Gospel Story Finder

As missionaries we have only so much spare time during our days, so I am gladly foregoing my dinner this evening to have enough time to write and thank you for the December New Era. Many times a missionary tends to feel that he is left out in right field while all the excitement and activities go on without him, even though he understands his special calling and is working to magnify it. These times often come during special family events, the changing of the seasons, and especially during the winter holidays such as Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. With Christmas coming I found myself in such a state. When I received the December New Era and glanced through it, I felt more left out than even at first. But then I read the articles “The Spirit of Christmas” by Elder Thomas S. Monson and “Give Yourself Away” by Laurie Sowby. These special articles truly brought a great uplifting surge of enthusiasm to my spirit. It was sort of like getting into a spiritual elevator. At once all those negative feelings left, and I realized that I could really participate in the spirit of Christmas by giving myself away more and giving to people the best gift of all, the gospel of Jesus Christ. After that things really started to happen. Each day brought a special Christmas spirit. We are now helping a wonderful family to prepare for baptism as one of their Christmas presents. This has turned out to be one of the most wonderful Christmases that I have ever experienced. I’m sure that you were inspired to put those two very special articles in the December issue.
Elder Julius C. Blackwelder, IICalifornia Oakland Mission

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

John has already started saving money for a mission. When John was baptized by his father, he received a set of scriptures from his parents. John uses his scriptures at church, during family home evenings, and when his family reads scriptures each morning. He loves the stories in the scriptures, and his favorite is the one about David and Goliath. John was happy to be able to appear in a road show about David and Goliath.

In 1988 life was pretty normal for Jared Anderson of Pocatello, Idaho. Much like other ten-year-old boys, he had a paper route and assigned chores around the house. He loved to play basketball and baseball and ride bicycles with his friends. But during that year his life changed quite dramatically when he suddenly became responsible for assisting with his mother’s care.
Thirteen-year-old Jared still remembers the pain he felt when he heard that his mother had collapsed with a grand mal seizure one April Sunday in 1988. Jared was visiting that day at his grandmother’s home when a phone call came from the hospital. Tests and surgery later that week confirmed that Marcia Anderson had two types of brain cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live. “I was really scared,” Jared recalls. “It was so frightening to hear that my mother was dying. She has been my best friend. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her.” Now it’s Jared who is there when his mom needs him. He is the youngest of four children in Neil and Marcia Anderson’s family and has the most time at home to be with his mom. Jared’s oldest sister, Trina, is married; his brother, Shane, is on a mission in Roanoke, Virginia; and his sister Kim is a senior in high school.
After Sister Anderson’s surgery, she had to relearn everything—walking, speaking, reading, writing, and dressing herself. She has been involved in extensive physical therapy—all of which Jared has learned to help her with. She still suffers from seizures. So nurses taught Jared how to reduce the danger of her seizures by catching her when she would fall and holding her head so it wouldn’t be injured.
“Jared has a kind of sixth sense,” his mother recalls, “and he always seems to get there to help me at the very moment I need him.” But Jared explains that any boy would do that for a mom he loved.
Jared has cheered his mother on as she has outlived the doctors’ predictions. He has helped her progress from bed to wheelchair to walking again. Through it all, Jared has turned to his Heavenly Father for help. “Even when she’s having seizures, I always stop and pray for help, but I remember also to ask Heavenly Father that his will be done.” He adds, “It has taught me a lot about patience.”

Several years ago, I had the opportunity of traveling with the President of the Church to attend a series of area conferences. I will never forget the contrast between two conferences that were held just a few days apart.
The first area conference was held in a large arena, and as we sat on the stand, we noticed continuous movement by the people. We saw individuals throughout the arena leaning over and whispering to family members and friends seated next to them. Giving the members the benefit of the doubt, we thought that maybe the large building helped cause the lack of reverence.
A few days later, we were in another country attending another area conference in an arena much like the first. When we entered the building, however, an immediate hush came over the congregation. As we sat through the two-hour general session, there was very little movement among the people. Everyone listened intently. Great attention and respect were shown all the speakers, and when the prophet spoke, you could hear a pin drop.
After the meeting was over, I asked the priesthood leaders about what they had done to prepare the people for the conference. They told me their preparation had been simple. They had asked priesthood holders to explain to the members of their families, and also the families they home taught, that at an area conference they would have the privilege of hearing the words of the prophet and the apostles. The priesthood leaders explained that the reverence their people felt for God and His servants was the basis for their reverent behavior at the conference.

Doni hefted the shot easily in one hand and took her position at the end of the school’s playing field. She paused, balanced in her stance, the shot cradled against her neck. She pushed off, and with an explosion of air, released the shot. She watched it hit the turf and groaned in frustration. It wasn’t going anywhere.
It was Doni DeCory’s senior year, her last year of high school track. For two years she had held the South Dakota state championship in shot put. But during this, her senior year, when she was expected to take the title for the third consecutive year, she was falling apart.
“I wasn’t throwing anywhere near what I did in my junior year,” said Doni. “People were saying, ‘Come on, Doni, you’ve got to take the state record again.’ There was so much pressure. I just wanted to quit.”
Doni did quit—for a day. The next day, when she didn’t leave for practice, her mother asked why she wasn’t going. “Mom, it’s over with,” said Doni. “I can’t do anything. I’m not going.”
“Then I asked my mom what she thought about my quitting. She said, ‘It’s up to you. We’re not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do. But think about it, Doni. Is this really you? Do you really want to quit?’ Then she left the room, and the decision was up to me.”
Doni thought about it, until an idea occurred to her. If she quit now, then she’d always want to quit when things got too hard. Her mother and dad had supported her since grade school in her schoolwork and in her sports. They came, not just to her games and meets, but to all her practices. They had always been there for her. Now when things were going so badly, she knew she could turn to them again for help.
Doni didn’t quit, but her throwing did not improve much. Her parents practiced with her, retrieving the shot over and over. It took time. Her mental composure returned; then her tosses lengthened. She peaked right when she was supposed to, at the state championships when she took the title for the third straight year.
Doni’s story could be like many others where a talented athlete overcomes discouragement and goes on to win. But Doni’s story is a little more complicated than that. No one in her little town of Pine Ridge, South Dakota, even knew how to coach her in shot put. Her mother and the running coach together would try to figure out suggestions for improvement by watching tapes. The odds of her doing well were very much against her. If Doni had said, “I can’t do it,” not too many people would have argued with her.
But Doni wanted to give it a try, and through her efforts and faith, the support of her family and friends, and her natural athletic ability she accomplished great things.
Doni had a reputation for success. She played varsity basketball and volleyball. She ran track. She was a cheerleader. And she was an excellent student and graduated as valedictorian of her high school. She also was the recipient of a national $20,000 scholarship that, combined with her athletic scholarship, will cover most of her college expenses at Brigham Young University.
She was one of 50 students across the nation to receive the top scholarships offered by a big soft drink company. The competition was incredible, with 50,000 students applying for the scholarships. Doni’s chances seemed minuscule.
Again, if Doni herself had said that she didn’t have a chance, many might have agreed with her. After all, Pine Ridge, South Dakota, on the reservation of the Oglala-Sioux, is in one of the poorest counties in the nation. The high school is small and doesn’t offer as sophisticated an education as larger schools. But Doni had already learned some lessons from her sports about accepting a challenge. “Sometimes small towns can’t offer the latest technical background, so the only way you can really improve is to challenge yourself and to challenge your teachers. It can earn you a chance.”
Doni and her dad found out about the scholarship by reading through books that described different scholarships offered each year. Her application was accepted. Then began a grueling series of essays, with half of the applicants eliminated after each round.
Doni got tired of writing essays. Sometimes she felt like she had nothing to say. When that happened, her dad would sit at the kitchen table and talk when it was her turn to do the dishes. He would guide the conversation until Doni was telling him what she thought about the future and about the things she was studying. Then, when the dishes were finished, he would say to her, “Okay, that’s what your next essay is about. Go write down what you just said.”
Doni made it to the last 100 contestants. Then she had to appear in person before a panel of judges who questioned her about her essays. There was no way to prepare. You just had to go in and do your best. She did it and was one of the final 50 to receive the scholarships.
Now Doni’s at college. She’s loving being just a number in a huge crowd. “At home I would be Doni DeCory, the smartest one in the class. But here no one knows who you are. If I get a 100 on a test, it really means something to me. No one else even knows what I get.”
Doni also made a big step during her high school years when she, along with her mother and little brother, joined the Church. Before accepting the challenge to be baptized, Doni attended five different churches to find out where she felt comfortable. “I never felt anything at the other churches,” said Doni, “But when I walked in the door of the Pine Ridge Ward, I felt a funny feeling. I didn’t know what it was, but it gave me the chills. I looked at my mom and she looked at me. She had felt it too. And then everyone was glad to see us. They didn’t know who we were, but there was just that feeling there.”
Being away from home at college was hard at first because her mom and dad weren’t there at practices when things were not going well. And she misses her little brother Senecca, the one she likes to pal around with at home. Last year, when Doni would get discouraged, he would come into her room, give her a hug, and tell her he wanted to be just like her. Now he’s not there to do that.
It’s also tough on Senecca being Doni’s little brother. “In junior high he’s already got pressures,” said Doni. “People say, ‘How come you’re not good at this? Your sister is.’ He has to go through a lot of that. He could resent me, but he is just as encouraging as my parents are. He and I can talk. He’s really smart for a little boy.”
Doni heads for a practice field at BYU, a Division I university. She always wanted to compete at that high level but wondered sometimes about her chances of making it, coming from such a small town in such a remote state. But Doni has learned how to succeed. She has learned to knock and see what kinds of doors will open.
When Doni DeCory says, “I can”—believe her.

Later, Joseph stood beside a stream and witnessed the baptisms of his mother and father into the Church. After years of taking different paths in their search for truth, they were finally united in faith. As his father came out of the water, Joseph took him by the hand, helped him onto the bank, and embraced him.
“My God,” he cried, burying his face in his father’s chest, “I have lived to see my father baptized into the true church of Jesus Christ!”24
That evening, Joseph slipped away into some nearby woods, his heart bursting with emotion. He wanted to be alone, out of sight of friends and family. In the 10 years since his First Vision, he had seen the heavens open, felt the Spirit of God, and been tutored by angels. He had also sinned and lost his gift, only to repent, receive God’s mercy, and translate the Book of Mormon by His power and grace.
Now Jesus Christ had restored His Church and authorized Joseph with the same priesthood that Apostles had held anciently when they carried the gospel to the world.25 The happiness he felt was too much for him to hold in, and when Joseph Knight and Oliver found him later that night, he was weeping.
His joy was full. The work had begun.26

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

At one time during the freeze, I had to leave my home to go to a boarding school. When I got there, one of the teachers heard that I was a Latter-day Saint. He singled me out to talk negatively about the Church to me. He had so many harsh words to say. I often wondered, “Why are you picking on me and saying these things? I believe in the teachings of the gospel, but I’m still a person.”
One day he asked me how I could call myself a Mormon anymore. Didn’t I know about the freeze? Now, in our culture, we don’t talk back to adults. So the fact that he was a teacher meant that I couldn’t challenge him. But in that moment, I realized that I really had a testimony. I don’t know how these words came out of my mouth, but the Spirit came to me, and I stood up and said, “The Church is in my heart. And nobody can freeze what’s in my heart.”
And after that he left me alone.
In November 1990 the government ended the freeze and said our Church members were free to worship again. We didn’t have radios or televisions on school campus, so I only found out because that teacher heard and immediately sent someone to get me. When he saw me, my teacher said, “The ban on your Church has been lifted! You can go to church again.”
He was happy for me.

Sam looked sad.
“What’s the matter?” Jackie asked.
“There’s still no snow,” Sam said. “What fun is winter without snow?”
Jackie had an idea. She went into her room and shut the door.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” she called.
Sam waited. He heard crinkle, crinkle, snip, snip, snip. He was curious! So he knocked on the door. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Be patient,” Jackie said. “You’ll see.”
Sam was tired of waiting. He sat on a chair in the living room and read a book. After a while he felt something fall softly on his head. He picked it up.
“A snowflake!” he declared.
Then more snowflakes fell on him. He looked behind the chair.
“Surprise!” Jackie shouted. “It’s snowing!”
Sam laughed as he held up a snowflake. “This is the best kind of snow,” he said. “It never melts.”

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked.
“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.
Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.
The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.
“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.
“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”
Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.
The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s, too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”
For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.
Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”
After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.
The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”
Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”
Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”
“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”
Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.
After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.
“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.
“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.
The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”
“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.
Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”
Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”
“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.
“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”
Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.
“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”
Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”
Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane, and something told me to say I was staying with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out that the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I did, and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 [Isa. 1:18] can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: ‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.’”

I affirm to you, my young brethren and sisters, that that principle of revelation is a constantly operative principle, and I close with one other experience.
I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I ’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”

He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.

He said, “No, just one name.”

And I said, “Suppose he were not available or not eligible? Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Brother Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

Matthew’s family went to New York City for spring break. He saw some really cool things—the Statue of Liberty, the Manhattan Temple, and a lot more. But he saw one thing that definitely wasn’t cool: a huge ad on a building with a really immodest picture on it.
Matthew turned his head away. But the picture stuck in his mind. He tried thinking about other things. But that just reminded him of what he was trying to forget!
As weeks passed, he got more and more frustrated. Then one night at dinner Mom said something that made things even worse.
“Matthew, I can’t believe you’re almost 12,” she said. “It’s time to have your bishop’s interview for the Aaronic Priesthood.”
Dad smiled at Matthew. “I’ll call and set it up.”
Matthew stopped eating. What if he wasn’t worthy to be a deacon because he couldn’t forget the bad picture? Mom and Dad kept smiling and talking. They didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.
A few days later Matthew overheard Mom talking to Grandma on the phone. “Matthew seems to be worried about turning 12,” she said. “Maybe he’s worried about passing the sacrament.”
So Mom had noticed! Would he get in trouble if she knew what was really wrong?
After Mom said bye to Grandma, Matthew sat down on the couch. “I heard you talking about me seeming worried and stuff.” He took a deep breath. Then he blurted everything out. About how hard he’d tried to forget what he’d seen, but couldn’t.
“Maybe I’m not ready to be a deacon,” he said.
Mom put her arm around him. “First, you need to know that you didn’t sin by seeing that picture. It wasn’t your fault. Also, being worthy doesn’t mean being perfect.”
Part of Matthew’s worry disappeared, but not all. “So then why is it so hard to get that picture out of my head? Why does it make me feel so bad?”
“Well, it still hurt your spirit. And it might take a while for those thoughts to fade away,” Mom said. “But the great news is that Jesus Christ’s Atonement can help heal us from everything, even things that aren’t our fault. Do you remember the scripture you learned for the Primary program?”
“Yeah—Alma 7:11. It says that Jesus takes people’s pains and sicknesses.”
“That means He can help you feel better again,” Mom said. “You’ve felt a lot of pain lately, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Matthew said.
“Well, you can pray and ask for His help. And you can have faith that He wants to help you and can help you. You can’t do it by yourself.”
Matthew nodded. The whole time he’d been fighting bad thoughts, he hadn’t wanted to pray. He’d felt too embarrassed.
That night, he knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help him stop thinking about what he’d seen and to help him feel worthy to have the Aaronic Priesthood. Then he fell asleep faster than he had in a long time.
On Sunday, Matthew got dressed for his interview with the bishop. He felt happy and thankful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Now when the bishop asked if he was ready to receive the priesthood, he knew he could answer, “Yes!”

I grew up in El Paso, Texas. My father fought in World War II, so while he was away, my grandpa did his best to be like a father to me.
One day while sitting on the sidewalk, I saw a car coming slowly up the street. Smoke billowed out from under the hood. When the car was right in front of me, it stopped working. A man jumped out while his wife and five children waited inside, crying. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I knew they were from Mexico because of their license plate.
Just then my grandpa drove by. He stopped and spoke in Spanish, asking them what the problem was. I kept hearing the word templo, and I thought, “That sounds like ‘temple.’” I soon found out that this family was driving to the Mesa Arizona Temple to be sealed. At that time, there were no temples in Mexico or Central America.
My grandpa took them to his house where he fed them and let them stay for the night. Then he took their car to the mechanic and had a new engine put in. When they left, he gave them extra money to help them on their way. I have always remembered the kindness he showed them.

One Sunday while serving as a bishop in Mexico, I sat on the stand just before sacrament meeting and noticed a sister come into the chapel. She was a recent convert and always seemed shy. The Spirit prompted me to find out how the ward council could help her feel more comfortable at church. I asked the Relief Society president to reach out to this sister.

Sometime later, the Relief Society president told me, “Bishop, this sister really needs to have teeth replaced.”

This was one of the reasons this sister was so shy. She didn’t talk or smile because she didn’t want anyone to see her teeth. The Relief Society president asked what we should do. I decided to arrange for a dentist to examine her and find out what needed to be done.

“Are you sure?” the Relief Society president asked. “It could be expensive.”

I told her we could go ahead. As a ward, we found a way to help this sister. When I saw her again, she was talking and smiling. I had never seen her smile before!

From that point on, this sister’s life changed. She became a more active member of the ward and eventually went to the temple. Today she is a temple ordinance worker. I am sure if I ever go to the temple where she serves, I will see her smiling.

“I just have to accept that my study time is going to be short and full of interruptions. I often have a child on my lap or on the chair next to me as I study. I give them something to scribble on and read out loud to them from the scriptures or manual. Sometimes I explain what the verses mean and ask them questions from the book. Some days are better than others. Often I can’t even remember what I studied, but I feel blessed for at least making the effort.” —Emily J.

As a young teen growing up in Santiago, Chile, Andrea González never had much except for a dream—a university degree that would allow her to support her family if necessary.
To get there, she hoped to graduate from seminary, get good grades at school, and score high enough on her college placement exam (PSU) to go to a university where she could study engineering.
But by the time she had started her final year of high school in preparation for the PSU, she started to wonder if any of that was possible. “All my goals seemed impossible to achieve,” she recalls.
Andrea was trying to break into a competitive and male-dominated field of study. Because of the competition, the top universities were looking for extremely high scores on the math portion of the PSU, scores usually earned by those who could afford to attend private schools.
To try and overcome these obstacles, Andrea kept a daunting schedule her final year. She was up early and studying after school until late, eating when she had a free moment and squeezing in seminary four nights a week.
“It was discouraging sometimes,” she says. “I had to sacrifice a lot. I don’t know how many times my friends heard me say, ‘No, I’ve got to study’ or how often I’ve been teased for being smart.”
But she knew she couldn’t give up if she wanted to secure her future.
Her sacrifices paid off. On the math section of the PSU, Andrea was one of 200 students in the country to earn a perfect score of 850 and one of only two girls from public schools to do so.
She also graduated from seminary, got the good grades she studied so hard for, and was named by her classmates as the year’s “Best Friend” because of all of the time she spent helping others with their own studying.
But Andrea believes her success has less to do with how much she knows than it does with what she knows she must do. In other words, blessings come from following the Lord’s counsel, not our own (see 2 Nephi 9:28–29). “It’s not worth anything to be smart if we ignore God,” she says. “You always have to put God first.”
Learning that principle as she studied for her college entrance exam was critical to the other test Andrea was taking—the test of life that everyone must take.
The Lord Himself explains this test in the scriptures: “We will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them” (Abraham 3:25).
“Heavenly Father tests us to see what we will do,” Andrea says, thinking back on the difficult schedule she had to keep and the teasing she sometimes had to endure. “To pass life’s test, we have to be obedient,” Andrea says.
And not just when things are going well but during the hard times too.
“The great test of life,” said President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, “is to see whether we will hearken to and obey God’s commands in the midst of the storms of life.”
Often her two tests collided. That’s when Andrea learned that putting God first was the secret to passing both tests.
Many times she had to choose between Church activities and school activities, between studying the gospel and studying for her test. She says she learned early on that she felt better if she chose Church first. It strengthened her testimony that Heavenly Father would help her with her concerns if her first concern was Him.
These experiences also taught Andrea another important lesson. “He is capable of helping me with the tests He has given me,” she says.
Or as one of her heroes, Nephi, said, “I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Andrea knows that even though she has passed her first test, there is a lot she must learn before she’ll feel ready to pass the next.
But she knows if she puts God first, He’ll help her pass that test too.

At first, it was a struggle to gain the good habit of reading every day. With home-study seminary, students have to do a lot of study on their own in workbooks. Sister Hirtle says, “With some I started off with a small goal—just one verse a day, one verse before your head hits the pillow. Read it and ask yourself what it means. Do it for 14 days, and it starts to become a habit.” Then as her students gained the habit of reading each day, they moved up to putting stickers on a reading chart with the reward of an ice cream cake for the class at the end of the year. This turned out to be so much fun it is now a class tradition.

It was the summer of 1872 in the far Northwest, and Mike and Rena King were hurrying home from their Aunt Alta’s. Mike carried a package of fresh meat from Uncle Duane in a tin bucket. As they followed an old Indian trail, they could hear the rushing waters of the Nooksack River.
Suddenly Rena said in a hushed voice, “The birds have stopped singing.” She pulled at her brother’s sleeve. “I’m scared, Mike, and it’s getting dark.”
The sky had turned gray and heavy, and a deep rumble echoed along the canyon walls. The tallest alder trees shivered, their leafy branches whispering.
“The clouds make it look later than it is,” answered Mike.
“Can’t we walk faster?” Rena urged, tugging harder on her brother’s sleeve. She kept looking into the thick underbrush on either side of the path. “There’s something in there!” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”
A deep, loud boom sounded in the forest and Rena leaped ahead. Mike soon caught up with her. “It’s only thunder,” he assured her.
“Let’s go back,” Rena pleaded, tears in her brown eyes.
Mike tried to sound brave and encouraging. “We’ll make it,” he said. “We’re already half way home.” But the strange silence between thunderclaps had unnerved him too. “We’ll run awhile if you want to. Our turnoff is just ahead.”
Puffing hard, they jogged to the bend, then slowed to a walk as the path led up the ridge known as Squaw Hill. The trees were farther apart now and the sky seemed lighter.
“Still scared?” asked Mike.
Rena shook her dark head. “But it was spooky back there.”
They had not gone far when Rena exclaimed, “Oh look, Mike, blackberries!”
Mike tasted the small tart berries. “We can pick enough in a few minutes for a pie.”
“I love wild blackberry pie,” said Rena. “Pick as fast as you can.”
Mike handed Rena the deer meat and his fingers flew among the thorny brambles until the tin pail was nearly full. “That should be enough,” he declared.
“This package is leaking,” Rena said, wrinkling her nose. “Do I have to carry it?”
“Only for a little while,” Mike answered. “We can’t put it back in the pail or it would squash the blackberries.”
Rena sighed and held the bundle away from her long warm coat. “The sky’s getting blacker again,” she said.
Mike looked up. “It sure is. We’ll have to make up for lost time. Maybe we shouldn’t have stopped for the berries.”
“But I LOVE blackberry pie,” Rena countered. “Besides, I was just being a scaredy-cat, and we’re almost to the top of the hill now.”
“We still have that stretch of bluejoint (grass) to go through,” Mike reminded her.
From the top of Squaw Hill they could see their house across the valley. Twin curls of smoke rose from the stone chimneys.
As they neared the field of waving bluejoint, Mike sniffed. “Smells good.”
“It’s twice as tall as I am,” said Rena. “I’ll race you home!” She turned to glance at her brother, but her attention was caught by a movement half way up the ridge. “Mike, a big tan dog is following us,” she whispered.
A shriek pierced the air like a woman screaming. Rena’s face turned white and Mike put his arm around her shaking shoulders. “It’s not a dog!” he exclaimed. “Only one animal makes a noise like that—a cougar!”
“It’s coming this way! Run Mike!”
“No!” All the stories Mike had ever heard about the huge cats flashed through his mind. He gripped Rena’s arm. “Go slow and easy until we’re out of his sight,” he warned her.
Rena forced her trembling legs to take slow steps as Mike backed after her. The big cat’s tawny, rippling body bounded with powerful grace, floating over the ground with distance-eating speed. Mike’s heart sank. He knew they couldn’t possibly reach home before the swift animal caught up with them. He felt the first blades of bluejoint on his back. He whirled and shouted at his sister. “Run, Rena. Don’t look back, no matter what!”
The grass tunnel seemed endless. Then Rena tripped and fell, almost dropping the venison.
Mike knelt beside her. They could hear the rustle of dry grass, even before they saw the great moving shadow blending with the dusk. The cougar crouched and inched toward them. His ears lay back.
“He smells the meat!” cried Mike. He pulled Rena to her feet, grabbed the venison from her arms and hurled it in the path of the advancing cougar.
The giant cat circled the package.
Growling and slashing at the wrapping, the lanky beast ripped the meat apart.
Mike and Rena broke out of the tall grass and pounded up the path, darting quick looks behind them.
Reaching the house, they lunged inside and slammed the door. Both speaking at once, they panted out the story to their parents. “And we almost didn’t think to throw the package of meat down!” Mike said, grinning in relief.
Father gently pried the boy’s white, cramped fingers from around the handle of the tin bucket. A few wild blackberries were still in the bottom of it.