While I was working on my doctoral degree and teaching music in the United States, I strove to live the gospel and feel God’s influence in my life. I was far from home and at times felt lonely, but I felt His love and voice guiding my decisions.
One day the feeling came that I should return to my home country of Bolivia. Returning was not a decision I made lightly. Things were going well. But after praying, I felt strongly that I should return because something important awaited me.
After my return, a bachelor’s program in music opened at one of Bolivia’s top universities, where I found a job as a professor.
In my home ward, I soon met a young woman I had never seen before. Her parents had converted to the Church while I was preparing to leave for the United States years earlier. We began dating and got married, which has been a great blessing in my life.
Describe what you're looking for in natural language and our AI will find the perfect stories for you.
Can't decide what to read? Let us pick a story at random from our entire collection.
The Lord Led Me Home
Summary: While studying and teaching music in the United States, the author felt prompted to return to Bolivia despite things going well. After returning, he received a university position and met a young woman in his home ward whom he later married.
Read more →
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Young Adults
👤 Other
Conversion
Dating and Courtship
Education
Employment
Faith
Family
Holy Ghost
Marriage
Music
Prayer
Revelation
“Having Been Born of Goodly Parents”
Summary: The story traces the ancestry of Harold Bingham Lee, beginning with William Lee, who emigrated from Ireland, fought in the American Revolution, and recovered after being left for dead. It follows Samuel Lee’s descendants through their Church membership, western migrations, hardships in Meadow Valley, and the bravery of Sister Jane Johnson Lee and Margaret McMurrin Lee. The passage closes by showing how this heritage led to the birth of Harold Bingham Lee and framing him as a prophet born of “goodly parents.”
William Lee came from the old sod in 1745. He must have had an unexplained urge, because he could not know really why he came. He might think it was to better his condition. He fought in the American Revolution and was wounded. Many of us have ancestors who are reported to have fought in the Revolution, but few of them were wounded. This man was left for dead in the battle of Guilford County Courthouse in the Carolinas in March 1781. Thanks to good nursing he recovered and as in all good endings, married his nurse. Four sons came to him, one of whom was Samuel, who was the youngest.
Samuel’s sons, Francis, Alfred, and Eli, and their families joined the Church in 1832, about the time that my great-grandfather joined. They suffered through all the vicissitudes and the troubles and persecutions and mobbings of Jackson County, Far West, and Nauvoo, and finally came west. At Winter Quarters their father joined them. He had not joined the Church until this time but joined shortly afterward. Francis married a young woman by the name of Jane Vail Johnson. I shall speak of her later.
They all came to Utah and settled in Tooele County. They were just getting settled and making things go when they were called by President Brigham Young to St. George, and they went, like all good Latter-day Saints did in those days. But they had not been in St. George very long when they were called to settle in Meadow Valley. That is a place you folks probably have not heard about. It is now known as Panaca, in what they thought was southwestern Utah, but which actually later came to be Nevada. These people, obeying the call, again without question, were the first family to move to Meadow Valley, and they made a dugout house. Sister Young said that you may not know what a dugout house is. I replied that most of the folks would know: One digs a cubical hole in a hillside and covers it with a roof of wooden poles topped with clay.
Troubles of the few settlers with the Indians caused the authorities in St. George to give them permission to abandon the project, but Sister Jane Johnson Lee refused to leave. She said she was there to stay, and stay they did. Later two Indians came into her dugout home, and one of them, seeing a rifle in one corner of the room, demanded it. Sister Lee refused to give it to him. He started for the gun, but she struck him so hard with a piece of stove wood, it knocked him down. He staggered to his feet and drew his bow, aiming the arrow at her. She let him have another piece of wood, which smashed the bow and arrow. Both Indians departed.
Two sons of this brave couple married sisters. Samuel Marion Lee married Margaret McMurrin, and Francis Lee, Jr., married Mary McMurrin. The McMurrins were converts from Scotland who had crossed the plains with the hand-cart companies. Brother McMurrin, a cooper, which is a man who makes barrels and bends wood, repaired many a handcart wheel en route, which helped get the carts to the valley but delayed him and his family. They also settled in Tooele. Each of the Lee brothers took his bride to Meadow Valley.
I speak of Margaret’s bravery.
Eleven times she placed
Her life upon the block
And offered it that
Children might be born.
No sterile chamber
Where the doctor waits,
The anesthetic cone
And nurse in readiness,
Could be her lot.
The cabin walls absorbed
The agonizing cries,
With Death close by.
He did not claim her life.
Instead he took each child—
Each little one to heaven—
All eleven.
Then came the twelfth.
For her the light burned
Dim, then flickered low,
And out—
But she had filled her life, and
Given all that she could give.
Her mission was performed;
A son was born.
The only child to live.
He was named his father’s name—Samuel Lee.
Mary McMurrin Lee took the child and let him nurse along with her own child, but after a time the strain was too great, so they took the baby to Salt Lake City to Grandmother McMurrin.
“I’ll give him one last nursing,” she said, and then laying him in his crib, she went back to Meadow Valley.
Under his grandmother’s care the baby Samuel grew into a stalwart boy, and when sixteen went to Clifton, Idaho, in Cache Valley, where he worked on a farm and there later met Louisa Bingham.
The Bingham family, stalwart in the faith, were pioneers. They endured the hardships of the plains and the difficulties of conquering the new land. They were among the early settlers of Clifton.
Out on the farm
Louisa Bingham
Grew and blossomed
Into girlish womanhood.
Her eyes
Caught the color of the
Somber hills in spring,
And in the fall they
Danced with joy
At autumn’s coloring.
At home she learned
To wash and cook and sew.
And winter
Saw her
Skating, sledding, and
Riding the bobsleigh
Through the snow.
Then Samuel Lee, now
Working on this nearby farm,
Watched her grow,
Saw with his heart
As well as with his eyes
The slow unfolding
Of her girlish charm,
The bloom of girlhood
High upon her cheeks,
A budding woman,
Gentle, soft, and warm.
And she saw him,
The young, strong, steady hands,
The head well set,
The shoulders square
And broad,
The muscles strong
And firm.
A good young man.
She knew his story well—
The twelfth and only child
Which lived.
And so they came together,
Drawn by a magnet
Neither one could see,
To be the parents of a
Man of destiny.
And so, in good time, and in his turn, there came into the family circle on a windy day in late March 1899 a son. They named him Harold Bingham Lee.
It is fitting this day that we speak briefly of this heritage. The Lord prepared the lineage through which President Lee came that he might inherit their bravery, their loyalty, their integrity, and their devotion to the truth.
Twenty-five hundred and seventy-two years ago, give or take a year, a prophet accepted of the Lord began to write his history: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents. …” And then he went on to say, “I make a record of my proceedings in my days.” (1 Ne. 1:1.)
And so the first prophet of our times might have said the same words: “I, Joseph Smith, having been born of goodly parents … make my record.”
And now, so it is today. Beginning his work as the prophet of the Lord, this modern seer and revelator may thus also begin his history: “I, Harold Bingham Lee, having been born of goodly parents, begin my work.”
Prophets are born of goodly parents. Before the earth was formed the heavenly hosts gave shouts of joy, both because they could come to the earth and that their leaders were chosen and recognized. …
Said the Lord: “Abraham, thou art one of them; thou wast chosen before thou wast born.” (Abr. 3:23.) And the Lord designated the others who have been chosen. I do not presume; rather, I am sure, President Lee, thou wast chosen before thou wast born.
I pray that the whisperings of the Spirit, the visions of eternity, the mighty words of Christ our Lord will come to and be with you, even as they were with Nephi and with Joseph Smith. And I pray too that the disloyal and the disobedient will lose their power to hurt or make afraid.
I know that President Lee is a prophet and a seer and a revelator. I have seen with my own eyes the mantle fall upon him and have had a witness borne into my soul that the Lord has chosen him and sustains him.
God our Father, through his Son, Jesus Christ, directs the work of this the true and living church established by the Lord Jesus Christ on the earth. I know it, and bear witness of it, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
Samuel’s sons, Francis, Alfred, and Eli, and their families joined the Church in 1832, about the time that my great-grandfather joined. They suffered through all the vicissitudes and the troubles and persecutions and mobbings of Jackson County, Far West, and Nauvoo, and finally came west. At Winter Quarters their father joined them. He had not joined the Church until this time but joined shortly afterward. Francis married a young woman by the name of Jane Vail Johnson. I shall speak of her later.
They all came to Utah and settled in Tooele County. They were just getting settled and making things go when they were called by President Brigham Young to St. George, and they went, like all good Latter-day Saints did in those days. But they had not been in St. George very long when they were called to settle in Meadow Valley. That is a place you folks probably have not heard about. It is now known as Panaca, in what they thought was southwestern Utah, but which actually later came to be Nevada. These people, obeying the call, again without question, were the first family to move to Meadow Valley, and they made a dugout house. Sister Young said that you may not know what a dugout house is. I replied that most of the folks would know: One digs a cubical hole in a hillside and covers it with a roof of wooden poles topped with clay.
Troubles of the few settlers with the Indians caused the authorities in St. George to give them permission to abandon the project, but Sister Jane Johnson Lee refused to leave. She said she was there to stay, and stay they did. Later two Indians came into her dugout home, and one of them, seeing a rifle in one corner of the room, demanded it. Sister Lee refused to give it to him. He started for the gun, but she struck him so hard with a piece of stove wood, it knocked him down. He staggered to his feet and drew his bow, aiming the arrow at her. She let him have another piece of wood, which smashed the bow and arrow. Both Indians departed.
Two sons of this brave couple married sisters. Samuel Marion Lee married Margaret McMurrin, and Francis Lee, Jr., married Mary McMurrin. The McMurrins were converts from Scotland who had crossed the plains with the hand-cart companies. Brother McMurrin, a cooper, which is a man who makes barrels and bends wood, repaired many a handcart wheel en route, which helped get the carts to the valley but delayed him and his family. They also settled in Tooele. Each of the Lee brothers took his bride to Meadow Valley.
I speak of Margaret’s bravery.
Eleven times she placed
Her life upon the block
And offered it that
Children might be born.
No sterile chamber
Where the doctor waits,
The anesthetic cone
And nurse in readiness,
Could be her lot.
The cabin walls absorbed
The agonizing cries,
With Death close by.
He did not claim her life.
Instead he took each child—
Each little one to heaven—
All eleven.
Then came the twelfth.
For her the light burned
Dim, then flickered low,
And out—
But she had filled her life, and
Given all that she could give.
Her mission was performed;
A son was born.
The only child to live.
He was named his father’s name—Samuel Lee.
Mary McMurrin Lee took the child and let him nurse along with her own child, but after a time the strain was too great, so they took the baby to Salt Lake City to Grandmother McMurrin.
“I’ll give him one last nursing,” she said, and then laying him in his crib, she went back to Meadow Valley.
Under his grandmother’s care the baby Samuel grew into a stalwart boy, and when sixteen went to Clifton, Idaho, in Cache Valley, where he worked on a farm and there later met Louisa Bingham.
The Bingham family, stalwart in the faith, were pioneers. They endured the hardships of the plains and the difficulties of conquering the new land. They were among the early settlers of Clifton.
Out on the farm
Louisa Bingham
Grew and blossomed
Into girlish womanhood.
Her eyes
Caught the color of the
Somber hills in spring,
And in the fall they
Danced with joy
At autumn’s coloring.
At home she learned
To wash and cook and sew.
And winter
Saw her
Skating, sledding, and
Riding the bobsleigh
Through the snow.
Then Samuel Lee, now
Working on this nearby farm,
Watched her grow,
Saw with his heart
As well as with his eyes
The slow unfolding
Of her girlish charm,
The bloom of girlhood
High upon her cheeks,
A budding woman,
Gentle, soft, and warm.
And she saw him,
The young, strong, steady hands,
The head well set,
The shoulders square
And broad,
The muscles strong
And firm.
A good young man.
She knew his story well—
The twelfth and only child
Which lived.
And so they came together,
Drawn by a magnet
Neither one could see,
To be the parents of a
Man of destiny.
And so, in good time, and in his turn, there came into the family circle on a windy day in late March 1899 a son. They named him Harold Bingham Lee.
It is fitting this day that we speak briefly of this heritage. The Lord prepared the lineage through which President Lee came that he might inherit their bravery, their loyalty, their integrity, and their devotion to the truth.
Twenty-five hundred and seventy-two years ago, give or take a year, a prophet accepted of the Lord began to write his history: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents. …” And then he went on to say, “I make a record of my proceedings in my days.” (1 Ne. 1:1.)
And so the first prophet of our times might have said the same words: “I, Joseph Smith, having been born of goodly parents … make my record.”
And now, so it is today. Beginning his work as the prophet of the Lord, this modern seer and revelator may thus also begin his history: “I, Harold Bingham Lee, having been born of goodly parents, begin my work.”
Prophets are born of goodly parents. Before the earth was formed the heavenly hosts gave shouts of joy, both because they could come to the earth and that their leaders were chosen and recognized. …
Said the Lord: “Abraham, thou art one of them; thou wast chosen before thou wast born.” (Abr. 3:23.) And the Lord designated the others who have been chosen. I do not presume; rather, I am sure, President Lee, thou wast chosen before thou wast born.
I pray that the whisperings of the Spirit, the visions of eternity, the mighty words of Christ our Lord will come to and be with you, even as they were with Nephi and with Joseph Smith. And I pray too that the disloyal and the disobedient will lose their power to hurt or make afraid.
I know that President Lee is a prophet and a seer and a revelator. I have seen with my own eyes the mantle fall upon him and have had a witness borne into my soul that the Lord has chosen him and sustains him.
God our Father, through his Son, Jesus Christ, directs the work of this the true and living church established by the Lord Jesus Christ on the earth. I know it, and bear witness of it, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
Read more →
👤 Pioneers
👤 Early Saints
Adversity
Conversion
Family
Marriage
Service
The Church Employment System
Summary: The speaker recalls visiting Salt Lake City as a boy and being invited by his elderly grandfather to see him at work at the Deseret Industries in Sugarhouse. His grandfather remained useful, productive, and happy there until his death. The speaker’s father learned the nobility of work from this example, blessing their posterity.
Many years ago, the Church established a very special type of employment opportunity that is still in operation today. I remember as a boy coming to Salt Lake City on occasion from our home in Phoenix, Arizona, to visit my grandparents. My grandfather, who was well into his eighties, was proud to invite us down to his place of employment. It was the old Deseret Industries in Sugarhouse. I was thrilled as I visited him and saw this patriarch of the Peterson family remain useful, productive, and happy until the time of his death because of one of the employment programs of the Church. It was from this good man that my father learned the nobility of work, which became one of his greatest gifts to his own posterity.
Read more →
👤 Parents
👤 Children
👤 Church Members (General)
Employment
Family
Happiness
Self-Reliance
The Best Baby-Sitter
Summary: Sarah, a blind girl, volunteers to babysit Baby Andrew when the original sitter falls ill. While babysitting, she smells smoke, prays for help, safely evacuates the baby, calls 911, and directs firefighters to the utility room. The fire is quickly contained, and her mother and neighbors praise her calm, capable response. Sarah hopes to babysit for the Bartellis again.
Juanita was sick, so Sarah walked home from school by herself. She missed her friend because they always had so much to talk about. Still, Sarah enjoyed figuring out where she was by the sounds around her. She could hear dogs barking and children playing in their front yards when she stopped to visit her neighbor Mrs. Bartelli and play with Baby Andrew.
“Hello, Sarah.” Mrs. Bartelli sounded tired and tense when she opened the door. “I hope that Andy will be good for you. He’s been fussy all afternoon.”
Sarah wondered what was wrong. She could tell by Andrew’s delighted giggles, though, that he was happy to see her. She lifted him out of his crib and sniffed. “Should I change him, Mrs. Bartelli?”
“Yes, if you would, please.”
Sarah felt around for a diaper and washcloth, then laid Andrew down. He giggled and squirmed. “I’m glad that these are disposable diapers,” she told him. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally stick a pin into such a wiggly boy!”
As Sarah finished changing Andrew, she heard Mrs. Bartelli talking on the telephone.
“Yes, I understand.” Mrs. Bartelli sighed. “Well, I’ll call you again. Good-bye.”
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Bartelli?” Sarah asked.
“Tonight is our fifth wedding anniversary. Juanita was going to tend Andy for us, but she has measles. And no one else is available on such short notice.”
Sarah had seldom heard a grown-up so close to tears. “Mrs. Bartelli, let me tend Andrew,” she suggested. “He knows me, and I can do a good job.”
After a long silence Mrs. Bartelli replied, “I don’t know, Sarah. Being totally responsible for Andy at night is not like playing with him while I’m here.”
“I know I can do it,” Sarah assured her. “I can change his clothes and diaper and make his bottle. I have all the emergency numbers memorized. I’m very careful. It shouldn’t matter that I’m blind. If I have any trouble, I can call Mom. She’s just two doors away.”
Mrs. Bartelli thought for a moment, then agreed.
“Thank you!” Sarah excitedly hugged the baby.
That night Sarah settled down on the sofa to listen to a tape of her homework. Andrew had taken his bottle and had gone to sleep quickly while she rocked him, and now she needed only to check him occasionally. Mrs. Bartelli had said that she and her husband would be home late—dinner, a play, and ice cream afterward would keep them out until at least midnight.
As Sarah listened to her history lesson, something kept bothering her. Finally she stopped the tape and concentrated. No, Andrew isn’t crying. It’s a smell, like something burning. She stood up and sniffed, turning her head to discover where the smell came from. Guiding herself down the hall by brushing her hand along the wall, she went through the kitchen to the door of the utility room, where the washer and dryer were. The smell of smoke was strong here, and it made her cough. She felt the closed door with her hand. It was hot!
Her heart pounding, Sarah prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me get Andrew out all right.” With trembling fingers she felt her way back through the house to the baby’s room. She quickly wrapped him in a blanket and left the house. Walking carefully, feeling for toys on the sidewalk, she was soon home.
Sarah unlocked the door and called for her mother. There was no answer. She almost panicked before remembering that her mother had talked about going shopping. Sarah wasted no more time. Shifting a waking Andrew onto one hip, she quickly punched 9-1-1 on the telephone. She explained the situation and gave the dispatcher the Bartelli’s address.
After hanging up, Sarah hurried back outside. Andrew made small, inquiring baby noises as she felt her way along the sidewalk. The sound of a siren startled him, but she quickly hushed his crying.
When she could hear the fire truck pull up, she called out, “The fire is in the utility room. Go in the front door and through the living room. It’s to the left of the kitchen.”
For the next few minutes the sounds of booted feet and men calling to one another were all that she could hear, and she wondered what was happening. Then one of the men approached her. “Are you the one who reported the fire?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m the baby-sitter. I smelled smoke, and the door felt hot, so I left the house and called from my home. It’s just down there.” She pointed.
“Good work! The iron was left on, and it started a fire. The utility room was damaged, but because you discovered the fire so early, the rest of the house wasn’t harmed at all.”
People from the neighborhood were beginning to crowd around to see why the fire truck was there. Sarah heard familiar footsteps, and her mother hurried up. “What’s going on, honey?”
The fireman explained about the fire once more, and Sarah’s mother gathered her up in a big hug, baby and all. “You did well, sweetheart. Pretty exciting for a first baby-sitting job, wasn’t it?”
Sarah smiled. She had done a good job of baby-sitting all by herself—without her mom, or Juanita, or anybody else helping her! But there was one more thing that she needed to do. “We should call the Bartellis, Mom. I memorized the phone numbers of the places where they’ll be tonight.”
“Good thought,” Sarah’s mother said.
Sarah smiled up at her mother. “Mom, do you think that Mrs. Bartelli will let me baby-sit again?”
“She’ll be missing out if she doesn’t rehire the best baby-sitter that she’s likely to ever have!”
“Hello, Sarah.” Mrs. Bartelli sounded tired and tense when she opened the door. “I hope that Andy will be good for you. He’s been fussy all afternoon.”
Sarah wondered what was wrong. She could tell by Andrew’s delighted giggles, though, that he was happy to see her. She lifted him out of his crib and sniffed. “Should I change him, Mrs. Bartelli?”
“Yes, if you would, please.”
Sarah felt around for a diaper and washcloth, then laid Andrew down. He giggled and squirmed. “I’m glad that these are disposable diapers,” she told him. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally stick a pin into such a wiggly boy!”
As Sarah finished changing Andrew, she heard Mrs. Bartelli talking on the telephone.
“Yes, I understand.” Mrs. Bartelli sighed. “Well, I’ll call you again. Good-bye.”
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Bartelli?” Sarah asked.
“Tonight is our fifth wedding anniversary. Juanita was going to tend Andy for us, but she has measles. And no one else is available on such short notice.”
Sarah had seldom heard a grown-up so close to tears. “Mrs. Bartelli, let me tend Andrew,” she suggested. “He knows me, and I can do a good job.”
After a long silence Mrs. Bartelli replied, “I don’t know, Sarah. Being totally responsible for Andy at night is not like playing with him while I’m here.”
“I know I can do it,” Sarah assured her. “I can change his clothes and diaper and make his bottle. I have all the emergency numbers memorized. I’m very careful. It shouldn’t matter that I’m blind. If I have any trouble, I can call Mom. She’s just two doors away.”
Mrs. Bartelli thought for a moment, then agreed.
“Thank you!” Sarah excitedly hugged the baby.
That night Sarah settled down on the sofa to listen to a tape of her homework. Andrew had taken his bottle and had gone to sleep quickly while she rocked him, and now she needed only to check him occasionally. Mrs. Bartelli had said that she and her husband would be home late—dinner, a play, and ice cream afterward would keep them out until at least midnight.
As Sarah listened to her history lesson, something kept bothering her. Finally she stopped the tape and concentrated. No, Andrew isn’t crying. It’s a smell, like something burning. She stood up and sniffed, turning her head to discover where the smell came from. Guiding herself down the hall by brushing her hand along the wall, she went through the kitchen to the door of the utility room, where the washer and dryer were. The smell of smoke was strong here, and it made her cough. She felt the closed door with her hand. It was hot!
Her heart pounding, Sarah prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me get Andrew out all right.” With trembling fingers she felt her way back through the house to the baby’s room. She quickly wrapped him in a blanket and left the house. Walking carefully, feeling for toys on the sidewalk, she was soon home.
Sarah unlocked the door and called for her mother. There was no answer. She almost panicked before remembering that her mother had talked about going shopping. Sarah wasted no more time. Shifting a waking Andrew onto one hip, she quickly punched 9-1-1 on the telephone. She explained the situation and gave the dispatcher the Bartelli’s address.
After hanging up, Sarah hurried back outside. Andrew made small, inquiring baby noises as she felt her way along the sidewalk. The sound of a siren startled him, but she quickly hushed his crying.
When she could hear the fire truck pull up, she called out, “The fire is in the utility room. Go in the front door and through the living room. It’s to the left of the kitchen.”
For the next few minutes the sounds of booted feet and men calling to one another were all that she could hear, and she wondered what was happening. Then one of the men approached her. “Are you the one who reported the fire?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m the baby-sitter. I smelled smoke, and the door felt hot, so I left the house and called from my home. It’s just down there.” She pointed.
“Good work! The iron was left on, and it started a fire. The utility room was damaged, but because you discovered the fire so early, the rest of the house wasn’t harmed at all.”
People from the neighborhood were beginning to crowd around to see why the fire truck was there. Sarah heard familiar footsteps, and her mother hurried up. “What’s going on, honey?”
The fireman explained about the fire once more, and Sarah’s mother gathered her up in a big hug, baby and all. “You did well, sweetheart. Pretty exciting for a first baby-sitting job, wasn’t it?”
Sarah smiled. She had done a good job of baby-sitting all by herself—without her mom, or Juanita, or anybody else helping her! But there was one more thing that she needed to do. “We should call the Bartellis, Mom. I memorized the phone numbers of the places where they’ll be tonight.”
“Good thought,” Sarah’s mother said.
Sarah smiled up at her mother. “Mom, do you think that Mrs. Bartelli will let me baby-sit again?”
“She’ll be missing out if she doesn’t rehire the best baby-sitter that she’s likely to ever have!”
Read more →
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Children
Courage
Disabilities
Emergency Response
Prayer
Self-Reliance
Service
Relatively Simple
Summary: A university student struggled all semester to understand the theory of relativity despite diligent study and prayer. During the final exam, she could not answer the relativity question, but immediately after leaving the testing center, complete understanding came to her. She realized the Lord was teaching her that learning is more important than grades and that all knowledge ultimately comes from Him.
Two twins get in a rocket ship.
Wait, no, that’s not it.
One twin gets in the rocket ship, and the other stays behind. And when the twin in the rocket ship gets back he’s older. No … he’s younger than the one who stayed at home. And this all has something to do with traveling at the speed of light?
I stopped to scratch my head and let out a long sigh. The theory of relativity was one of the first things we had studied in my physical science class, and here I was, just about to take my first-ever university final and still completely in the dark about the speed of light.
Everything else in the class was as clear as a newly polished test tube, but for some reason my brain couldn’t wrap itself around Einstein’s theory. And I had to understand it since it would make up a significant part of my final exam.
I had been praying for help to understand it all semester. I had put all my effort into it and still wasn’t any closer to even a glimpse of comprehension. Why wasn’t the Lord helping me? Didn’t He know how important this class was to me?
On the day of my physical science final, I answered every question until I got to the dreaded relativity essay. “Heavenly Father,” I thought. “I’ve done my best, now please help me to get this right!”
I sat and I sat, and nothing came. Finally I just finished the rest of the test and left downhearted.
As I stepped out the door of the testing center, into my mind came the theory of relativity but, this time, I completely understood all I had been taught. And I knew that this flash of pure knowledge came from Heavenly Father. After months of struggle, it was just there all of a sudden. I wondered why the Lord couldn’t have revealed this knowledge to me a few minutes earlier while I was still taking the test.
As I pondered, the Lord taught me something else I needed to learn. The grade wasn’t the most important thing. It was learning that mattered. And more important than learning the theory of relativity, I learned that all knowledge comes from the Lord. He can help me to understand anything if I do my part, regardless of whether I have an exam or not.
Years later I still have a clear understanding of what I learned about relativity, and the Lord continues to teach me about many other subjects as I diligently seek His help.
Wait, no, that’s not it.
One twin gets in the rocket ship, and the other stays behind. And when the twin in the rocket ship gets back he’s older. No … he’s younger than the one who stayed at home. And this all has something to do with traveling at the speed of light?
I stopped to scratch my head and let out a long sigh. The theory of relativity was one of the first things we had studied in my physical science class, and here I was, just about to take my first-ever university final and still completely in the dark about the speed of light.
Everything else in the class was as clear as a newly polished test tube, but for some reason my brain couldn’t wrap itself around Einstein’s theory. And I had to understand it since it would make up a significant part of my final exam.
I had been praying for help to understand it all semester. I had put all my effort into it and still wasn’t any closer to even a glimpse of comprehension. Why wasn’t the Lord helping me? Didn’t He know how important this class was to me?
On the day of my physical science final, I answered every question until I got to the dreaded relativity essay. “Heavenly Father,” I thought. “I’ve done my best, now please help me to get this right!”
I sat and I sat, and nothing came. Finally I just finished the rest of the test and left downhearted.
As I stepped out the door of the testing center, into my mind came the theory of relativity but, this time, I completely understood all I had been taught. And I knew that this flash of pure knowledge came from Heavenly Father. After months of struggle, it was just there all of a sudden. I wondered why the Lord couldn’t have revealed this knowledge to me a few minutes earlier while I was still taking the test.
As I pondered, the Lord taught me something else I needed to learn. The grade wasn’t the most important thing. It was learning that mattered. And more important than learning the theory of relativity, I learned that all knowledge comes from the Lord. He can help me to understand anything if I do my part, regardless of whether I have an exam or not.
Years later I still have a clear understanding of what I learned about relativity, and the Lord continues to teach me about many other subjects as I diligently seek His help.
Read more →
👤 Young Adults
👤 Other
Education
Faith
Prayer
Religion and Science
Revelation
Then Sings My Soul
Summary: The narrator recalls an MTC companion who loved to sing and later performed 'How Great Thou Art' at a stake conference. Overcome with emotion during the hymn, the companion paused and then finished with power. The narrator felt their soul 'sing' and recognized the feeling as worship through the Holy Ghost.
Sister Simmons, my MTC companion, loved to sing. She had a beautiful voice. Sometimes at night while we were in our beds, with the lights off, she would sing a comforting lullaby, and we slept soundly.
After we left the MTC, I didn’t see her for several months. Then I was transferred into her area. Stake conference came around, and she sang an arrangement of “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86). She sang for everyone, but it felt like she sang just for me.
As she sang, I realized how meaningful the words of the hymn are. She began to sing smoothly, beautifully, until verse three when she stopped with tears running down her cheeks. She had to just speak the words. She faltered and then started again strong, with passion and feeling. Beautifully, with tears in her eyes, she continued to verse four. “When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation”—she smiled, and I smiled. “And take me home”—she paused. Home, our true home. “What joy shall fill my heart! Then I shall bow in humble adoration and there proclaim, ‘My God, how great thou art!’” She finished strong and with power, smiling.
When she said “then sings my soul,” I felt my soul singing in tune with her words. That was being in tune with the Holy Ghost. That feeling was worship. That is why we have hymns. That is why we sing in church. That was my soul singing.
After we left the MTC, I didn’t see her for several months. Then I was transferred into her area. Stake conference came around, and she sang an arrangement of “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86). She sang for everyone, but it felt like she sang just for me.
As she sang, I realized how meaningful the words of the hymn are. She began to sing smoothly, beautifully, until verse three when she stopped with tears running down her cheeks. She had to just speak the words. She faltered and then started again strong, with passion and feeling. Beautifully, with tears in her eyes, she continued to verse four. “When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation”—she smiled, and I smiled. “And take me home”—she paused. Home, our true home. “What joy shall fill my heart! Then I shall bow in humble adoration and there proclaim, ‘My God, how great thou art!’” She finished strong and with power, smiling.
When she said “then sings my soul,” I felt my soul singing in tune with her words. That was being in tune with the Holy Ghost. That feeling was worship. That is why we have hymns. That is why we sing in church. That was my soul singing.
Read more →
👤 Missionaries
Friendship
Holy Ghost
Missionary Work
Music
Reverence
First Person:Toughest
Summary: As a boy during World War II, the narrator moved to a rough neighborhood where schoolyard fights were common and lunchtime boxing tournaments were organized. His slight friend Terrance challenged a self-proclaimed 'Number Four,' won, and then faced the top fighter Tracy. After several rounds, Terrance and Tracy agreed to a truce and were declared co-champions, reducing the school's obsession with toughness.
When l was a youngster, my parents moved our family into a tough city-edge neighborhood. It was during the dark days of World War II, and with little housing available, we took what we could get near my father’s defense effort job. We had lived in the country among friendly folks, and now among strangers, I didn’t know what to expect on my first day at school.
My worst fears were realized. Many of the students and teachers were strangers in the transient conditions of the war. Not only did disagreement abound, but physical fighting broke out among my 12-year-old peers. There seemed to be no particular issues involved, just an effort by everyone to determine who was the “toughest.”
Later that year, in an effort to curb this unwanted practice in which so many young people were getting hurt, several faculty members managed to gain some control over it by putting boxing gloves on the combatants. Tournaments were held during lunch hour, and the nice thing was that a person could choose to compete or watch, as he preferred. I wanted no particular part in it. I already felt sufficiently challenged physically by the time school began just in walking three miles one way to class. Much energy was spent in work at home and getting up early to run through orchards and leap canals just to reach school.
However, there were obviously many students with pent-up energies who participated in these noon-hour boxing matches. Besides, I was content to believe that some of these kids who claimed to be “fourth toughest” or “second toughest,” or whatever, really were what they bragged to be. I was also a little dismayed, however, that they put so much ego—at times a little oppressive and unbearable for the others—into being physically tough. And if no one challenged them, under the arrangement, they could continue to claim whatever title they wished without even tying on the boxing gloves.
I was therefore somewhat pleased, but mostly aghast one day when a newfound friend of mine, a slightly built young man by the name of Terrance, told me he was going to challenge Phillip. Phillip had declared himself “Number Four.”
“Don’t do it!” I tried to persuade him. “Phillip will kill you!”
“We’ll see about that,” Terrance answered gamely. “How do we know unless I meet him in the ring?” Then, quietly, Terrance continued: “I think Phillip is talking too much about it. Frankly, I think he’s bluffing.”
I watched the first round with my hands over my eyes. But the round was no sooner over than Phillip stated he did not want to continue. That made Terrance Number Four. Suddenly, it was like in the cowboy movies. When they saw how easily he had wrested the title from Phillip, everyone wanted to challenge Terrance. And if Terrance didn’t want to “lose face” he had to participate.
As we were walking the three miles up the long a hill toward our homes in the government housings project, past monotonous rows of look-alike houses, Terrance confided something to me. “I know that fighting doesn’t really resolve anything. And personally, I never did like to fight. Where did it get either Phillip or me? I just wanted to humble him, but now I wonder if he’s better off than me. I don’t know. Maybe I can defeat Number One, but I know that wouldn’t prove anything, would it? I just wish there were some way out of this.”
Yet, Terrance acknowledged that he probably had already gone too far and there was no way out, except to finish what he had started. He trudged into his house, recognizable by the number over the door, and parted with: “Well, no use beating around the bush. Tomorrow, I’ll skip Number Two and Three and go right to Tracy, Number One.”
The next day word got around quickly that freckle-faced little Terrance was going to do battle with the much larger and stone-faced Tracy. Everyone ate lunch quickly and settled down to watch the proceedings. The boxing ring was in the basement of the school next to the boiler room. It was fine for a few dozen spectators, but on that particular day hundreds of kids packed into the concrete window abutments and stood on chairs to peer over heating pipes. I got there early and had a pretty good seat next to the custodian’s closet.
The two sparred for several rounds without either gaining much advantage. In the fifth round, several of the crowd said they thought that it should be over fairly soon, that Tracy was “just beginning to warm up.” However, as I looked at both of their faces, they appeared equally tired. When the round was over, Tracy walked over to Terrance. I could barely hear what Tracy was saying: “Why don’t we just declare it a truce and call ourselves co-champions? I’m not sure going on any further would prove either one of us better than the other.”
Terrance agreed. They put their arms around each other and the crowd cheered both as winners.
That by no means ended the daily boxing tournaments. But somehow, they were never the same after that. Deciding who was toughest just didn’t matter as much anymore. The two toughest kids in school had decided it wasn’t important.
My worst fears were realized. Many of the students and teachers were strangers in the transient conditions of the war. Not only did disagreement abound, but physical fighting broke out among my 12-year-old peers. There seemed to be no particular issues involved, just an effort by everyone to determine who was the “toughest.”
Later that year, in an effort to curb this unwanted practice in which so many young people were getting hurt, several faculty members managed to gain some control over it by putting boxing gloves on the combatants. Tournaments were held during lunch hour, and the nice thing was that a person could choose to compete or watch, as he preferred. I wanted no particular part in it. I already felt sufficiently challenged physically by the time school began just in walking three miles one way to class. Much energy was spent in work at home and getting up early to run through orchards and leap canals just to reach school.
However, there were obviously many students with pent-up energies who participated in these noon-hour boxing matches. Besides, I was content to believe that some of these kids who claimed to be “fourth toughest” or “second toughest,” or whatever, really were what they bragged to be. I was also a little dismayed, however, that they put so much ego—at times a little oppressive and unbearable for the others—into being physically tough. And if no one challenged them, under the arrangement, they could continue to claim whatever title they wished without even tying on the boxing gloves.
I was therefore somewhat pleased, but mostly aghast one day when a newfound friend of mine, a slightly built young man by the name of Terrance, told me he was going to challenge Phillip. Phillip had declared himself “Number Four.”
“Don’t do it!” I tried to persuade him. “Phillip will kill you!”
“We’ll see about that,” Terrance answered gamely. “How do we know unless I meet him in the ring?” Then, quietly, Terrance continued: “I think Phillip is talking too much about it. Frankly, I think he’s bluffing.”
I watched the first round with my hands over my eyes. But the round was no sooner over than Phillip stated he did not want to continue. That made Terrance Number Four. Suddenly, it was like in the cowboy movies. When they saw how easily he had wrested the title from Phillip, everyone wanted to challenge Terrance. And if Terrance didn’t want to “lose face” he had to participate.
As we were walking the three miles up the long a hill toward our homes in the government housings project, past monotonous rows of look-alike houses, Terrance confided something to me. “I know that fighting doesn’t really resolve anything. And personally, I never did like to fight. Where did it get either Phillip or me? I just wanted to humble him, but now I wonder if he’s better off than me. I don’t know. Maybe I can defeat Number One, but I know that wouldn’t prove anything, would it? I just wish there were some way out of this.”
Yet, Terrance acknowledged that he probably had already gone too far and there was no way out, except to finish what he had started. He trudged into his house, recognizable by the number over the door, and parted with: “Well, no use beating around the bush. Tomorrow, I’ll skip Number Two and Three and go right to Tracy, Number One.”
The next day word got around quickly that freckle-faced little Terrance was going to do battle with the much larger and stone-faced Tracy. Everyone ate lunch quickly and settled down to watch the proceedings. The boxing ring was in the basement of the school next to the boiler room. It was fine for a few dozen spectators, but on that particular day hundreds of kids packed into the concrete window abutments and stood on chairs to peer over heating pipes. I got there early and had a pretty good seat next to the custodian’s closet.
The two sparred for several rounds without either gaining much advantage. In the fifth round, several of the crowd said they thought that it should be over fairly soon, that Tracy was “just beginning to warm up.” However, as I looked at both of their faces, they appeared equally tired. When the round was over, Tracy walked over to Terrance. I could barely hear what Tracy was saying: “Why don’t we just declare it a truce and call ourselves co-champions? I’m not sure going on any further would prove either one of us better than the other.”
Terrance agreed. They put their arms around each other and the crowd cheered both as winners.
That by no means ended the daily boxing tournaments. But somehow, they were never the same after that. Deciding who was toughest just didn’t matter as much anymore. The two toughest kids in school had decided it wasn’t important.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Friends
Adversity
Courage
Friendship
Humility
Judging Others
Peace
Pride
Unity
War
Young Men
From Paris to Sapporo
Summary: Koshi watched the Sapporo Japan Temple being built from his home and invited a friend to the open house. On dedication day—which was also his and President Monson’s birthday—he attended the dedication inside the temple and met President Monson. He finds comfort walking through the temple grounds after hard school days and looks forward to doing baptisms and being married there.
My name is Koshi. I live near the Sapporo Japan Temple. I loved sitting by a window in my house and watching the temple be built.
During the open house, I invited my good friend to come with us. He thought everything was beautiful.
I like to think of the temple dedication as its birthday. That day was also my birthday. And President Monson’s too! My parents and I got to be in the temple when it was dedicated. I even got to meet President Monson.
I am so grateful to live near the temple. When I have hard days at school, I can walk through the grounds on my way home. I feel Heavenly Father’s love for me when I am there. I look forward to when I can go inside to do baptisms and later get married there.
During the open house, I invited my good friend to come with us. He thought everything was beautiful.
I like to think of the temple dedication as its birthday. That day was also my birthday. And President Monson’s too! My parents and I got to be in the temple when it was dedicated. I even got to meet President Monson.
I am so grateful to live near the temple. When I have hard days at school, I can walk through the grounds on my way home. I feel Heavenly Father’s love for me when I am there. I look forward to when I can go inside to do baptisms and later get married there.
Read more →
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 General Authorities (Modern)
Apostle
Baptisms for the Dead
Children
Friendship
Gratitude
Marriage
Temples
One Hundred Questions
Summary: A Latter-day Saint youth received 100 questions about the Church from her nonmember friend Jennifer and felt inadequate to respond. She prayed, studied the scriptures, and found answers, then returned them along with a personalized Book of Mormon. Jennifer began reading immediately and was later baptized, strengthening the youth’s testimony of searching, pondering, and praying.
Since my Primary days, I have always known the facts. I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I knew that the Book of Mormon was a companion to the Bible and that I should read it every night. I did this. Unfortunately, I was just reading. I somehow missed out on the whole search, ponder, and pray aspect of scripture study.
During my junior year of high school, my attitude and method of study took a complete turnaround. At school, a nonmember friend, Jennifer Cotton, approached me. In her hands were several sheets of paper. The first sheet was titled, in bold letters, “Questions for Lani.” I took the sheets of paper willingly, shoved them in my backpack, and rushed off to class.
Later that week, the questions surfaced in my backpack, and I began to read through them. As I flipped through the pages, I realized there were exactly 100 questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—100 questions!
I felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I fell on my knees and pleaded with my Heavenly Father to help me answer these questions, which ranged from, “Why am I here?” and “Where am I going?” to “Do all Mormons have to ride their bikes everywhere?”
I felt the prompting to open my scriptures. The first verse that caught my eye was, “Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Ne. 27:29). Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt the Spirit so strongly around me. I knew that with help from my Heavenly Father I would be able to answer the questions.
I spent hours poring over the scriptures. Amazingly enough, there were several scriptures, if not hundreds, to help answer the questions which had seemed so inconceivable only hours before.
The next day, I proudly handed Jennifer her answers, along with a brand-new copy of the Book of Mormon engraved with her name. Tears were in her eyes as she hugged me. She expressed her gratitude for the gift and explained that no one had ever done anything this nice for her before.
I received a call that night. Jennifer excitedly said she couldn’t wait to tell me that she had finished reading 1 Nephi, only she pronounced it Neffi.
I cannot even express the joy I felt at that moment. Mosiah 18:9 states that we must “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.” Had I not stood as a witness of God, I would not have had the opportunity of seeing Jennifer baptized a member of the Church.
I now have an incredible testimony of the Book of Mormon. No matter what my need or problem, I know that I can turn to my scriptures and through searching, pondering, and praying, I will find the answer.
During my junior year of high school, my attitude and method of study took a complete turnaround. At school, a nonmember friend, Jennifer Cotton, approached me. In her hands were several sheets of paper. The first sheet was titled, in bold letters, “Questions for Lani.” I took the sheets of paper willingly, shoved them in my backpack, and rushed off to class.
Later that week, the questions surfaced in my backpack, and I began to read through them. As I flipped through the pages, I realized there were exactly 100 questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—100 questions!
I felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I fell on my knees and pleaded with my Heavenly Father to help me answer these questions, which ranged from, “Why am I here?” and “Where am I going?” to “Do all Mormons have to ride their bikes everywhere?”
I felt the prompting to open my scriptures. The first verse that caught my eye was, “Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Ne. 27:29). Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt the Spirit so strongly around me. I knew that with help from my Heavenly Father I would be able to answer the questions.
I spent hours poring over the scriptures. Amazingly enough, there were several scriptures, if not hundreds, to help answer the questions which had seemed so inconceivable only hours before.
The next day, I proudly handed Jennifer her answers, along with a brand-new copy of the Book of Mormon engraved with her name. Tears were in her eyes as she hugged me. She expressed her gratitude for the gift and explained that no one had ever done anything this nice for her before.
I received a call that night. Jennifer excitedly said she couldn’t wait to tell me that she had finished reading 1 Nephi, only she pronounced it Neffi.
I cannot even express the joy I felt at that moment. Mosiah 18:9 states that we must “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.” Had I not stood as a witness of God, I would not have had the opportunity of seeing Jennifer baptized a member of the Church.
I now have an incredible testimony of the Book of Mormon. No matter what my need or problem, I know that I can turn to my scriptures and through searching, pondering, and praying, I will find the answer.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Friends
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptism
Book of Mormon
Conversion
Faith
Friendship
Holy Ghost
Missionary Work
Prayer
Revelation
Scriptures
Teaching the Gospel
Testimony
Charity Never Faileth
Summary: Mary Bartels welcomed a disfigured, elderly man into her home when others refused him rooms. Over years of treatments, he stayed with them and showed gratitude with small gifts, while neighbors warned she could lose customers. After his death, a chrysanthemum blooming in a rusty bucket reminded Mary that beautiful souls may begin in imperfect bodies.
A classic account of judging by appearance was printed in a national magazine many years ago. It is a true account—one which you may have heard but which bears repeating.
A woman by the name of Mary Bartels had a home directly across the street from the entrance to a hospital clinic. Her family lived on the main floor and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One evening a truly awful-looking old man came to the door asking if there was room for him to stay the night. He was stooped and shriveled, and his face was lopsided from swelling—red and raw. He said he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. “I guess it’s my face,” he said. “I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says it could possibly improve after more treatments.” He indicated he’d be happy to sleep in the rocking chair on the porch. As she talked with him, Mary realized this little old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. Although her rooms were filled, she told him to wait in the chair and she’d find him a place to sleep.
At bedtime Mary’s husband set up a camp cot for the man. When she checked in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, he asked if he could return the next time he had a treatment. “I won’t put you out a bit,” he promised. “I can sleep fine in a chair.” Mary assured him he was welcome to come again.
In the several years he went for treatments and stayed in Mary’s home, the old man, who was a fisherman by trade, always had gifts of seafood or vegetables from his garden. Other times he sent packages in the mail.
When Mary received these thoughtful gifts, she often thought of a comment her next-door neighbor made after the disfigured, stooped old man had left Mary’s home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful-looking man last night? I turned him away. You can lose customers by putting up such people.”
Mary knew that maybe they had lost customers once or twice, but she thought, “Oh, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.”
After the man passed away, Mary was visiting with a friend who had a greenhouse. As she looked at her friend’s flowers, she noticed a beautiful golden chrysanthemum but was puzzled that it was growing in a dented, old, rusty bucket. Her friend explained, “I ran short of pots, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden.”
Mary smiled as she imagined just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when He came to the soul of the little old man. “He won’t mind starting in this small, misshapen body.” But that was long ago, and in God’s garden how tall this lovely soul must stand!
A woman by the name of Mary Bartels had a home directly across the street from the entrance to a hospital clinic. Her family lived on the main floor and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One evening a truly awful-looking old man came to the door asking if there was room for him to stay the night. He was stooped and shriveled, and his face was lopsided from swelling—red and raw. He said he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. “I guess it’s my face,” he said. “I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says it could possibly improve after more treatments.” He indicated he’d be happy to sleep in the rocking chair on the porch. As she talked with him, Mary realized this little old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. Although her rooms were filled, she told him to wait in the chair and she’d find him a place to sleep.
At bedtime Mary’s husband set up a camp cot for the man. When she checked in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, he asked if he could return the next time he had a treatment. “I won’t put you out a bit,” he promised. “I can sleep fine in a chair.” Mary assured him he was welcome to come again.
In the several years he went for treatments and stayed in Mary’s home, the old man, who was a fisherman by trade, always had gifts of seafood or vegetables from his garden. Other times he sent packages in the mail.
When Mary received these thoughtful gifts, she often thought of a comment her next-door neighbor made after the disfigured, stooped old man had left Mary’s home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful-looking man last night? I turned him away. You can lose customers by putting up such people.”
Mary knew that maybe they had lost customers once or twice, but she thought, “Oh, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.”
After the man passed away, Mary was visiting with a friend who had a greenhouse. As she looked at her friend’s flowers, she noticed a beautiful golden chrysanthemum but was puzzled that it was growing in a dented, old, rusty bucket. Her friend explained, “I ran short of pots, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden.”
Mary smiled as she imagined just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when He came to the soul of the little old man. “He won’t mind starting in this small, misshapen body.” But that was long ago, and in God’s garden how tall this lovely soul must stand!
Read more →
👤 Other
Charity
Death
Disabilities
Judging Others
Kindness
Love
Mercy
Ministering
Service
A Share for the Honey Bird
Summary: Two brothers in Africa follow a honeybird to a hive but take all the honey despite a warning to leave some for the bird. As they follow the bird deeper into the jungle, a branch falls and injures Kirmani, and Suku runs for help. While waiting, Kirmani spills some honey and the bird peacefully eats it, easing his fears. Rescued and later taught by Brother Andrew, Kirmani learns the bird was hungry and resolves not to be greedy again.
“Look! There’s a honeybird. If we follow, it will lead us to honey,” exclaimed Kirmani to his younger brother, Suku.
The two African boys, dressed in khaki shorts, were playing lion hunting on the edge of their village.
“Tye (Hurry)! Tye!” urged Suku. Dropping their assegais (spears) they ran to their mother for gourds to gather the honey in. Then one of the boys lighted a torch from the cooking fire to smoke out the bees.
“Be sure to leave some honey for the bird,” called their mother as they ran to follow the honeybird.
“Nidyo (Yes),” Suku answered while Kirmani laughed.
“Don’t tell me you really believe the old tale that you must leave a share of honey for the bird, or it will lead you into danger” replied Kirmani scornfully.
“But what of Abu’s father who took all the honey from a hive. He was led on by the bird, so they say, and ended up in a leopard’s belly,” persisted Suku.
Kirmani didn’t argue. He picked up the assegais (spears).
Suku carried the gourds and Kirmani the smoldering torch of grease-soaked moss tied to a long stick.
As they trotted across the veldt (grazing area) dotted with thornbush, a little gray bird flew back and forth just as though it were making sure they would follow. After the bird led them into the forest, it disappeared into the dense foliage. Kirmani ran ahead, but Suku was thinking. Should I leave honey for the bird even though Kirmani won’t.
“Look! There’s the bird. It’s following the old animal trail,” Kirmani called excitedly.
When Suku reached Kirmani, the bird had settled on a branch of a moss-covered tree. Bees were streaming in and out through a small hole in the trunk. “The bird has guided us to honey,” cried Suku, clapping his hands.
Kirmani poked at the hole with his assegai (spear). Rotting wood fell away, leaving a big opening. He thrust the torch inside and smoked out the angry bees.
Suku stood on Kirmani’s shoulders to reach a branch near the hole. He pulled himself up onto the branch and then peered inside. “There is much honey,” he called happily.
Kirmani climbed up the tree and with sticks the boys scraped honey into their gourds. The bird hovered above them, crying plaintively.
When Suku had all the honey he could reach, he slid down the tree. Kirmani scraped out the last bit, licked his stick, then dropped to the ground.
“Nothing for the silly bird,” he said boldly.
The bird lit on the tree but soon flew off, calling.
“It’s coaxing us on,” said Kirmani. “It may guide us to another hive. Suku, you’re not afraid the bird will lead us into danger are you?” He ran ahead. “I dare you to follow it.”
Suku hesitated. We’re getting deeper into the jungle, he thought uneasily. We should have left the bird a share of honey. But he couldn’t ignore a dare. Reluctantly he started to follow.
Suddenly Suku heard a crack, a swoosh, and a frightened cry from Kirmani. He raced ahead and found his brother with his legs pinned beneath a heavy branch from a tree. He tried to lever the branch off Kirmani’s legs with his assegai (spear), but the spear shaft broke.
“Ayah! Ayah! I am going to die,” moaned Kirmani. “The old tale is true. The bird is having its revenge.”
“I will go and tell father,” said Suku and thrusting an assegai (spear) into Kirmani’s hand, he ran for help.
Kirmani groaned with pain. He could hardly move, and he was alone in the jungle with danger all around him. Maybe the honey bird will bring a leopard to kill me, he thought despairingly. Nervously, he peered around. To his astonishment, the bird was perched on a branch overhead.
“It has not flown away to find a leopard,” he murmured half aloud. “It’s only looking at my honey gourd.” Some of his fear left him.
Kirmani’s gourd was sitting on the ground nearby. With his assegai (spear) he nudged it and spilled some honey. He kept still. Presently the bird flew down and began eating the amber honey.
As Kirmani watched, he remembered what Brother Andrew, his teacher, had said about the honey bird not wanting to seek revenge. The thought made him feel better.
Soon Suku returned with their father and a rescue party. They lifted the heavy branch off Kirmani’s leg, made a vine litter, and carried him home.
While Brother Andrew dressed his wounds, Kirmani told his story. “You must know now that the bird was guiding you to another bee tree because it was hungry,” Brother Andrew explained. “It cannot get the honey for itself and you left it nothing. Don’t you think the honey guide deserved a share?”
Kirmani felt ashamed. “Suku wanted to leave some for the honey bird, but I didn’t understand. From now on when the little bird guides me to honey, I won’t be greedy. I will always leave it a share.”
The two African boys, dressed in khaki shorts, were playing lion hunting on the edge of their village.
“Tye (Hurry)! Tye!” urged Suku. Dropping their assegais (spears) they ran to their mother for gourds to gather the honey in. Then one of the boys lighted a torch from the cooking fire to smoke out the bees.
“Be sure to leave some honey for the bird,” called their mother as they ran to follow the honeybird.
“Nidyo (Yes),” Suku answered while Kirmani laughed.
“Don’t tell me you really believe the old tale that you must leave a share of honey for the bird, or it will lead you into danger” replied Kirmani scornfully.
“But what of Abu’s father who took all the honey from a hive. He was led on by the bird, so they say, and ended up in a leopard’s belly,” persisted Suku.
Kirmani didn’t argue. He picked up the assegais (spears).
Suku carried the gourds and Kirmani the smoldering torch of grease-soaked moss tied to a long stick.
As they trotted across the veldt (grazing area) dotted with thornbush, a little gray bird flew back and forth just as though it were making sure they would follow. After the bird led them into the forest, it disappeared into the dense foliage. Kirmani ran ahead, but Suku was thinking. Should I leave honey for the bird even though Kirmani won’t.
“Look! There’s the bird. It’s following the old animal trail,” Kirmani called excitedly.
When Suku reached Kirmani, the bird had settled on a branch of a moss-covered tree. Bees were streaming in and out through a small hole in the trunk. “The bird has guided us to honey,” cried Suku, clapping his hands.
Kirmani poked at the hole with his assegai (spear). Rotting wood fell away, leaving a big opening. He thrust the torch inside and smoked out the angry bees.
Suku stood on Kirmani’s shoulders to reach a branch near the hole. He pulled himself up onto the branch and then peered inside. “There is much honey,” he called happily.
Kirmani climbed up the tree and with sticks the boys scraped honey into their gourds. The bird hovered above them, crying plaintively.
When Suku had all the honey he could reach, he slid down the tree. Kirmani scraped out the last bit, licked his stick, then dropped to the ground.
“Nothing for the silly bird,” he said boldly.
The bird lit on the tree but soon flew off, calling.
“It’s coaxing us on,” said Kirmani. “It may guide us to another hive. Suku, you’re not afraid the bird will lead us into danger are you?” He ran ahead. “I dare you to follow it.”
Suku hesitated. We’re getting deeper into the jungle, he thought uneasily. We should have left the bird a share of honey. But he couldn’t ignore a dare. Reluctantly he started to follow.
Suddenly Suku heard a crack, a swoosh, and a frightened cry from Kirmani. He raced ahead and found his brother with his legs pinned beneath a heavy branch from a tree. He tried to lever the branch off Kirmani’s legs with his assegai (spear), but the spear shaft broke.
“Ayah! Ayah! I am going to die,” moaned Kirmani. “The old tale is true. The bird is having its revenge.”
“I will go and tell father,” said Suku and thrusting an assegai (spear) into Kirmani’s hand, he ran for help.
Kirmani groaned with pain. He could hardly move, and he was alone in the jungle with danger all around him. Maybe the honey bird will bring a leopard to kill me, he thought despairingly. Nervously, he peered around. To his astonishment, the bird was perched on a branch overhead.
“It has not flown away to find a leopard,” he murmured half aloud. “It’s only looking at my honey gourd.” Some of his fear left him.
Kirmani’s gourd was sitting on the ground nearby. With his assegai (spear) he nudged it and spilled some honey. He kept still. Presently the bird flew down and began eating the amber honey.
As Kirmani watched, he remembered what Brother Andrew, his teacher, had said about the honey bird not wanting to seek revenge. The thought made him feel better.
Soon Suku returned with their father and a rescue party. They lifted the heavy branch off Kirmani’s leg, made a vine litter, and carried him home.
While Brother Andrew dressed his wounds, Kirmani told his story. “You must know now that the bird was guiding you to another bee tree because it was hungry,” Brother Andrew explained. “It cannot get the honey for itself and you left it nothing. Don’t you think the honey guide deserved a share?”
Kirmani felt ashamed. “Suku wanted to leave some for the honey bird, but I didn’t understand. From now on when the little bird guides me to honey, I won’t be greedy. I will always leave it a share.”
Read more →
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Children
Humility
Obedience
Repentance
The Matchless Gift of God’s Divine Son
Summary: During the April 2007 rededication session in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, the author watched from the balcony as his missionary daughter, Satomi, entered and saw him, moved to tears. He felt deep love and pride for her and then reflected on Heavenly Father’s feelings for His Son in Gethsemane. The moment helped him better understand the Father’s love for Jesus Christ.
When the Salt Lake Tabernacle was refurbished, its rededication took place during the Saturday afternoon session of April 2007 general conference. During that session, I had an experience that helped me to understand, in a small way, the love our Father in Heaven has for His Son, Jesus Christ.
Satomi, our second daughter, was serving in the Salt Lake Temple Square Mission. I knew that the missionaries serving on Temple Square would be in the Tabernacle for the afternoon session, seated on the main floor. I had a seat in the balcony for that session, and I hoped to see my daughter.
Right before the session began, a door opened and a group of missionaries came inside. I saw that my daughter and her companion were in the group. They were guided to their seats. Then Satomi looked toward the balcony. She saw me and said something. I could see tears in her eyes. Her companion put her arm around Satomi’s shoulder and comforted her.
I could not hear what my daughter said, but I understood the word: “Father.” That word made me think of Satomi’s childhood and her school days. It reminded me of her desire to serve God, to do His will, to serve Him as a missionary. Soon, I was crying too. Here was my daughter, and I was well pleased with her.
At that same moment, I thought of our Father’s feelings for His Son as Jesus Christ suffered in Gethsemane. Heavenly Father might have been moved to tears when He heard His Son’s prayer: “Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt” (Mark 14:36).
Satomi, our second daughter, was serving in the Salt Lake Temple Square Mission. I knew that the missionaries serving on Temple Square would be in the Tabernacle for the afternoon session, seated on the main floor. I had a seat in the balcony for that session, and I hoped to see my daughter.
Right before the session began, a door opened and a group of missionaries came inside. I saw that my daughter and her companion were in the group. They were guided to their seats. Then Satomi looked toward the balcony. She saw me and said something. I could see tears in her eyes. Her companion put her arm around Satomi’s shoulder and comforted her.
I could not hear what my daughter said, but I understood the word: “Father.” That word made me think of Satomi’s childhood and her school days. It reminded me of her desire to serve God, to do His will, to serve Him as a missionary. Soon, I was crying too. Here was my daughter, and I was well pleased with her.
At that same moment, I thought of our Father’s feelings for His Son as Jesus Christ suffered in Gethsemane. Heavenly Father might have been moved to tears when He heard His Son’s prayer: “Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt” (Mark 14:36).
Read more →
👤 Missionaries
👤 Parents
👤 Children
Atonement of Jesus Christ
Family
Jesus Christ
Love
Missionary Work
Parenting
I Will Praise Thy Name
Summary: Lorenzo Snow describes kneeling to pray and immediately hearing a sound like rustling robes above his head. He felt the Spirit of God descend and envelop him completely, replacing his darkness with light and knowledge. He gained a powerful assurance that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that the priesthood and the gospel were restored.
I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and the fullness of the Gospel.
Read more →
👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Other
Conversion
Holy Ghost
Jesus Christ
Prayer
Priesthood
Revelation
Testimony
The Restoration
The Lord Smiled at Marikina That Morning
Summary: On a rain-soaked morning in Marikina in August 1975, Latter-day Saint leaders and members gathered under an improvised shelter for a chapel groundbreaking. Despite continuous rain, they decided to proceed with the program. Just as the shovels were to be handed out, the rain stopped and the sun broke through, allowing the ceremony to finish on schedule before the rain resumed.
Marikina (pop. 120,000), a bustling town nestled between the heights of Quezon City and the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountain range in Rizal Province, had a bleak daybreak on August 9, 1975, a Saturday, as thick and dark clouds hung like a heavy pall over the valley and torrents of rain fell without let-up.
The dismal atmosphere dampened the will to start the day’s activities and kept many people indoors. At the far end of the main thoroughfare of Provident Village where a group was gathered under an improvised shelter, the situation was more appalling than elsewhere in the valley. That morning, at ten to be precise, groundbreaking for the third chapel of the Manila Philippines Stake was to take place—a predicament that made the guests and Marikina Ward members led by Bishop Roberto Cuizon restless as the appointed hour fast approached.
There were long breaks of silence as the group of Latter-day Saints kept track of time. Among them were Elder Smith Griffin (Regional Representative), Philippines Manila Mission President Raymond L. Goodson, former Philippines Manila Mission President Paul S. Rose and Sister Rose, Brother Frederick Samsel (Church building construction supervisor), President Ruben M. Lacanienta (2nd Counselor, Stake Presidency), and myself.
The rain kept falling without any indication of stopping for this very important Church affair, and it was decided that the symbolic groundbreaking be performed under the improvised shelter. The program, therefore, proceeded as scheduled.
Suddenly, after the speakers had finished and the shovels were about to be given, the rain stopped. An opening in the dark sky showed the face of the sun, and the morning became almost as bright as any sunny day. The ground-breaking ceremony started and was finished on schedule—and the rain started falling again immediately thereafter!—Augusto A. Lim
The dismal atmosphere dampened the will to start the day’s activities and kept many people indoors. At the far end of the main thoroughfare of Provident Village where a group was gathered under an improvised shelter, the situation was more appalling than elsewhere in the valley. That morning, at ten to be precise, groundbreaking for the third chapel of the Manila Philippines Stake was to take place—a predicament that made the guests and Marikina Ward members led by Bishop Roberto Cuizon restless as the appointed hour fast approached.
There were long breaks of silence as the group of Latter-day Saints kept track of time. Among them were Elder Smith Griffin (Regional Representative), Philippines Manila Mission President Raymond L. Goodson, former Philippines Manila Mission President Paul S. Rose and Sister Rose, Brother Frederick Samsel (Church building construction supervisor), President Ruben M. Lacanienta (2nd Counselor, Stake Presidency), and myself.
The rain kept falling without any indication of stopping for this very important Church affair, and it was decided that the symbolic groundbreaking be performed under the improvised shelter. The program, therefore, proceeded as scheduled.
Suddenly, after the speakers had finished and the shovels were about to be given, the rain stopped. An opening in the dark sky showed the face of the sun, and the morning became almost as bright as any sunny day. The ground-breaking ceremony started and was finished on schedule—and the rain started falling again immediately thereafter!—Augusto A. Lim
Read more →
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
Bishop
Faith
Miracles
FYI:For Your Info
Summary: Youth in Pleasant Hill, California, volunteered to paint over a graffiti-covered sound wall with supplies from city leaders. After covering about half a mile, they were recognized by the city council. They feel good whenever they see the finished wall.
Youth in Pleasant Hill, California, decided to make their community a better place to live by painting over a graffiti-covered area on a sound wall. City leaders provided paint and paint rollers, and the youth got to work, covering about a half mile of wall before they were finished.
The youth were invited to a city council meeting, where they were presented with a certificate of appreciation for their hard work. The youth say they get a good feeling whenever they pass by “their” wall.
The youth were invited to a city council meeting, where they were presented with a certificate of appreciation for their hard work. The youth say they get a good feeling whenever they pass by “their” wall.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Other
Charity
Kindness
Service
Seminary before Sunrise
Summary: Two youth in the Monroe Branch and their teacher meet for 5:40 a.m. seminary despite the difficulty of early mornings and busy schedules. They adjust by going to bed early, getting help with chores, and coordinating with a long school bus ride. As they persist, they gain spiritual understanding, peace and patience during the day, and stronger relationships.
At 5:40 in the morning, when most people are still asleep, Jay McKinley and Amy Fuqua of the Monroe Branch of the Mobile Alabama Stake are at church with their scriptures and seminary manuals. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) said that seminary is one of the most significant experiences that any youth can have, and he encouraged youth to “regularly attend seminary and be a seminary graduate.”1 It is a while until sunrise, but these two students and their teacher know the importance of the blessings they receive from following the prophet’s counsel to become seminary graduates.
“Sometimes it is really hard to get up at 4:45 a.m., but it’s totally worth it,” says Amy. “I love the feeling I get when I have the Spirit with me so early.” All three agree that the early starts are tiring and hard to manage, but all know that the benefits of early morning gospel study far outweigh the challenge of juggling each of their schedules, chores, and lives on top of seminary. Amy says, “When I think about it, having class at 5:40 a.m. isn’t a sacrifice at all.” The opportunity to learn more about the Savior is worth every effort, she says.
Jay and Amy’s seminary teacher, Sister Miranda Smith, agrees, and Jay says, “I have to go to bed earlier than normal in order to get up around 4:30 a.m. Sometimes when I have a lot of homework, my big brother will take over my chores.” In Monroe, seminary really is a group effort, even for those who don’t attend seminary. One of the reasons for the early seminary is that Jay’s school is an hour’s bus drive away and his bus driver picks him up from the chapel immediately after seminary.
One of the benefits gained from the early start is the friendship that comes from spending quality time together. “Sister Smith, Amy, and I have become close. We really didn’t hang out together, even at church, unless we had to,” says Jay. “Now we like being around each other and really are friends.”
Of course friendship is not the only reason for being in seminary; the true goal is the gospel knowledge that comes from studying the scriptures. All three who attend the class can see the benefits. Sister Smith says the best thing about early-morning seminary is “getting to start and end my day with a gospel lesson.” Not only is she the seminary teacher, but she is also a mother of four and a Cub Scout den leader, so she normally waits for her children to go to bed so that she can have some quiet time to study the lessons and prepare for the next day’s class.
Amy agrees that seminary has brought many spiritual benefits into her life. “I have a better understanding of the scriptures,” she says. “Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about scripture masteries I’ve learned, especially Moses 1:39.”
When asked what their favorite lessons from the past few months have been, both Amy and Jay agree that they enjoyed the lessons about Nephi’s journey to the promised land with his family in 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. Jay says these chapters have been the most memorable so far.
“Whenever I read those chapters, I think about how I can make it through any trial that is placed in my way. Just like it says in 1 Nephi 3:7, ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for 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.’ He had such great faith and trust in the Lord, and in turn the Lord placed great trust in him. That is something that I want.”
Jay and Amy’s efforts have not been lost on Sister Smith. Not only does she get up to teach them, but she is also inspired by her students. “They are definitely the reason I keep doing this,” Sister Smith says. “I know they expect me to be there just as much as I expect them to be there. I’ve enjoyed seeing Amy and Jay grow in the gospel this year. Amy has been a member only for a few short years. She’s always excited about the gospel and has a beautiful testimony. Jay tends to be a little quieter, but I know he has a strong testimony and knowledge of the gospel as well.”
So what is it like to have early-morning seminary earlier than most schools have their classes? Jay says, “I find that I have more peace and patience as I go through school and other activities. It is such a blessing to have the scriptures in my life.” Jay, Amy, and Sister Smith are forgivably tired at times but cheerful and positive about regularly attending seminary. They find strength and comfort in overcoming obstacles and fulfilling a prophet’s advice to be seminary graduates.
“Sometimes it is really hard to get up at 4:45 a.m., but it’s totally worth it,” says Amy. “I love the feeling I get when I have the Spirit with me so early.” All three agree that the early starts are tiring and hard to manage, but all know that the benefits of early morning gospel study far outweigh the challenge of juggling each of their schedules, chores, and lives on top of seminary. Amy says, “When I think about it, having class at 5:40 a.m. isn’t a sacrifice at all.” The opportunity to learn more about the Savior is worth every effort, she says.
Jay and Amy’s seminary teacher, Sister Miranda Smith, agrees, and Jay says, “I have to go to bed earlier than normal in order to get up around 4:30 a.m. Sometimes when I have a lot of homework, my big brother will take over my chores.” In Monroe, seminary really is a group effort, even for those who don’t attend seminary. One of the reasons for the early seminary is that Jay’s school is an hour’s bus drive away and his bus driver picks him up from the chapel immediately after seminary.
One of the benefits gained from the early start is the friendship that comes from spending quality time together. “Sister Smith, Amy, and I have become close. We really didn’t hang out together, even at church, unless we had to,” says Jay. “Now we like being around each other and really are friends.”
Of course friendship is not the only reason for being in seminary; the true goal is the gospel knowledge that comes from studying the scriptures. All three who attend the class can see the benefits. Sister Smith says the best thing about early-morning seminary is “getting to start and end my day with a gospel lesson.” Not only is she the seminary teacher, but she is also a mother of four and a Cub Scout den leader, so she normally waits for her children to go to bed so that she can have some quiet time to study the lessons and prepare for the next day’s class.
Amy agrees that seminary has brought many spiritual benefits into her life. “I have a better understanding of the scriptures,” she says. “Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about scripture masteries I’ve learned, especially Moses 1:39.”
When asked what their favorite lessons from the past few months have been, both Amy and Jay agree that they enjoyed the lessons about Nephi’s journey to the promised land with his family in 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. Jay says these chapters have been the most memorable so far.
“Whenever I read those chapters, I think about how I can make it through any trial that is placed in my way. Just like it says in 1 Nephi 3:7, ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for 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.’ He had such great faith and trust in the Lord, and in turn the Lord placed great trust in him. That is something that I want.”
Jay and Amy’s efforts have not been lost on Sister Smith. Not only does she get up to teach them, but she is also inspired by her students. “They are definitely the reason I keep doing this,” Sister Smith says. “I know they expect me to be there just as much as I expect them to be there. I’ve enjoyed seeing Amy and Jay grow in the gospel this year. Amy has been a member only for a few short years. She’s always excited about the gospel and has a beautiful testimony. Jay tends to be a little quieter, but I know he has a strong testimony and knowledge of the gospel as well.”
So what is it like to have early-morning seminary earlier than most schools have their classes? Jay says, “I find that I have more peace and patience as I go through school and other activities. It is such a blessing to have the scriptures in my life.” Jay, Amy, and Sister Smith are forgivably tired at times but cheerful and positive about regularly attending seminary. They find strength and comfort in overcoming obstacles and fulfilling a prophet’s advice to be seminary graduates.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Book of Mormon
Education
Faith
Friendship
Holy Ghost
Obedience
Sacrifice
Scriptures
Teaching the Gospel
Testimony
A Golden Friend
Summary: Laura, repeating third grade, is excited for school but worried about reading. At recess, she overhears former friends mocking her and retreats to the swings in tears. A new classmate, Christy, shares that she also repeated a grade due to illness, and they connect over jumping rope. Laura feels hopeful, realizing new friends can be 'golden' too.
“Whoosh, whoosh.” Laura leaned back in her swing, pumping as hard as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. Maybe if she went high enough, she wouldn’t be able to hear what the girls over by the slide were saying about her.
That morning when she remembered that it was the first day of school, Laura was excited. She would wear her favorite shirt, and at recess she would jump double Dutch with Sara and Ava. Last year the three girls jumped rope almost every recess.
Then at breakfast Laura remembered that she was going to be in Mrs. Shepherd’s class again this year. Laura felt a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Mom and Dad said she needed to be a better reader before she was ready for fourth grade. Laura knew reading was important. But it was still hard for her to sound out some of the longer words.
Mom finished tying a ribbon around Laura’s shiny brown braid and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re so friendly and kind,” Mom said. “I know you’ll make friends. Maybe you’ll even find a golden friend.”
Laura hoped Mom was right. But then she remembered a little song she knew: “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other’s gold.” Didn’t that mean a new friend could only be silver, not gold?
When she walked into Mrs. Shepherd’s room, Laura looked at the pictures of students on the bulletin board. She recognized most of the girls from recess last year, but there were a few faces she had never seen before. Laura sat down in her old desk and opened her reading book. She turned to one of the stories at the back. The words seemed a little easier to read than they were last year.
When it was time for recess, Laura checked out a jump rope from the equipment closet and hurried outside. She saw Sara and Ava standing by the slide with another fourth-grade girl. Then Laura heard her name and the words held back and dumb. The girls laughed. Laura thought Sara and Ava would look at her, but they kept talking to the other girl.
Laura’s face felt hot as she ran to the swings. She dropped the jump rope, sat down, and began pumping with all her might. A few hot tears rolled down her cheeks. After a little while, the feeling of flying up toward the sky and back down again made her feel a little better.
Laura opened her eyes. Someone was sitting on the next swing over. It was one of the girls she didn’t know from Mrs. Shepherd’s class. She had a kind face, and she was looking at Laura in a friendly way.
Laura dragged her foot to stop her swing. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Laura.”
“I’m Christy,” said the girl. “I heard what those girls were saying. But don’t worry. You’re not the only one.”
“What do you mean?” Laura asked.
“Last year in my old school I missed a lot of days because I was sick, so I’m in third grade again too,” Christy said.
“It’s too bad you were sick, but I’m glad you’re in my class,” Laura said. Then she smiled. “Do you know how to jump double Dutch?”
Christy smiled back. “No, but I can bounce a basketball while I’m jumping.”
Laura jumped off her swing. “Maybe we could learn to jump double Dutch and bounce a basketball at the same time!”
Laura’s heart felt happy. Maybe a new friend really could be a golden one after all.
That morning when she remembered that it was the first day of school, Laura was excited. She would wear her favorite shirt, and at recess she would jump double Dutch with Sara and Ava. Last year the three girls jumped rope almost every recess.
Then at breakfast Laura remembered that she was going to be in Mrs. Shepherd’s class again this year. Laura felt a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Mom and Dad said she needed to be a better reader before she was ready for fourth grade. Laura knew reading was important. But it was still hard for her to sound out some of the longer words.
Mom finished tying a ribbon around Laura’s shiny brown braid and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re so friendly and kind,” Mom said. “I know you’ll make friends. Maybe you’ll even find a golden friend.”
Laura hoped Mom was right. But then she remembered a little song she knew: “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other’s gold.” Didn’t that mean a new friend could only be silver, not gold?
When she walked into Mrs. Shepherd’s room, Laura looked at the pictures of students on the bulletin board. She recognized most of the girls from recess last year, but there were a few faces she had never seen before. Laura sat down in her old desk and opened her reading book. She turned to one of the stories at the back. The words seemed a little easier to read than they were last year.
When it was time for recess, Laura checked out a jump rope from the equipment closet and hurried outside. She saw Sara and Ava standing by the slide with another fourth-grade girl. Then Laura heard her name and the words held back and dumb. The girls laughed. Laura thought Sara and Ava would look at her, but they kept talking to the other girl.
Laura’s face felt hot as she ran to the swings. She dropped the jump rope, sat down, and began pumping with all her might. A few hot tears rolled down her cheeks. After a little while, the feeling of flying up toward the sky and back down again made her feel a little better.
Laura opened her eyes. Someone was sitting on the next swing over. It was one of the girls she didn’t know from Mrs. Shepherd’s class. She had a kind face, and she was looking at Laura in a friendly way.
Laura dragged her foot to stop her swing. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Laura.”
“I’m Christy,” said the girl. “I heard what those girls were saying. But don’t worry. You’re not the only one.”
“What do you mean?” Laura asked.
“Last year in my old school I missed a lot of days because I was sick, so I’m in third grade again too,” Christy said.
“It’s too bad you were sick, but I’m glad you’re in my class,” Laura said. Then she smiled. “Do you know how to jump double Dutch?”
Christy smiled back. “No, but I can bounce a basketball while I’m jumping.”
Laura jumped off her swing. “Maybe we could learn to jump double Dutch and bounce a basketball at the same time!”
Laura’s heart felt happy. Maybe a new friend really could be a golden one after all.
Read more →
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Other
Adversity
Children
Education
Friendship
Judging Others
Kindness
A Face in the Window
Summary: The author repeatedly saw an elderly neighbor staring out her window and initially judged her. Deciding to visit with fresh-baked bread, the author learned the woman was lonely and not judging anyone, just observing life outside. Over time, they discussed the gospel, bonded over belief in Jesus, and became close friends until the neighbor passed away, leaving the author with a hopeful, loving perspective.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I often saw the same face staring from an apartment window. I thought to myself, “Isn’t it sad that someone would constantly look out their window, judging their neighbors’ activities?”
Then one day I thought perhaps I should go ask to see if I could be of some help. I decided to take some fresh-baked bread with me.
The warm bread melted the ice in my elderly neighbor’s heart. Tearfully she told me how lonely she felt. No one visited her and no one called her, not even her own children. With a trembling hand, she wiped tears from her cheeks.
She sighed and then said, “How nice it would be to just leave this world. I don’t judge anyone as I look out my window. I just watch the children playing and other things going on in the yard.”
Illustration by Alex Nabaum
Over time, we talked about the gospel. At first she was reticent because her husband served as an official in another church. But the more we talked, the more impressed she became with the truths I shared about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel.
“It’s wonderful that we have the same Jesus!” she said. “Will we see each other in heaven?”
“Yes,” I responded, “we will be there together—hand in hand.”
From then on, we were good friends for many years, until she finally passed from this world.
Now I like to think that my former neighbor looks from the window of her heavenly home, following our activities and hoping we have sufficient harmony and love toward one another.
I often saw the same face staring from an apartment window. I thought to myself, “Isn’t it sad that someone would constantly look out their window, judging their neighbors’ activities?”
Then one day I thought perhaps I should go ask to see if I could be of some help. I decided to take some fresh-baked bread with me.
The warm bread melted the ice in my elderly neighbor’s heart. Tearfully she told me how lonely she felt. No one visited her and no one called her, not even her own children. With a trembling hand, she wiped tears from her cheeks.
She sighed and then said, “How nice it would be to just leave this world. I don’t judge anyone as I look out my window. I just watch the children playing and other things going on in the yard.”
Illustration by Alex Nabaum
Over time, we talked about the gospel. At first she was reticent because her husband served as an official in another church. But the more we talked, the more impressed she became with the truths I shared about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel.
“It’s wonderful that we have the same Jesus!” she said. “Will we see each other in heaven?”
“Yes,” I responded, “we will be there together—hand in hand.”
From then on, we were good friends for many years, until she finally passed from this world.
Now I like to think that my former neighbor looks from the window of her heavenly home, following our activities and hoping we have sufficient harmony and love toward one another.
Read more →
👤 Other
Charity
Conversion
Death
Friendship
Kindness
Love
Ministering
Missionary Work
Service
Summary: Brendon started attending a junior high combined with high schoolers and hears swearing and mean comments daily. His family prays together each morning, and he sometimes asks for special prayers to help him in school. He changes the subject when others are mean or swear and trusts the Savior to help him avoid bad things.
I just started attending a junior high that’s mixed with high schoolers. Every day I hear swearing and mean comments.
My family prays together every morning before school. We ask if anyone needs any special prayers. Sometimes I ask whoever is praying to pray to help me in junior high.
I know I can make a small difference, so when someone is mean or starts to swear I just change the subject. I know that if I have faith the Savior can help me avoid bad stuff at school.
Brendon W., 15, California, USA
My family prays together every morning before school. We ask if anyone needs any special prayers. Sometimes I ask whoever is praying to pray to help me in junior high.
I know I can make a small difference, so when someone is mean or starts to swear I just change the subject. I know that if I have faith the Savior can help me avoid bad stuff at school.
Brendon W., 15, California, USA
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Parents
Adversity
Faith
Family
Prayer
Young Men
Disharmony
Summary: A high school band student frequently debated a band teacher who enjoyed attacking the Church and the Book of Mormon. The student tried to defend doctrine during band trips, but the conversations were contentious and unproductive. After a year of study, the student realized that debating was not effective missionary work and learned to share the gospel only with those who are truly receptive.
We had a large LDS population in my hometown. I played in our high school band, but my band teacher did not like the Church and was always trying to discredit the Book of Mormon.
When we went on band trips, he would bring ideas from his church meetings with him and confront me. He found it entertaining to bash the Church, and I felt like I was the only one who would defend it.
At first I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong. He would tell me that every sin is equally as bad—murder and lying alike—and that there is really no repentance. Instead, we go through this life and as long as we acknowledge Christ as our Savior we will go to heaven.
I felt like the plan of salvation had suddenly been turned into a game of Monopoly. There are no free rides, I tried to explain. But he was not there to learn about my beliefs.
Since he was there in the spirit of contention (and I followed somewhat ignorantly), we just went around in circles. No matter what explanation I could offer, he would come up with something else to debate. It wasn’t until a year later that I realized what it was I was doing.
I had thought I was doing missionary work, but I was not. After studying the scriptures, talks, and lectures on the subject, I now know that if people are there with the intention to debate beliefs, they are not ready to hear the gospel. This seems so obvious to me now, but at the time I had no idea. People must open their hearts to receive the gospel message.
If we learn to share the gospel with those who truly want to learn, we can share the truth with them.
We need not contend, but instead we need to proclaim the gospel. It brings happiness to all who partake of it.
When we went on band trips, he would bring ideas from his church meetings with him and confront me. He found it entertaining to bash the Church, and I felt like I was the only one who would defend it.
At first I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong. He would tell me that every sin is equally as bad—murder and lying alike—and that there is really no repentance. Instead, we go through this life and as long as we acknowledge Christ as our Savior we will go to heaven.
I felt like the plan of salvation had suddenly been turned into a game of Monopoly. There are no free rides, I tried to explain. But he was not there to learn about my beliefs.
Since he was there in the spirit of contention (and I followed somewhat ignorantly), we just went around in circles. No matter what explanation I could offer, he would come up with something else to debate. It wasn’t until a year later that I realized what it was I was doing.
I had thought I was doing missionary work, but I was not. After studying the scriptures, talks, and lectures on the subject, I now know that if people are there with the intention to debate beliefs, they are not ready to hear the gospel. This seems so obvious to me now, but at the time I had no idea. People must open their hearts to receive the gospel message.
If we learn to share the gospel with those who truly want to learn, we can share the truth with them.
We need not contend, but instead we need to proclaim the gospel. It brings happiness to all who partake of it.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Book of Mormon
Conversion
Missionary Work
Plan of Salvation
Scriptures
Teaching the Gospel
Truth