Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in Indonesia.
“Aminah, that’s mine!” Indira shouted. She grabbed the doll away from her little sister.
“Girls, I’m leaving,” Mom called. “Please be good for Dad.”
Indira looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To the market. I’m buying food to cook something special tomorrow.” Mom waved goodbye.
A special meal? But why? Indira went to find Dad. “Why is tomorrow special?” she asked.
Dad smiled. “Tomorrow we get to watch general conference! It’s special because we get to hear the prophet and other Church leaders speak. They’ll tell us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear.”
When Mom got home, she put away the food. Dad swept the floor.
“Indira, can you help Aminah set out her clothes for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Indira frowned. “Why do I have to help her?”
“Please do what I ask,” Mom said.
Indira groaned. She dragged her feet and went to help Aminah.
The next morning, Indira woke up to a yummy smell. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mom had made beef rendang and satay to eat for lunch later! It would taste so good.
Soon general conference began. Indira sat with her family to watch on the TV. She listened to the choir sing. She heard people talk about temples and scriptures and Jesus Christ.
The last speaker was the prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He talked about how the Church helps people around the world.
“Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters,” he said.
Indira thought about that. Did helping make her happy? She kept listening. President Nelson said that living the second great commandment can help us be like Jesus Christ.
When it was over, they ate the lunch Mom made. Indira kept thinking about the prophet’s talk.
“What is the second great commandment?” she asked.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” Dad said.
Indira thought about the people the Church helped all over the world. “How can I help if my neighbors live far away?”
“Your neighbors are everyone around you,” Mom said. “Like your family members.”
Indira looked down. She was not very nice to her family sometimes.
But maybe helping them could make her happy, like President Nelson said. It was one way she could follow Jesus. She wanted to try!
For the rest of the week, Indira tried to be extra nice to her family. She played with Amirah. She shared her toys. She did what Mom and Dad asked without complaining. When Indira helped her family, they were happy. And that made her happy too.
The prophet was right. Helping others brought her joy!
What did Indira learn from the prophet?
Illustrations by Judi Abbot

A week later my mother died. How would it be in a motherless home, without the encouraging look of a proud mother to push us along when times got rough? I thought mothers were always supposed to be there. Who was going to teach me all the things mothers are supposed to teach their daughters? Who was I going to have those special talks with? Why did it have to be my mother?
My father knew it was up to him. It must have been like a building falling on him to have all the responsibility of raising the family. After losing the woman he loved so dearly, he had to be strong to set the example for his family. He did. I remember him standing there and asking us if we understood about paradise and heaven. We all hesitated, as if a nod of approval to his question was an approval for her to die, but then with great effort he told us she was gone. My father’s a big man, but he was even bigger then, when I knew that inside his heart was broken and he was full of loneliness.

A few months before my eighth birthday, my mom and I were cleaning out my bedroom. We noticed how much stuff I had that I didn’t really use, and my mom asked me where I would put the new things I was going to get for my birthday. After talking about it, I said, “I don’t need gifts for my birthday. Let’s find someone who doesn’t have anything and give him or her the gifts.”
On my birthday, I invited my friends over for a party. I asked that instead of bringing a gift for me, they bring one for a seven-year-old girl who was living in a homeless shelter. A fire at the shelter had burned all of her belongings. During the party we took our gifts to the girl. Because of a death in the family, she wasn’t at the shelter, so we left the gifts on her bed. It was sad to see how little this family had. We all left feeling very grateful for what we have. When my mom asked me later how I thought the party had gone, I said, “It was fun. We did something good today.”

During this past month I received two widely differing messages. One was a formal invitation to attend the swearing-in ceremony in Washington, D.C., of the newest and youngest member of the United States Tax Court—an appointment made by the President of the United States, and a very prestigious honor.

Within hours of receiving that invitation, I had a visit from a law enforcement officer inquiring if I knew a certain young man. I replied, “Of course I know him. Why do you ask?” This young man had indicated to the officer that he knew me. A sordid story was then related to me of drugs, immorality, stealing to satisfy the high cost of drugs, buying illicit sexual favors, and cheap rooming house living. When I expressed a desire to see and help this young man, the officer suggested I not see him at this time because of his emotional condition.

The families of these two young men are well known to me. As boys they were members of the same ward. Both received the Aaronic Priesthood and had had the same Sunday School teachers. The scriptures, Church magazines, and lesson manuals had been made available in their homes.

One received the Melchizedek Priesthood, fulfilled a mission, married in the temple, and while attending law school, served in a bishopric; and now, Judge Stephen Jensen Swift has been honored by his national government by appointment to a federal judgeship.

The other young man never merited or obtained the promised blessings of the Melchizedek Priesthood. Going to top-rated private schools overshadowed interest in a mission. He never married, associated with the wrong people, has now become a ridiculer of gospel principles because they differ from his life-style, and is virtually an outcast from family, society, and from the word of God. His family’s life-style failed to encourage him spiritually by its lack of interest in the scriptures, family home evenings, family and personal prayer, and hearing in their home testimonies of religious belief.

The Honorable Judge Stephen Swift is settling his family in Washington, D.C., and learning to feel comfortable in the robes of a federal judge. He has our love, admiration, and highest respect.

The other young man needs our love even more—a special love. I have faith that we can recover him. It was such as he of whom the Savior spoke: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?” (Luke 15:4.)

Invite the bishop to come to some of your youth activities. I can remember going on a campout when I was a bishop and falling asleep in the back of the bus. Somewhere there is a picture of me asleep with my mouth open and a wild flower placed inside. My own sons were part of the practical joke. We all grew closer together when the youth got me out of my blue suit and enjoyed some relaxing time with me. If the bishop knows how much you want him to be with you, he will try to find time to be part of your special activities.

As you trust in the Lord and His goodness, the Almighty God will bless His children through you. Elder Hollings from Nevada learned that early in his mission. The day after he arrived in India, he traveled with Sister Funk and me to Rajahmundry, his first area. That afternoon Elder Hollings and Elder Ganaparam went to visit a Church member and her mother. The mother wanted to learn about the Church because she had seen how the gospel blessed the life of her daughter. Sister Funk joined them to provide fellowship. Because the lesson would be taught in English and the mother spoke only Telugu, a brother in the branch was there to interpret what was taught.

Elder Hollings’s assignment in his very first teaching appointment was to teach the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet Joseph. At that point in the lesson, he turned to Sister Funk and asked, “Should I say it word for word?” knowing it would be interpreted.

She replied, “Say it word for word so the Spirit can testify of what you say.”

When this new missionary sincerely taught the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet, the countenance of that dear sister changed. Tears appeared. As Elder Hollings finished that glorious message and before what he said could be interpreted, she asked through her tears in her native language, “May I be baptized? And will you teach my son?”

My young fellow servants, doors and hearts open daily to the gospel message—a message that brings hope and peace and joy to the children of God throughout the world. If you are humble and obedient and hearken to the voice of the Spirit, you will find great happiness in your service as a missionary. What a wonderful season it is to be a missionary—a time when the Lord is hastening His work!

Sisters, we must prepare if we wish to serve, and we must serve if we wish to prepare. When I was 16 I was called to teach the three-year-olds in what was then called Junior Sunday School. (You know there was such a thing in the olden days.) I taught some busy children. They climbed on and under the chairs and table and never seemed to stop moving. I was dreadfully inexperienced, and during the first few weeks I wondered if I had done the right thing in accepting the call.

But I persisted, and what I learned—quickly—was that I couldn’t just pray for help. I had to be prepared. That meant planning activities, stories, and lessons, and it meant having plan B ready, along with C through Z. Many years later, when I was called to lead a Junior Sunday School, I knew how to assist new teachers. I knew how to enjoy the children, and I knew the importance of being faithful in my calling.

It felt just like any other Sunday morning in Primary. Brother Barrow and Brother Jensen sat at the front of the class.
“Good morning,” said Brother Barrow. “Did everyone have a good week?”
Miles popped up in his seat next to me. “Yeah! I had fun this weekend!” he said. He told about a park he went to.
After everyone had taken a turn to talk, Brother Jensen began marking the roll. “Hmm,” he said, looking up at us. “Samantha isn’t here again. Does anyone know who she is? I’ve never met her before.”
I raised my hand. “I know who she is,” I said. “I’ve seen her at school.”
“Thank you, Grace. Could you tell us more about her?”
I thought about Samantha. It seemed like she always played by herself. “She’s pretty shy,” I said. “I don’t think she has very many friends.”
“I think we should do something special to invite her to Primary,” said Brother Jensen. “How would everyone feel about coming to my house this week to make brownies and a card for her?”
“That’s a great idea!” said Miles.
“I want to come too!” said Haylee.
“Sounds good,” said Brother Jensen. “I’ll call your parents so we can find a time to get together.”
Finally the day came. We met at Brother Jensen’s house, and we were ready to bake!
“Who wants to mix the cocoa and baking soda?” Brother Barrow asked.
“I do!” said Mason.
Soon we all had jobs to do. Before we knew it, the brownies were in the oven.
“OK, everyone, while we wait for the brownies to bake, let’s make the card,” said Brother Jensen.
Our card was actually a big poster. We got out crayons and markers and wrote things like “We miss you!” and “Come to Primary!” By the time we were done writing and drawing pictures, the brownies were done.
We put the brownies on a plate and went together to Samantha’s house. Brother Jensen knocked on the door, and Samantha’s mom answered.
“SURPRISE!” we shouted.
“We just want to invite your daughter to Primary,” said Brother Barrow.
“That is so thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you all so much.” She called to Samantha, and she came to the door. “Look, Samantha. See what they brought you!”
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
I waved to her from the back of the group. “Hi, Samantha! I’m Grace, from school.”
“We hope you can come to our Primary class this week!” said John.
At recess the next day, I was sitting with my friends and saw Samantha. “Hi!” I said. “Do you want to play with us?”
“No,” she said, looking down. “But thanks anyway.”
I smiled at her. Samantha smiled back a little bit. “OK,” I said. “Some other time.”
Later Samantha and her mom started coming to church! Just shows the power of friendship … and brownies!
Samantha didn’t come to Primary that Sunday. I was kind of sad, but I was still glad we invited her. It felt like what Heavenly Father wanted us to do. Samantha wasn’t ready to come to Church, and that was OK. We could ask again another time. And we could definitely keep trying to get to know her. Who knows? Maybe we could all be friends!

Lillie Anne is our older sister, but usually Jason and I feel like big brothers to her because she has Down’s syndrome, which sets her back a little.
Lillie Anne loves everybody, and all those who really know her love her. She loves Heavenly Father, too, and always tries to do what’s right and what she thinks will please Mom and Dad. So nobody was prepared for the problem we had with her.
It started because Lillie Anne likes animals so much. She likes to hug and kiss cats and dogs, despite our warnings about germs and the dangers of strange animals. We’ve never had a pet because Mom and Jason are allergic to many animals. So whenever Mom goes to the store, Lillie Anne stops and visits Mr. Osterloh and plays with his animals. Mr. Osterloh is Lillie Anne’s friend.
One day in June, Mr. Osterloh came to the door with an onion sack in his arms. When I answered the door, I thought he was bringing us some vegetables from his little garden. But he asked for Lillie Anne. After I called her to the door, he handed her the sack. She was grinning from ear to ear as she opened it. A little floppy-eared black rabbit was inside. She hugged it tight, her face beaming like it was Christmas. The rabbit just sat there in her arms, twitching its nose.
So that’s how we got Harry. Even though they’d agreed to having the rabbit, Mom and Jason sneezed quite a lot at first because Harry ran all around the house. Then Dad bought a little cage for Lillie Anne to keep Harry in when he was inside. She carried Harry around in it all the time. She took him outside to run and play on the grass, but he slept in his cage at night in her room. They were pretty much inseparable.
There was one problem. Not what you’d think. Not the allergies or the kissing (though she does kiss Harry’s nose). You’d never guess. Lillie Anne wouldn’t go to church without Harry! She flatly refused. And when Lillie Anne flatly refuses, there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it.
Mom and Dad talked to her a lot about how we can’t take pets to church. They explained how it would disrupt the reverence. The home teachers came and talked to her about how animals belong at home. Jason and I pointed out that Harry might get hungry or thirsty, but she didn’t see why that was a big problem. She just wouldn’t go without him.
We had a family council and decided that we’d have to take turns staying home with her until we found a solution. For the next two Sundays, Lillie Anne looked pretty sad and miserable as the rest of us left for church. But she still wouldn’t go without Harry.
Then on Wednesday, I came home from soccer practice to find her sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. This is unusual, because Lillie Anne is still struggling with picture books. Her face was all lit up like she was looking at an angel or something.
“Michael!” she cried. “Look! Look at this boy!” I looked at the newspaper and saw a picture of a boy with very thin arms and legs holding the harness of a big black Labrador retriever. “Read it, Michael. Read it to me.”
I read the article to Lillie Anne. It was about a boy named Abram who didn’t have as many muscles as other people. He had a dog, Tacoma, that went everywhere with him. The dog helped him up if he fell, carried his books to school, and helped in many other ways. I thought Lillie Anne was just interested because she loves dogs, but I was wrong.
“A helper dog, a helper dog,” she kept saying. “Abram has a helper dog. The dog goes everywhere with him.”
Then she laid it on me. “Harry is a helper rabbit. He goes everywhere with me.”
Once she started on this, there was no getting it out of her head. Mom and Dad explained that the dog in the article had been trained for months and the boy had to leave home for a while and be trained along with the dog. Lillie Anne took a lot of interest in all this, but it didn’t change her mind. Jason pointed out that the dog wore a harness, and when he was working, people couldn’t pet him and play with him, unlike a rabbit.
“How is Harry a helper rabbit?” I asked. “How does he help you?”
She thought for a minute. “He makes me happy. He is my very own friend every minute.”
That Sunday Mom stayed home with Lillie Anne. As we left for church, my sister stood at the front gate with Harry draped over her arm. She watched us go with a sad and teary-eyed face. I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something. As we walked to church, I figured out a plan. After sacrament meeting, I found Bishop Lyman and asked if we could talk. When we went into his office and sat down, I was a little nervous.
“Michael,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“Bishop, if someone in our ward were blind, would you let him bring a guide dog to church?”
“Well, of course. A guide dog can go everywhere.” He smiled at me in a puzzled way.
“Well, what if a person had a different problem,” I continued. “What if they couldn’t walk very well, and they had a helper dog. Could that dog come?”
He thought for a minute. “Oh, I’m sure it could. It would be trained to lie quietly during meetings.”
I squirmed a little. I felt silly comparing a little black rabbit to an intelligent, trained dog, but I could see Lillie Anne’s sad eyes in my mind, so I said it, anyway. “If someone like Lillie Anne has a rabbit that she thinks of as a helper rabbit, would it be all right if she brought it to church?”
Bishop Lyman smiled and said, “A helper rabbit. I’ve never heard of that.” Then he became serious, looked at me very kindly, and said, “Michael, I’m afraid a rabbit would hop around and distract people and make a mess on the floor.”
“Lillie Anne carries him around in a small cage, so that wouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “She hasn’t been coming to church because we told her Harry couldn’t come. But don’t you think people would get used to seeing him with her and then not take much notice after a while?”
“Hmmm.” Bishop Lyman thought for a few minutes. “Your mother and father have told me how Lillie Anne is refusing to come to church without him.” He thought some more. “Well, Michael, animals are important to us. The pioneers wouldn’t have made it across the plains without their animals. We’ll have to make sure the other children understand that Harry isn’t just a pet, that he helps Lillie Anne with her special circumstances. If we do that, we could try it.”
“Thank you!” I jumped to my feet. “It’ll work. You’ll see.”
The bishop smiled at me as I bolted out of his office and home as fast as I could to tell Lillie Anne.
The next Sunday, Lillie Anne was dressed and ready to go to church. She carried Harry in his cage as we walked to church. That really happy look was back on her face again—and on all our faces too.
At first, the kids wanted to pet Harry, but Lillie Anne explained that he was a helper rabbit and couldn’t play during churchtime. Then she told them that if they wanted to pet him, they could come over to the house sometime and play.
It wasn’t long until everyone accepted that, and now Harry sits quietly in his cage on the seat beside Lillie Anne through all the Church meetings every week. Lots of kids come to our house to see Lillie Anne and Harry, the helper rabbit. Harry loves the attention, and Lillie Anne is very happy. We’re all happy.

I remember well the day I first visited the temple. I was a young missionary and I went to the London England Temple to receive my endowments just before entering the mission field.
Thinking back, I felt that I was in a holy place and it felt so right to put on white temple clothing in place of my normal clothes. In so doing, I felt the symbolism of leaving the world behind outside and experiencing heaven on earth. This added to the feeling of holiness.

“I had never supposed there would be no icons in a church, or that there would be a kitchen, showers, a gymnasium, a huge room with an organ, and many classrooms,” recalls Andrei Semionov of his first Church meeting in Finland.
Andrei had met Latter-day Saints shortly after beginning work as a doctor in Vyborg, a Russian city close to Finland. In the summer of 1989 Andrei took a canoe trip with a Finnish Latter-day Saint couple—Aimo and Nellie Jäkkö. Campfire discussions about God and faith touched Andrei. He had been troubled by questions about life’s purpose, the meaning of evil, and the possibility of an afterlife. The Jäkkös invited Andrei to attend Church services in Lappeenranta in Finland. There he met full-time missionaries.
“I tried to hold to materialist positions as before, but my eternal questions continued to bother me,” Andrei writes of his discussion with the missionaries. “It was then that the seed, of which I later read in the book of Alma, fell into my soul [see Alma 32:28–43]. I took with me from Lappeenranta this ‘good seed’ in my soul and a Book of Mormon in my travel bag.”
During a second trip to Lappeenranta, the missionaries nourished Andrei’s faith. Of that visit, he writes, “The last prejudices and reservations I had in my heart in relation to a foreign church disappeared.”
When he returned to Vyborg, he studied the Book of Mormon. “I realized that a human mind did not have the power to create such a thing. I knew almost nothing about Joseph Smith himself, his education or intellectual qualities, but I didn’t need to know anything at all about them. I knew these words were not of man but of God.”
Andrei attended a conference with 15 Leningrad Saints in February 1990: “I kept thinking, Could I go on with my life without these people, without the excitement in my heart and the chills that run down my spine when I pray and read the scriptures? All my doubts vanished when Jussi Kemppainen [a counselor in the mission presidency] approached me after the conference and said, ‘I think you are ready to be baptized. What do you think?’ The words immediately escaped my lips—I didn’t even have time to think—and I heard my response: ‘Yes, of course I am ready.’” He was baptized that day.
A month later Andrei was ordained an elder and set apart as branch president. He soon baptized his wife, Marina.
Changes in the couple’s life brought many blessings and opportunities. “A special joy came into our lives after we were sealed for eternity in the Stockholm Sweden Temple,” President Semionov writes. “During the past two and a half years I’ve been to this temple with every group from Russia, and I try to help my brothers and sisters prepare to enter the eternal world.”2
President Semionov served with distinction as a branch president; he also served as the first district president in Vyborg. On 4 May 1996, under the direction of Elder Neuenschwander, then president of the Europe East Area, President Andrei Semionov dedicated the first Latter-day Saint chapel in Russia.

I was new to our neighborhood, so I was excited when a boy named Ken* came over to play. One day we rode our bikes past a silver car that had silver hubcaps on the wheels. Ken said to me, “Hey, Spencer, steal one of those hubcaps.”
“I’m not going to do that!” I said. I didn’t want to break one of Heavenly Father’s commandments. Ken decided to steal it himself.
I didn’t feel good about what Ken had done, so I told my mom. After talking with her, I told Ken that he should return the hubcap he stole, and that I didn’t want to play with him if he kept it. I was really happy when Ken took the hubcap back.

One winter evening when I was five or six years old, my father took me downtown. This was during the Great Depression, when jobs were few and many people were poor. My father and I were looking at store windows as we walked, and soon we found ourselves in front of a sporting goods store. It was full of fun things like fishing lures and pocketknives.
A shabbily dressed boy was standing near us, looking longingly into the window. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my father went over and spoke with him briefly, then put his hand on his shoulder and led him inside the store. I watched as the boy picked out a pocketknife and my father paid the shopkeeper.
I didn’t get a pocketknife that day, but I did get a lesson. As my father and I walked away from the store, he said, “You have me. He doesn’t have anybody.” Later I realized how generous and how sensitive to the needs of others my father was.

I have never before read such a profitable and edifying publication as the Liahona (Spanish). I’m a young person who has never really cared to read. And when I started to read the magazine, I didn’t think I would find anything that would motivate me to search the scriptures and help me understand the message of the Lord Jesus Christ. But as I read the January 2000 issue, the talk “The Faith of a Sparrow: Faith and Trust in the Lord Jesus Christ” by Elder H. Bruce Stucki of the Seventy had a real impact on my life—so much so that I have continued to study the scriptures.
Thanks to our Heavenly Father and His missionaries, I have found the truth, and I am going to be baptized. Thank you for preparing missionaries to teach people like me.
Alexi Antonio López López,Oriental Ward, San Miguel El Salvador Stake
Note: Brother López was baptized on 18 March 2000, shortly after this letter was written.

I met Paulo on a hot day in southern Brazil. Church meetings had ended, and the meetinghouse was almost empty except for a few members sitting in the hallway. My husband, then serving as president of the Brazil Curitiba Mission, was meeting with Edson Lustoza Araújo, the district president from Guarapuava, in Paraná.
“Sister Paulsen,” said Brother Jason Sousa, who was serving as a counselor to my husband, “did you notice the brother sitting in the hallway with mud on his boots?”
Many roads in southern Brazil are made of red dirt, so mud on shoes is common.
“You mean the thin, dark-haired man in his late 20s?” I asked.
“Yes, his name is Paulo Tvuarde. He walks to church almost every Sunday, except when the mud is so thick that he can’t make it. He’s been doing that for 14 years—since he was 15.”
“How far does he walk?” I asked, unprepared for Brother Sousa’s response.
“Oh, 40 kilometers,” he said matter-of-factly. “He leaves at 3:00 a.m. to make it to church on time. It takes him eight hours.”
Quickly converting kilometers to miles, I realized that Brother Tvuarde walked 25 miles to attend church in Guarapuava!
“Why would he do that?” I asked incredulously.
“Because he believes that the Church is true.”
“Well, of course,” I said, a little embarrassed at the obvious answer. “What I meant was, why does he have to walk that far?”
Brother Sousa explained that Paulo lived in the country, taking care of the family farm so that his 74-year-old mother, who had a heart condition, could live in Guarapuava, where she received medical attention. President Lustoza was her cardiologist.
“Paulo lives by himself, plows the fields, and feeds the few animals that they have,” Brother Sousa said. “There is no electricity or running water. The farm is eight kilometers from the nearest bus stop. Worse than that, the bus doesn’t run on Saturdays or Sundays. So he walks to church.”
President Lustoza, who had entered the room with my husband, said Paulo usually attended three out of every four weeks. “He doesn’t miss unless the roads are impassible,” he said. “He stays overnight on Sundays so he can take the bus back on Monday.”
If Paulo attended church three out of every four Sundays, then he spent more than 300 hours walking nearly 1,600 kilometers (1,000 mi) each year just to attend church!

While this teaching process was occurring, our other friend, Bernard, walked into our lives. Bernard had first found the Church through a local Facebook ad and he accepted our first phone call invitation to attend church that coming Sunday. It was a joyous day when Bernard and Prince were able to meet on the oak benches in our chapel. Even though there is a small age gap, they clicked so well, and the rapidly growing testimony of Prince touched the heart of Bernard. Elder Hutchason and I watched Bernard quickly came to love all the messages and teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As we taught Bernard each time, we would call him on the phone, and he would answer. Anytime we asked to meet he was so excited he would even close down his shop early to meet us at the chapel to hear another message. Anytime we extended a commitment to read from the scriptures or to pray on his own, he would willingly and faithfully do so. Elder Hutchason and I both knew that we should not procrastinate the day of his baptism.
Even through a very challenging and busy week for everyone, we were still able to have Bernard properly interviewed, baptized, and confirmed in the same week. On that perfect cool Saturday evening of September 18, 2021, I watched as my worthy, spirit-filled companion, Elder Hutchason, guided Bernard into the baptismal font. I cannot express with words how much joy I saw in that man’s smile as Elder Hutchason raised him out of the water. He knew, and so did everyone else in attendance, that his sins had been purified.
By taking this first step, he had become more like our Savior, Jesus Christ, and began a lifelong journey to now go and share his light before mankind that “they may see [his] good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). Bernard was confirmed the following day in sacrament meeting. My favorite part about this is the support of the uplifted right hand from the congregation to support the newest member of their family.

When my children were young, I tried to enroll them in preschool. I began applying to schools in the area, but with each application, I encountered the same difficult response: as soon as the staff met my sons and found out about their condition, we were informed that the school no longer had any openings. Eventually a facility in a neighboring town welcomed us, but this was only after we were rejected by every preschool in our city.
It was incredibly painful.
Riding public transportation wasn’t much easier. Sometimes, when I would scold the boys for making too much noise on the train, they would act out, causing strangers to tell me that I was being abusive. Other times, I would restrain myself from quieting the boys out of fear of how they might react, only to have other passengers tell me that I was being neglectful.
I even had social workers insist that I place one of my children in a semipermanent facility, with contact only once every two years, because they believed I’d never be able to raise two children with autism and ADHD as a single mother. However, having personally experienced the pains of a difficult childhood—my parents divorced when I was a toddler and for various reasons weren’t able to care for me—I was determined to do my best to give my sons the deep love that every child deserves.
Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.
Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”
I have nothing but gratitude in my heart when I think about the deep love demonstrated by the members in our ward—a love that ultimately allowed us to find the light of the gospel. The ward perfectly encapsulated what it means to have our “hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another” (Mosiah 18:21). My family was truly blessed by the kindness of these welcoming Latter-day Saints.
It’s now been two years since my sons and I were baptized. Both of my sons have been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and I’ve seen an incredible change in their demeanors.
I’m grateful for the many caring individuals who accepted my family and who helped my sons overcome their fears through the power of love. I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, through which even the deepest wounds of prejudice can be healed. And above all, I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who prepared a way for my family to find peace and belonging, even when I couldn’t see what that path would be.
I’ve learned that as we make room for our differences, we make room for greater love. Each of us is a beloved child of heavenly parents, and as we remember this truth, we can all—no matter where we are or who we are—become one in Christ (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:27).

Last spring Mom and Dad went into town for a little while. Since I had turned twelve, they let me baby-sit my two younger sisters and baby brother. Everything went fine, but when they got home, Mom was feeling sick.
That night there was a stake Young Women and mothers’ dinner and the General Young Women Meeting broadcast from Salt Lake City. I really wanted to go to it, but with Mom’s being sick, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.
Mom lay down to rest for an hour. After she got up, we dyed some Easter eggs, and then she told me to get ready to go to the meeting. She said I could wear my new Easter dress. She still wasn’t feeling great, but we were going!
At the church, we ate a really good dinner of lasagna and salad, with brownies for dessert. After dinner, Mom said that she had a bad headache, but we went into the chapel with everyone else to watch the broadcast. During the broadcast she started to get really sick and told me that she needed to go home. She asked me if I wanted to stay and see all of the meeting, saying that I could get a ride home with a friend. I said, “Yes.” But I got a feeling inside me, and a voice said, “Go home with your mom, or she will crash.” Another voice said, “Don’t go—she’ll be fine.” I couldn’t decide which voice to listen to.
Mom sat there a few more minutes, then again said that she was going home and asked if I wanted to stay or go with her. The first voice came again: “Go home with your mom.” This time I listened to it and went with her.
As we left the church, I could see that my mom was getting worse and was very sick. On the highway going home, she could barely drive and told me, “Talk to me, Kendra, and tell me that we are going to get home.” I talked and talked and kept reassuring her that we would get home. We did.
I made the right choice to get us home safely. My dad helped my mom into bed; then we had family prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for getting us home safely and asked Him to help Mom get better.
That night I had a bad dream. I dreamed that if I had not gone home with Mom, she would have been hurt in a wreck.
I’m grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost and that I was faithful enough to listen to His promptings to go home with Mom.

“Now, listen up, guys. This is the last game of the season,” Coach said. “We’re tied for first place with the Grizzlies. If we win today, we’re in first place. We can do it! Just go out there and play the kind of baseball we’ve been playing all season. OK now, let’s go!”
We huddled around the coach, listened to his pep talk, then broke with a big yell—it always gives me gooseflesh.
We were scoreless for the first two innings. Then the other team got two in the bottom of the third and one in the fourth, and it stayed 3–0 through the fifth. We were really down.
But in the sixth inning my dream came true. The Grizzlies pitcher was tiring, though I don’t know why—we certainly hadn’t overworked him—and walked the first batter. Then Tubby hit a line drive for a base hit. Tyler hit a long fly ball to center field, and the guy out in the daisies dropped it. I couldn’t believe it!
So the bases were loaded with no outs, and I was up.
“Stee-rike!”
I pushed my hair back up under the batting helmet and crouched lower.
“Stee-rike two!”
I hadn’t made the strike zone small enough.
“Ball.”
That was better.
“Ball two.”
“Ball three.”
The three-two pitch was on its way. I connected with a crack you could hear two blocks away! The roar from the crowd was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They knew it was a home run before I got to first base. I flew around those bases, almost catching up with Tyler. Thanks at least partly to me, we’d won four to three! We were the Bridgeville Little League champs!

I’ll never forget our family reunion the summer I turned eight. It was at the sawmill site on our mountain homestead. Our family is a big one, with lots of uncles and aunts and big and little cousins—especially Lucinda. She’s just my age. Our birthdays are both in July.
The ranch has a meadow, a creek, a pollywog pond with a zillion frogs, ponderosa pines, and lots of things to do and places to play. Lucinda and I made little fences and houses out of pinecones and wildflowers, and our people and animals were pretty rocks and twigs.
The reunion was two days and nights of fun. The first night, when the canyon breeze whispered through the pine trees, Papa lit a campfire that felt good. Everyone brought folding chairs and circled the fire. The sun was setting in a sky of pink and gold. Uncle Jake strummed his guitar and began to sing, “Just a Song at Twilight,” and Papa and Mama and all of my uncles and aunts joined in. I felt like heaven itself had come to our reunion. Nothing could have been prettier. Stories and songs filled the evening. We sang songs like “You Are My Sunshine” and “Red Wing,” and we giggled while we sang “Plant a Watermelon on My Grave and Let the Juice Soak Through.”
The second night, after our marshmallow roast and singing, Aunt Venice told us about the time the Savior came to America and blessed the children. When Lucinda and I snuggled into our beds, we lay looking at the stars while we talked about the angels that had come down among the children.
The next morning after breakfast, we cleaned up camp and packed to go home. We were sad to leave. I wished we could have stayed forever. Lucinda and I walked out into the meadow while the cars were being loaded. The penstemons were blooming tall and pinkish white. In one of their snapdragon-like blossoms was the shining black rear of a big bumblebee.
“Hey, look, Lucinda,” I cried.
The blossom’s lips were pursed snugly around that fat bee. I tapped the stem to see if he would back up, but he didn’t. So I tapped harder. “He likes it so much he won’t come out,” I said.
“He’s so full of honey, he’s taking a nap,” Lucinda remarked.
Papa honked the car horn and shouted, “All aboard.”
“Are you riding with us?” Lucinda asked.
“Thanks,” I answered, “but I think I’ll go home with my family. I want to show Robbie my bumblebee. He’ll love it.”
Car horns honked again and Lucinda ran. I picked my bee-flower and started to run, then tripped on a morning-glory runner. I lost my bee in the tall grass and couldn’t find him. Cars were leaving, and some of them had already crossed the creek. By the time I got back to camp, the last car was pulling out. It was my family. I yelled, “Hey, wait for me!” but they went right on. I knew my parents would think I was with Lucinda, because that was the way I had come.
I ran as fast as I could, but it was no use. No one looked back. The cars crawled in a dusty caravan over the bumpy road and vanished around the bend. And there I was. Alone.
The only thing I could think of was to keep running. Maybe someone would have to stop. I ran until my lungs burned. I stopped at the gate, which was wired shut. I’d have to climb over it. I remembered a nearby mountain road where someone would see me and take me home.
As I reached for the bars to pull myself up onto the gate, a warning thought came into my head. Firmly it said, Don’t go out that gate.
I stepped down. “The only way to get home is to climb that gate,” I said to myself, so I put my foot on the bottom bar. This time the thought shouted, Don’t go out that gate!
I was already panting from running so hard, and now I was shaking. I leaned against a tree to think. Home was seventeen miles down the mountain. The road was twisty and steep. Papa called it a slow road. It would be a long time before the folks got home and discovered I was missing, and then a longer time before they could get back to find me. If I could get out onto the road to catch a ride, I might get home before they missed me.
Then I remembered my parents warning us all to never get into a car with a stranger. Something terrible might happen. My heart was pounding and a sob stuck in my throat, but I was determined not to cry. I knew I wasn’t alone, because of the warnings that kept me from climbing over the gate.
I could hear the trickle of the nearby creek. I sat on its bank and watched the water splash over the rocks. My thoughts went back to last night’s get-together around the campfire and Aunt Venice’s story. The sweetness of her telling about how Jesus came to America after the Resurrection comforted me. How wonderful it was when He kneeled in the midst of the little children. I felt His love as He blessed each one of them. How beautiful it must have been with all of the people looking up and seeing heaven open and angels descending in the midst of fire and encircling the little ones.
I’m one of the little ones, I thought. It seemed like those very angels were with me. A song filled my heart. I found myself softly singing, “I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children like lambs to his fold; I should like to have been with him then.”*
“Thanks, Heavenly Father,” I whispered. “It’s good to know that I’m not alone.”
With time on my hands, I enjoyed the wildflowers and the bluejays, the woodpeckers and the squirrels, the chipmunks and the wrens. Finally I got sleepy. I gathered armfuls of bracken ferns and stacked them for a pillow on the shady tabletop of a huge tree stump that had been timbered off years ago, and curled up for a nap.
I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear anyone coming through the gate. Mama’s kiss and her tears on my cheek awoke me. Opening my eyes, I saw her and Papa bending over me. The bursting happiness that was mine can never, never be forgotten. I wanted to shout to all the world the goodness of our Savior and Heavenly Father, and the preciousness of families.