”
These days Bubba sees his future with brightness, faith, and hope. “I know that it is only through Jesus Christ, my faith in Him, that will help me get to where I want to get to,” he says.2

On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”

Once Robert Norton got on a bike, he was a whole new person.
“Robert would go outside at eight in the morning and ride his bike in our driveway until ten at night. He got so good at it that he was the fastest Special Olympics cyclist in Connecticut,” says his younger brother Lee. “Before he got involved in Special Olympics, Robert was a loner. But when he came to Special Olympics, it was like he opened up. He made friends, and kids at school started talking to him where they hadn’t before.”
Robert, who was mentally disabled, died in 1992 of complications from a disease known as Marfan’s syndrome that attacked his heart. “I miss my brother, and I never put him out of my mind,” explains Lee. “The Special Olympics really fulfilled Robert’s life and were a great thing for him.”
But Robert’s memory lived on when the Special Olympics became a great thing for a group of LDS teenagers on the East Coast—Lee included.
Last summer, leaders of the New Haven and Hartford Stakes in Connecticut, and the Providence Rhode Island Stake, were planning to combine three youth conferences into one.
“The stakes were up for youth conference ideas, and they asked kids what they felt like doing,” recalls Lee, 15, a teacher in the New Haven Stake’s Newtown Ward. “We talked about doing community service; you know, gardening and stuff like that. But none of the ideas were even close to this.”
“This” was the more than 400 Latter-day Saint youth from the three stakes volunteering their services—ranging from cheerleading to working in concession stands—to the 7,000-plus athletes who gathered from 136 countries for the Special Olympics World Games held in and around New Haven. The youth conference theme was “Ye Are the Light of the World.” And they were.
“We really felt that we are like a candle and we can pass that light on to each other through caring and service to these athletes. You really can do that by just being a great example,” says Lee, who couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. The Special Olympics World Games were in his home state, and if there’s one thing Lee knows, it’s the Special Olympics.
Counting all the time he spent with Robert when his brother was competing, and then in 1994 when Lee was a Special Olympics volunteer for Connecticut’s state games, he understood what volunteering at the World Games involved. And he was able to watch other youth his age learn how much fun they could have through helping and serving the special-needs athletes during the three-day youth conference.
“I’m just really happy to see that all the kids here are really into this. They went up to the athletes and gave them hugs, gave them a high-five or whatever they needed,” says Lee.
Ben Johansen, a priest in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, agrees. “We had a lot of fun. We wanted to be here serving, and everything has been totally focused on serving. These athletes do the best with the abilities they’ve been given. I’ve learned that the winners in this life are the ones who do the most with what they have, not who crosses the finish line first.”
At the track-and-field venue during the week-long competition, the LDS youth gathered near where the athletes entered the track, and took time to shake hands, give pats on the back, and offer general encouragement. The athletes’ smiles got even bigger when they were asked for their autographs.
“They’re just so happy when you smile or say congratulations to them. As soon as you start talking to them, they’re just so cheerful and talkative,” says Stephanie Perry.
That attitude rubbed off on the LDS youth too.
“At other youth conferences I’ve been to, we do service and then one of our leaders gets a letter of thanks and half the people who worked on the project don’t even realize what we did was appreciated. It’s so much better being interactive,” says Merilee Hales, who moved to Florida a couple of weeks after the Olympics ended. “You could see the excitement these kids had when we would shake their hands and give high-fives.”
Says Ben Stratford of the Trumbull First Ward, “The best thing about it was the time we spent with the Special Olympians and the example they provided for me.”
On a brutally hot day in New Haven, many of the youth gathered in the Yale Bowl, Yale University’s football stadium, with brooms in hand. Their job was to sweep up debris in preparation for the Games’ closing ceremonies. While he swept piles of garbage into bags, Lee stopped to consider what they had been doing during their three days of service.
“Sweeping is just manual work. After you’re done sweeping, the Yale Bowl is not going to remember you sweeping it,” he says. “But these athletes will remember you. They’ll remember us. That’s what really means a lot to me. And I will remember them.”
It wasn’t that Lee was ungrateful having to spend part of his youth conference cleaning up after others. It was just that he enjoyed interacting with the athletes more. When Lee was with the Special Olympians he saw real joy and happiness, especially when the athletes would smile at him.
And as Lee smiled back, he couldn’t help but think of Robert.
Julius Blackwelder, teachers quorum adviser in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, explained his plan to the quorum members in 1991. He wanted to form a sailing group that wouldn’t just be for the young men’s enjoyment. His vision was to have the youth gather each Friday during the summer at Jennings Beach on the Atlantic Ocean in nearby Fairfield for a day of catamaran sailing. And he wanted it to be a fellowshipping tool—a way to attract the less-active in the ward and the boys’ nonmember friends.
Everybody liked the idea, and the plan, along with the boats, was launched. They called themselves the Sea Rats.
“We start right at the beginning of June. Once school is over we start sailing,” says 17-year-old Aaron Blackwelder, Brother Blackwelder’s son. “We start at ten in the morning, set up the boats, and just go out and sail. We felt we had to be friends with the less-active members first, and this is a way to bring nonmember friends out and make friendships with less-active members.”
In the group’s five-year existence, the Sea Rats now count 50 kids from the New Haven Connecticut Stake who spend the day on the group’s four catamarans. The Sea Rats have a routine that rarely changes—unless a worldwide event rolls into town.
Last July, organizers of the Special Olympics World Games approached the Sea Rats and asked if they would donate the use of their boats for the Games’ sailing events being held at nearby Savin Rock.
“We said, ‘Sure, no problem. We’ll donate the boats,’” says Drew Brown, 17, “but we also told them we wanted to donate our services and work as safety officers for the Olympians.”
As safety officers, the Sea Rats served as dead weight—or ballast—on the boats they loaned. “We made sure [the Olympians] were safe, that they didn’t get dehydrated,” says Drew. “We got to help them out and make sure they didn’t get tangled in the line. Things like that.”
Adds Ryan Brown, Drew’s younger brother, “It was fun getting to know these athletes. They’re a little slower in doing things, but they’re a lot more trusting.”
That’s something Aaron understands. His older sister Liz has both physical and mental handicaps. “I’ve always grown up with a sister with some disabilities, and that’s normal for me. It’s helped me to have patience and to deal with people better,” he says.
After only a few hours at the beach with the Special Olympians, Victor Solis, a member of the Trumbull Spanish Branch, understood why the Sea Rats gave up, not only their boats, but their time for this one week.
“These athletes have a few setbacks, but they’re choice spirits and they’re special. They just can’t get everything to work like we can. Because you have been given much, like the hymn says, you, too, must give. We’re just giving back a little bit more because of all we have.”

That winter I decided I had to become like her. I tried ballet. I tried drama. I started doing many of the things in which she was interested. Nothing seemed right for me, and I became more frustrated. Although I had regularly prayed, I now developed an even greater need to communicate my thoughts with God. I spent many hours on my knees asking that I might gain peace of mind and understanding of DeNeece and my feelings toward her. It seemed my prayers were finally answered through DeNeece herself. Because of her deep concern for others, she sensed my growing struggle. She knew she needed to help me, so we walked and talked again in the snow.
“Michelle, I am glad you’re you. I’m grateful that you have shared your special talents with me. Help me to become more patient and understanding like you. Help me learn to be close to people on a one-to-one basis. You have so many of the refined qualities that I desire to have someday. Discover how special you really are; then be the best of what you can be. Don’t try to be another DeNeece; be a Michelle. Your gifts and talents will flourish, and we can grow together.”
I was very surprised to find that she desired some of the traits I had. She helped me see that I was trying to mold my ball exactly like hers, yet after many months of uncertain effort, my snowball was still quite small.