Gospel Story Finder

History provides us a vivid example of the importance of the Lord’s servants being in tune with the Spirit. The young Prophet Joseph Smith could not translate when he was angry or upset.

David Whitmer recalled: “One morning when he was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went up stairs, and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation, but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went down stairs, out into the orchard and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came up stairs where we were and the translation went on all right. He could do nothing save he was humble and faithful.”

A few years ago my parents met a man named Kevin Hall. He was famous for a few books he wrote and for being an inspirational speaker. He told my parents a story about a time when he visited Italy. Just before coming home he stopped in a shop to buy something to bring home to his family. He started speaking with the store keeper and the store keeper asked him to sign his guestbook. Kevin opened the book and began reading the names of past guests. He read names like mother Teresa, Victor Frankl, family members of Mahatma Gandhi, and many other important names. He said to the store keeper I cannot sign this, these are great people and I am not great. The store keeper said with an agitated look on his face, "let me tell you about a special word, the word is genshai." He explained that the meaning of genshai was to never make a person feel small or less of themselves. The store keeper told Kevin that he had treated himself small tonight when he was asked to sign the man's book. Then he said, "Kevin you are one of the great ones - I can feel it. Not only treat others with respect but treat yourself with respect."

“What took you so long?” Robby asked as I stomped out the back door and into the backyard, where he and Ryan were waiting for me.
“I’ve been hauling out the garbage,” I grumbled, dropping down under the cherry tree, “and I’m sick of it. All I do at home is work! I have to make my bed when I get up, clean my room, hang my clothes up, take a bath at night, work in the garden, empty the garbage. Brother! All I do is work, work, work. And if I even look cross-eyed at Annie or Sarah, they start complaining and Mom and Dad yell at me for teasing them.”
“You have it pretty tough all right,” Robby muttered, sitting next to me, “but no worse than I do. I have a hundred chores to do too. That’s the trouble with being a kid. Everybody is always bossing you around and making you do things.”
“I can hardly wait until I’m a dad,” Ryan said with a smile. “I’m not going to do anything that I don’t want to do. I’ll make my kids do everything.”
“You’ll still have to go to work,” Robby pointed out. “Dads do have to go to work, you know.”
“Yes, but they do fun work,” Ryan said. “All my dad does is sit at a desk and sign papers and talk on the phone.”
“That’s why he gets to boss you around,” Robby pointed out. “He makes all the money.”
“Then if we were making our own money, we could do anything we wanted.”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t think my dad would care how much money I made. He’d still boss me around.”
“Our parents couldn’t boss us around if we weren’t around to boss,” I said, excited. “Let’s leave home and be our own bosses. I already have a little over six dollars.”
“I have four dollars and twenty-three cents,” Robby volunteered.
“And I have five dollars and two quarters,” Ryan added. “That means that we have”—he closed his eyes and started counting on his fingers—“almost sixteen dollars!”
“And we could get more, lots more,” I said. “We could collect cans and sell them to the store.”
“Sister Wheeler pays me to run errands for her,” Ryan put in.
“And sometimes Brother Randall pays me to rake the grass after he’s mowed,” Robby added.
“Wow!” I declared. “We’ll have tons of money. Just think—no more chores!”
“But where would we stay?” Robby asked.
We sat down, put our chins in our hands, and did some hard thinking. “The fort!” I suddenly burst out.
We all laughed out loud because we were so excited. There was a vacant lot behind the Petersons’ place a couple of blocks away. It was filled with old boards, abandoned cars, big metal drums, and lots of other good junk. We had used some of the boards to make ourselves a fort between two old cars.
“That’s it!” Ricky agreed. “We’ll live in the fort.”
“And if we live there,” Ryan added, “we won’t have to worry about making our beds or doing chores or anything.”
“Do you suppose our moms will care if we run off and live in the fort?” Robby wondered aloud.
I gulped. “Well,” I mumbled, “I don’t think that we should ask them. But,” I added quickly, “we can leave them a note.”
We stood up. I was a little scared, but I just knew that I’d have to leave home or always get bossed around and have a million chores to do.
It didn’t take long to pack my things. I grabbed two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, a pair of socks, my basketball shoes, my football, and the little can that held my money. I rolled everything up in two blankets and tucked them under my arm. Just before I slipped out again, I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, “I’ve gone to live in the fort with Robby and Ryan. Somebody else will have to do my chores. Don’t worry, we’re getting jobs. I’ll come back to visit.”
A half hour later we were pulling Ryan’s loaded red wagon toward the fort and laughing and talking. We could hardly believe how lucky we were. We’d all been able to pack our things and slip back outside without being seen.
When we reached the fort, we spread our blankets on the ground inside to sleep on, then stuffed everything else into the corners. The place didn’t look nearly as big as we remembered it. Everything fit, but just barely.
For a few minutes we just sat cross-legged on the floor of the fort and looked around and grinned. Boy, were we proud of our new place!
“The first thing that we’d better do is get some food,” I finally suggested. “We can take the wagon so that if we find any cans along the way, we can pick them up. And we can haul all our food back in the wagon.”
By the time we reached the store, the wagon was full of cans. A checker took us to a scale at the back of the store. “That comes to fifty-two cents,” she said.
“Fifty-two cents!” We all gasped. “Is that all?”
We added the money to what we already had, grabbed a shopping cart, and started down the aisles. “What do we need?” I asked.
“I want some soda pop,” Robby spoke out.
“And we just have to get some candy and some doughnuts,” Ryan added.
“And I want some cookies and potato chips,” I said. “They’re my favorites.”
It was great to be able to buy anything that we wanted without anybody telling us no.
“Is that about enough?” I asked.
“We probably ought to get some good food, too,” Robby muttered.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Let’s get some cereal.”
We grabbed a box of sugar-coated cereal and a jug of milk and pushed the cart to the checkout counter. “That will be twenty-one dollars and eighty-seven cents,” the lady announced with a smile.
“Twenty-one dollars!” I yelped. I looked over at Ryan and Robby. All of us studied our groceries. “Let’s put these back,” I said, grabbing the cereal and milk and one bag of candy. “We don’t need them for a few days. We’ve had enough good stuff at home.”
It was way past noon when we made it back to the fort. And we had been so hungry that we munched on doughnuts, granola bars, cookies, and licorice as we walked.
When we got there, I asked, “Should we have lunch now?”
Ryan made a face. “I don’t want to eat anything,” he moaned. “My stomach is making funny noises, and it feels as though it’s going to pop. I think I’ll lie down for a minute.”
“You’re not going to take a nap, are you?” I gasped. “We don’t have to take naps.”
“That’s right,” Ryan said, sitting up.
So we just sat in the fort and munched on chips and talked about how great it was to be on our own. Pretty soon it got warm inside the fort, and I began to yawn and stretch. Finally I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I lay on my blanket and went to sleep.
It was starting to get dark when we finally woke up. We sat up and looked around. I grabbed a bag of chips, and Ryan and Robby started on a bag of candy. We tried to wash everything down with soda pop, but it was warm and just gagged us.
“My hands are sure sticky,” Robby muttered. “I sure wish I could wash my hands. I wouldn’t mind a bath.”
The sun had gone down, and the only light in the fort came from the sunset’s last glow. Once a cat scratched across our roof and we all jumped. A while later a dog barked.
“Maybe we ought to have some supper and go to bed,” I suggested in a whisper. “We’ll have to get up early and find work.”
“What’s for supper?” Ryan asked.
“We could have some more cookies or marshmallows or—”
“Yuck!” Robby gagged. “I don’t want any supper if that’s all there is.”
“Me either,” Ryan muttered.
We were quiet again, just sitting and listening.
“You know,” Robby whispered after a while, “I didn’t really have a lot of chores at home.”
“Me either,” Ryan agreed. “Mom did lots more than I did. She had to wash the dishes and the clothes. She made dinner. Why, she was working all the time. And she didn’t ever get to play.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Moms never have it too good when it comes to doing chores. Everybody did chores around my place too. I wasn’t the only one that had to take out the garbage. My sisters helped, too, and had other things to do.”
“I’m tired of being sticky,” Robby whined. “And I’m tired of being scrunched up in this dirty old fort.”
“Do you know what I could be doing if I was home?” Ryan asked. “I could be playing catch or working in the garden with Dad. Shoot! I didn’t mind working in the garden when Dad was there. He made it fun and would tell me stories.”
We were quiet for a while. Then Robby started to sniffle. “Do you think our moms and dads would let us come home?”
“We could ask them tomorrow,” I muttered. “We could—”
“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” Robby whimpered. “I want to go home right now. I’m sick of doughnuts and cookies and junk and this old fort. It’s all your fault,” he accused me, jabbing a finger in my direction. “It was your big idea to run away!”
I ducked my head. “Maybe they haven’t found our notes yet,” I offered.
“I don’t care if they’ve found my note or not!” Robby burst out. “I’m going home right now.” He didn’t even wait to pick up his things. He just started out the door and headed for home.
“Well, if he’s going,” Ryan said, “I’m going too. You can have all the rest of the junk we bought.”
I didn’t stay there alone very long. I grabbed my blankets and clothes and started for home.
It seemed awfully late, but the porch light was still on and so were some of the lights in the house. I was about to walk inside, when I remembered that I didn’t live there anymore. So I reached up and rang the doorbell. The door flew open, and there was Dad. “Well, hello, stranger.”
“Did you find my note?” I blurted, looking down at the floor.
“Your mom said something about a note.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, then I guess that I’m just coming for a visit,” I said, disappointed.
“Well, stranger,” Dad said, “you can visit us anytime. Come in. I’ll tell your mom that you’re here.”
He didn’t have to, though. She’d heard me talking and came running from the kitchen. She hugged me and kissed me. I didn’t even pull away as I usually did. It felt good to have her squeeze me.
“Did you get a good job?” Dad asked.
“Well, we sold some cans.”
“How long can you stay?” Dad asked.
“How long will you let me stay?” I whispered.
“Oh, you could stay an hour or so,” Dad answered. “You’re probably anxious to get back to your fort and Robby and Ryan.”
“Not really,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Well, if you’re not in a hurry to get back to your fort,” Dad said, “why don’t you spend the night? Or you can stay here forever, if you want.”
I looked up at Mom and Dad. They were both grinning, and I could feel my heart thumping madly in my chest. I wanted to jump and shout and squeeze them both around their necks. “You mean it?” I gasped. “Even though I ran away, you’ll still let me stay?”
“Sure we mean it,” Mom answered, hugging me again.
“And I’ll take a bath,” I promised. “And I’ll do my chores.”
I never thought a bath could feel so good. And before I climbed into bed, I cleaned and straightened my room. Sarah and Annie came to see me, and I didn’t even tease them.
Mom and Dad came in and tucked me in between the clean-smelling sheets and kissed me. When they were gone, I slipped out of bed and knelt down and said a little prayer. I didn’t ask for anything. Not one thing. But I did a lot of thanking because I had a mom and dad who loved me enough to let me come home, the best place in the world!

From the moment I walked into the preschool room, I was in love. I saw how much I could give to the children there, and I knew they needed me. I had never worked with severely handicapped children before, so this was a new experience. A feeling of love that I hadn’t felt before began to grow within me.
I was told that any one of the children in that room could die at any time, but that didn’t upset me. My experiences with death had been few, and I had never felt the sting it could bring.
One day as I walked into that room, before going to my assigned room, I noticed a new face. I find it hard to explain what he looked like. His face seemed to light the entire room. Never had I seen such clear blue eyes, and I wondered what went on behind them. I asked Trudy who the new boy was, and she told me that his name was Christian and that he was three. I felt so drawn to him that every moment I could spare I was next to him.
After school one day Trudy asked me if I could possibly take Christian home in my car. He lived only a short distance away, and after receiving instructions to his home, I carefully bundled him up and carried him to my car. I was so afraid I might hurt him that I kept checking on him to make sure he was all right. He never did make much noise; even his cries were so faint that they would have been muffled by the blanket.
Upon reaching his house, I set him carefully on the couch. His father thanked me, and as I turned to leave I said, “If you ever need a baby-sitter I live only a short distance away, and I’d enjoy sitting for you.” I scribbled my name and number on a scrap of paper and left.
That was the first of many times when I took Christian home in my car. Each time I felt very lucky to have the responsibility of getting him safely there.
I didn’t hear from his parents about baby-sitting, but I saw him almost every day anyway. The year passed quickly, and soon school was dismissed for summer break. I thought about Christian, though, and looked forward to September when I could see him again.
One night, shortly after school was back in session for the children, I received a phone call. The woman identified herself as “Cindy Marx,” but I didn’t recognize the name. She said she needed a baby-sitter desperately, and since they had my number her husband said she should at least try to reach me. Suddenly I remembered Christian, and in less than 20 minutes I was sitting in their small apartment with Christian and his baby brother, Lance.
I fixed them dinner and fed both of them. It took about 45 minutes to feed Christian. I sat him in his little yellow chair and fed him slowly. I had to mix the eggs with applesauce to disguise their presence. Cindy had told me that Christian would eat anything mixed with applesauce.
Bedtime rolled around and suddenly I was in the middle of bathing the boys. I couldn’t bear to leave Christian alone on the front couch, so I put him back in his little yellow chair and sat him by the tub. Lance rolled around for a while and then I gave him his bottle and put him to bed. As I undressed Christian I noticed how skinny he was and how his ribs protruded. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that I had to slap him on the back so often to clear his lungs. Soon I got him dressed, and we were sitting on the front couch while I combed out his hair; it was so soft, and he didn’t cry—not even once.
After that I tended regularly for the Marxes, and I always enjoyed it. There was something in the way Lance treated Christian. Even though he was only seven months old, he seemed to treat Christian with dignity. Sometimes he would just look at his face, as I often did. Was it possible that Lance knew Christian was different?
One night Cindy called on short notice and asked if I could come to baby-sit for a couple of hours. When I got there she led me into the bedroom, where I saw baby bottles, diapers, tissues, and medicines of all kinds. She turned to me and said, “Christian has been sick. He hasn’t been to school this week.” I had been so busy with my own work that I hadn’t noticed Christian’s absence. I looked at him, lying quietly on the bed. Even my thoughts were gentle when I was near him. I could see that he looked weaker than usual, and I noticed a rocking chair had been moved into this room. After I put Lance to bed, I gathered Christian up in my arms and sat in the rocking chair. It was rather awkward at first, because his legs were so long, but soon we were comfortable and I started to rock him. I don’t know how long we sat there rocking, but soon I heard sounds of Cindy and Brad returning from their evening out. They thanked me, and I went home.
The next day was Saturday, and Cindy called me to come again right away. When I arrived, I saw many of their close relatives—aunts, uncles, and grandparents. They left, and I began to play with Lance. As I did so, Christian started to smile. I don’t know why, he just smiled, and I smiled back and talked to him. I reached over and slipped my finger into his little fist, and then realized how cold he was. I felt just awful that I had let him get cold after he’d been so sick all week, so I found a blanket and wrapped him up, until only his little face was showing. Lance played happily and quietly on the floor until their parents arrived.
I sensed a feeling among them when they saw me with Christian all bundled up on my lap, and Lance playing happily there on the floor. They had accepted me, and somehow that was important.
The next week I was so busy I hardly had any time to stick my head in the classroom to see Christian. Once, as I walked by, I saw him, sitting by the door in his little yellow chair. I remembered how gray he looked. His little head lay limply against one side of the chair, and his eyes just watched in an unwavering gaze. All that day I wanted to go in and hold him, but my responsibilities didn’t permit it.
The next day a friend and I were leaving the library when she turned and said, “One of the kids at the center died today. He just stopped breathing in his mother’s arms. I don’t know what I’d do if one of the kids in our classroom died.”
I felt sad that one of the children had died, but I didn’t ask who it was. She continued, “I don’t know any of the children in the preschool room, but I still think it’s hard knowing that one of them won’t be coming back tomorrow.”
The preschool room! I paused. “Who was it?”
“Christian,” she said. “I think his name was Christian.”
Christian! Not my Christian! “Are you sure?”
She was sure. But I couldn’t believe it. All I could see was the picture of Christian in my mind, sitting in his little yellow chair, looking so very gray. I could almost touch that picture. I wanted to.
Angry, frustrated thoughts pounded in my head. “Oh Christian, why did you have to die, and why couldn’t I see that you’d be leaving us soon?” But I couldn’t find the tears; they just weren’t there. I was angry with Christian for dying. I don’t know why, but I was. And I knew I couldn’t go back into the preschool room. I just couldn’t! Suddenly I knew that all those children were going to die, and I couldn’t face the thought of all that empty loneliness.
The day after the funeral I walked into the office and found my supervisor gazing at the picture of Christian that had appeared on the funeral program. I sat down and told her how I felt. I said it wasn’t fair that I should give all that love and then lose it. She then turned to me with tears in her eyes and told me something I will never forget.
“Tracine, you can’t stop loving people simply because you are afraid of being hurt. All of us here take that gamble when we love these children with everything we have. We can learn through our love for Christian, and the memory of him will always be a very special part of us.”
I think that was when I felt my heart break and all the bitterness leave.
Christian, can you run now? What would you say if you could talk to me?
Yes, I have the memory of him while he lived, and I know he now lives. I know I loved him, and I’m not afraid to love anymore. Loving is for now, and you can never really lose that love. It can’t be taken away. It just becomes more precious than before.

Spending time with my family is always a cherished experience for me. Because I work as a railroad engineer, my schedule is unpredictable. Occasionally I am transferred to distant locations and become temporarily separated from my wife and children. During these times, I see them only a few days each week—and only after a lengthy drive home.
Once, my wife, Scarlett, and our sons traveled to visit me during one of my breaks. Our sons enjoyed sleeping in a motel room and eating at restaurants. This trip became a vacation for them. This refreshing reunion passed quickly, and before too long we were hugging and saying good-bye. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw Scarlett’s car disappear from view as we got on opposite on-ramps to the freeway. I was traveling back to the railroad, and Scarlett was taking our children home.
I smiled as I thought about my family and decided to call Scarlett to thank her again for coming to visit me. I reached for my cell phone in my coat pocket, but it was not there. After an unsuccessful search, I realized that the phone must have been put in Scarlett’s car by accident.
I used my cell phone to keep in touch with my family, but it was also necessary for my work. My wife and I had been driving in separate directions for 10 minutes, but I knew I had to retrieve my phone. I decided I would dash up to the next overpass, turn back in the opposite direction, and try to catch her. As I prepared to turn around, I seemed to hear a voice say, “Stop!”
I began slowing down, even though each passing moment was making it more difficult to recover my phone.
A second thought came: “Stay here!”
This strong feeling swept over me. Defying logic and reason, I pulled over and turned off the car. I did not know why, but I sensed that I should stay put. As I yielded to what I felt was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, I felt panic being replaced by peace. I offered a humble prayer, grateful for Heavenly Father’s direction and guidance.
Shortly thereafter I caught sight of Scarlett driving toward me. When she saw me, she quickly brought the vehicle to a halt and came over to me with the cell phone in hand.
“How did you know to stop and wait?” she asked.
Joyful tears filled our eyes as I related my experience receiving promptings from the Holy Ghost.
That incident has stayed with me, and I can never deny the divine help I received that day. It strengthened our testimonies that Heavenly Father is aware of the seemingly minute details of our lives. I strive to remain worthy of that same guidance I received many years ago.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly as they focused their attention on the gymnastic arena. Everyone seemed to be watching the same girl—the one who had attracted their attention earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging on the uneven parallel bars.
The girl was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking fifteen-year-old gymnast with a slim body, her hair in a blonde ponytail. But the crowd seemed to sense that there was more to her than her good looks.
Maybe they noticed her because of the confident way she performed her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that winning smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that smile. Even when she slipped and landed flat on her face at the end of a routine while being filmed on national television, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a competition on her eighteenth birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”

When I was a little girl just two years of age, my father died in a tragic accident. I had a sister who was seven and a brother who was six. Life became very hard for my mother, who had to face life alone with her three little children. For some reason she decided to tell me that my daddy had gone away on a trip. Maybe she was so sad that she didn’t have the courage to tell me the truth.
So I kept waiting to see him and hear his sweet voice and be wrapped in his arms. My birthday would come, and I would wait. Christmas would come, and I would wait.
Then one day I learned the truth from a neighbor girl who was my age. It was devastating; I cried so hard. I started noticing other children with their fathers even more than before. It seemed so cruel.
The years went by, and I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I married a good man who wasn’t a member of the Church. But he gained a testimony and decided to be baptized.
Through our membership in the Church, a most wonderful blessing came into our lives. We learned that families can be forever, that a link in our family chain that had been left hanging by itself could be joined to the rest of the family. Through temple ordinances, my father could be baptized by proxy and sealed to his parents and I could eventually be sealed to him.
My husband was baptized for my father, and we had all the necessary temple ordinances performed. The Spirit of the Lord brought great joy to us. The anguish I had gone through as a child didn’t seem to matter when I compared it with this great joy and blessing. Knowing that families can be eternal was better than all the Christmases or birthdays my father and I could have spent together.
Today my father is sealed to his parents, and they, in turn, are sealed to their parents. As a result of the happiness I have experienced, I dedicate a great part of my time to doing family history so I can help families be joined together. Temple work brings the most wonderful blessings into our lives.

—Lisa, a high school sophomore, tells about the time the quarterback of the football team asked her to the homecoming dance.
“I couldn’t believe my luck,” she said. “One of the most high-profile guys in the school had asked me to the most prestigious dance of the year.”
Her enthusiasm dampened, though, when after the dance her date started driving down a lonely road she realized led to Lover’s Lane. Quarterback or no quarterback, she had decided long ago that “parking” was something she would not do.
To avoid embarrassment, she began talking about how this particular road reminded her of a friend’s experience. The police had caught her friend and a date parking up there, and had taken them to the police station.
“Of course, anyone who is silly enough to park deserves what they get,” she laughed. Without speaking, her date turned the car around, and a few minutes later they were sitting in her living room eating pie with her parents.

We have a grandson serving a mission in the Philippines. In one of his letters he explained how he and his companion were teaching a man who had a drinking problem. They had invited him to quit drinking, but to no avail.

On the subsequent visit, my grandson described how he became quite bold and told the man that if he did not stop drinking, they would not be able to teach him anymore, because he was always drunk when they came to his home and he could not benefit from their message when he was drunk. The man agreed to stop drinking. And the next time the missionaries visited him, he was sober for the first time in years.

All of my five children read my grandson's letter. And then the fun began. We all started talking about how to help someone who is not like us. My grandson had never known an alcoholic before. So he had to reach down deep to know how to help him. He had to call upon the Lord. We have created a group email for our family so that my children who live in four different states can communicate easily with us and their siblings. Some began sharing scriptures, others shared experiences--all focusing on how we can relate more effectively to those with whom we don't have too much in common. It was a rich learning and teaching experience. My wife and I were learning from our children. They were learning from us. We were all learning from each other.

A heartfelt delivery took place in December as Erina Osborne and Chris Forbes, along with a dedicated team of volunteers from local congregations of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, made their way to Waikato Hospital with 138 beautifully crafted quilts and “angel blankets” for various hospital units.
An angel blanket is an infant-sized blanket provided to mothers of newborn children with life threatening conditions.
The quilts provided comfort and warmth to families and children facing difficult circumstances during the holiday season.
The quilts were distributed across several hospital wards:
Neonatal Ward: 48 quilts
Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU): 76 quilts
Waikids Cancer Ward: 14 quilts
Since 2021, Erina and Chris, along with a network of volunteers, have donated over 750 quilts and angel blankets to various organizations.
Erina and Chris took the opportunity to visit with nurses and doctors, thanking them for their unwavering dedication to the children and families in their care. Many of the healthcare workers were visibly moved by the thoughtful gesture.
Several young women volunteers, many of whom were learning to sew for the first time, bravely took part in creating the quilts for babies while overcoming their own personal challenges to bless the lives of newborn babies.
The quilts were delivered just in time for Christmas, offering families and healthcare professionals a tangible reminder of hope and warmth during a season often marked by hardship and loss.
The quilting project was promoted on the JustServe.org website so volunteers could join in.

Andrew liked to rush home after school to put on his jeans, soft flannel shirt, and sneakers. These clothes were perfect for climbing the cherry tree. Andrew would play for hours in the tree until his mother called for him to come inside. Of course he didn’t play in it every day. But even on days when he had other places to go, like to a baseball game or sledding with his best friend, Jeremy, Andrew would smile whenever he passed the cherry tree.
Andrew remembered certain things about the tree that made it special each season. For instance, one spring he’d left his teddy bear up in the cherry tree overnight, and it had rained. The next morning the soggy teddy bear resting among all the fluffy blossoms looked like a lost mitten in a pile of new snow.
During the summer Andrew and Jeremy kept their jars of fireflies beside the tree trunk. They would climb the tree and talk about the fine tree house they would build as soon as they had enough money for lumber.
If Andrew had to pick a time when he thought the tree was most beautiful, he’d probably choose autumn, when the leaves changed into their brilliant colors. When he stood in the piles of leaves that fell to the ground, their good smell made him think of frost and log cabins and other things.
When winter snows fell, the cherry tree became a hitching post for sleds.
Jeremy liked the tree almost as much as Andrew did. They’d climb as high as they could in it, then tell each other secrets and make plans that no one could overhear. Their biggest plan this fall was to gather all the pinecones they could, cover them with peanut butter, roll them in birdseed, and set them in the cherry tree limbs for the birds. They knew their plan wouldn’t be ruined if someone overheard it, but whispering about it among the branches of their favorite tree made their idea more special.
On an Indian summer Saturday, Jeremy climbed the tree so he could sit and think. When Andrew came out of his house, Jeremy called down to him. Andrew could see his friend through an open spot in the orange red foliage. When Andrew had settled onto his favorite branch, Jeremy told him that his family was moving! His dad had bought a toy manufacturing company in Florida, and they were going to move there in November.
Andrew thought Jeremy’s secret was just about the most important secret he’d ever been told. They whispered excitedly about all the fun things Jeremy was going to get to do, like swimming in the ocean all year round. When they ran out of ideas about what Florida would be like, they talked about their pinecone plan. It was then that they realized that Jeremy might not be there to help Andrew put the peanut-butter pinecones out for the birds! Before they climbed down, they made a pact to pray every night from then until November for snow to come early so that they could try their pinecone plan before Jeremy had to move.
Each day Andrew noticed more leaves beneath the tree. He knew autumn would soon become winter. He prayed harder than ever that snow would come soon. Jeremy did too.
But November came, without any snow, and Jeremy’s family was ready to move. The boys decided that they wouldn’t cry, but it wasn’t easy. Even though Andrew knew Jeremy had to go, he felt deserted. Gathering pinecones wouldn’t be much fun without his best friend.
Snow fell the very next day after Jeremy left. Andrew moped around the house all morning. The more he thought about Jeremy, the worse he felt. Finally his mother suggested that he go out for a walk. He put on a jacket and went outside.
Crossing the bridge over the creek, Andrew missed Jeremy. Walking along the path into the woods, Andrew missed him too. But he missed Jeremy most when he was almost home and he came to the cherry tree. As Andrew solemnly stared at the tree, he spied a brown bag under it, partially hidden by snow and dead leaves. Hurriedly pushing aside the snow and the leaves, he lifted out the lumpy bag. As soon as he did, Andrew knew what was inside: pinecones! Jeremy had gathered them and left them there for him!
Andrew climbed up the cherry tree to a sturdy branch below the old secret-telling ones. He curled up into a comfortable position and daydreamed about his and Jeremy’s gift for the birds—a Christmas cherry tree decorated with pinecone ornaments of birdseed glitter and peanut-butter glue.

The program is intended to be individual-, quorum-, and family-oriented. This means that many of the requirements for each of the deacon, teacher, and priest awards may be accomplished at home—and signed off by a young man’s parents. Thus, the first place a young man and his parents should become acquainted with the program and the guidebook is in the home. Let’s see just how this might happen.
My friend Dan is 11 years old, and soon he will be ordained a deacon. Shortly before he becomes a deacon, Dan will receive a visit from the deacons quorum presidency in his ward and either a member of the bishopric or his deacons quorum adviser to welcome him into the quorum. They will explain to Dan and his parents all the wonderful things that Dan will be able to do when he receives the Aaronic Priesthood and is ordained a deacon, such as passing the sacrament, collecting fast offerings, being involved in service projects, and attending priesthood meeting and Mutual.
They will probably also share with Dan the wonderful blessing it is to bear the Aaronic Priesthood, which was restored by John the Baptist when he appeared to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery on the banks of the Susquehanna River and said, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (D&C 13:1).
They will bring Dan his own copy of the deacon’s Aaronic Priesthood: Fulfilling Our Duty to God (item no. 36412) guidebook. They will explain to Dan what the program is and what it is to accomplish. They might have Dan read the promise of the First Presidency to each deacon who works on and achieves the Duty to God Award:
“The Lord believes in you and has an important mission for you to do. He will help you as you turn to Him in prayer. Listen for the promptings of the Spirit. Obey the commandments. Make and keep covenants that will prepare you for the temple. Work with your parents and leaders as you set goals and strive to achieve them. You will feel a great sense of accomplishment as you fulfill your duty and prepare for the exciting challenges of the future.”1
Since many of the requirements can and should be fulfilled in the home, the quorum adviser will suggest that Dan’s father and mother become familiar with the requirements. Dan’s parents may receive a Guidebook for Parents and Leaders of Youth (item no. 36415), which explains their role in helping Dan. A number of the requirements (especially those in the “Family Activities” and “Spiritual Development” sections) are appropriate for family home evenings or for Sunday and will help Dan keep the Sabbath day holy.
His parents will want to know, for example, that one requirement is for Dan to give four family home evening lessons during his time as a deacon. They can arrange for him to learn how to prepare and give those lessons. They will also want to know that Dan (and possibly the entire family) will review and rememorize the Articles of Faith. Dan also needs to prepare at least two meals for his family, fill out a four-generation pedigree chart, complete a service project, develop the habit of reading the scriptures daily, and read the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet (item no. 36550) and discuss it with his parents or priesthood leader.
As Dan’s parents learn about the program, they will know how they can help and support him in accomplishing its requirements. What a great thing it would be for Dan’s father to review Dan’s progress toward his deacon certificate in father’s interviews with his son. During these interviews it might be helpful for Dan’s father to ask: How are these goals helping prepare you for your mission? How do they help prepare you for the temple? Tell me how your testimony has grown as you have read the Book of Mormon. How do you think your efforts in accomplishing your Duty to God goals are helping strengthen our family and helping you be a better son? How are your efforts preparing you to be a husband and father? (In families without a father in the home, this is a wonderful time for a mother to talk with her son about his goals and dreams and to discuss these same questions.)
Dan’s quorum president may also mention to him that some of the requirements are quorum based and that quorum activities will be planned to help Dan fulfill these requirements. The president may also review Dan’s progress with him periodically and may check with Dan’s parents now and then to see how the quorum can help. The quorum presidencies and advisers will also plan Mutual activities to help him complete the goals leading to his Duty to God Award. The bishopric can also use their regularly scheduled interviews to review Dan’s progress. They might even have an adult in the ward or branch, possibly the secretary to the Young Men presidency, help track each young man’s progress in the program.
When Dan has accomplished all the requirements for the deacon certificate, he will have an interview with the bishop to review his progress and sign the “Completion of Duty to God” page at the end of his deacon’s booklet. Dan can then receive his deacon Duty to God certificate.
Shortly before Dan becomes a teacher and then again when he is ready to become a priest, he may receive a similar visit from his quorum leaders to receive his teacher (and then priest) Duty to God guidebook. When he has received his deacon, teacher, and priest certificates, he is eligible to receive his Duty to God medallion. And though that, in itself, is a wonderful accomplishment, the most important result of Dan’s efforts will be the personal growth he has experienced in earning the award—personal growth that will help him be better prepared to receive the ordinances of the temple, to serve a full-time mission, and to be a faithful husband and father.

Marianne pulled her sweater around her as she walked home from church. She loved autumn. The air was cool and crisp, the trees had turned a beautiful orange and yellow, and the layer of snow on the top of the mountains reflected the sunlight.
Her older brother walked ahead; her mom was still in the meetinghouse library. Marianne knew that when she got home, her dad would be sitting in the family room, reading the newspaper, as he had every Sunday for as long as she could remember.
She sighed and looked down at the paper cup in her hand. Jesus often taught the gospel by talking about seeds. Today her Primary teacher had helped her and her classmates plant seeds and told them about Alma’s teachings about faith. Marianne knew that every time she looked at her little plant, she would remember that Jesus wanted her to plant his words in her heart and to always choose the right.
Right now, though, she was thinking about some different seeds—missionary seeds she had learned about a couple of weeks ago at the Primary activity. The Primary president had talked about the ones we plant when we talk to people who are not members of the Church.
Her father was not a member of the Church, and she wanted to help him gain a testimony. She thought about the things she did and said when she was with him. Sometimes she forgot to obey quickly, and sometimes she and her big brother fought. But she was trying her best to be a good example, and she prayed for her father all the time. Today she wondered if maybe there was something more she could be doing. She decided to ask her mom about it.
Right after school the next day, Marianne put on her warmest sweatshirt and went out in the front yard to help her mom plant tulip bulbs. The sun warmed her back, but her face and hands felt the bite of fall. Her mom hummed as she dug the holes, and Marianne put in the bulbs and covered them with the dark, cool dirt.
“I’m glad you came out to help me,” Mom said, smiling. “When these come up in the spring, they will be twice as beautiful because we planted them together.”
Marianne smiled back, then cleared her throat. “Mom, remember our Primary activity a few weeks ago?”
“The missionary activity?”
“Yes. We talked about setting a good example for our nonmember friends and about sharing our testimonies.”
“Those are good things to do.”
“Well, I wondered if there is something else I should be doing … you know, with Dad, so he can be a member too.”
Mom thought for a minute. “I think we’re doing all we can.”
“Well, then, when is he going to get baptized?”
“We just have to be patient, Marianne. Sometimes it takes a little time.”
Marianne felt confused. She had a strong testimony that the Church was true. If she could tell him and show him, why didn’t her dad see how right it was? She wrinkled her nose and looked at her mother for an explanation.
Mom smiled at her. “Marianne, go in my room and get my scriptures. We’ll see if we can find an answer there.”
It only took a minute to get the scriptures. Marianne sat on the porch step and handed the worn brown books to her mother.
Brushing the dirt off her hands, Mom carefully turned the pages. She handed the book to Marianne and said, “Read aloud from Matthew 13:3–8.” [Matt. 13:3–8]
“‘And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow;
“‘And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up:
“‘Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:
“‘And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.
“‘And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them:
“‘But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit. …’”
“What do you think this parable is saying?” Mom asked.
“Well, it says that not all the seeds that were planted grew. Some didn’t have good soil, weeds choked some, and some were eaten by birds.” She paused a second, then, with a troubled look, asked, “Do you mean that you don’t think our seeds will grow? You don’t think that Dad will ever join the Church?” Tears started to gather in her eyes.
“No, Marianne. I do believe that your dad will join the Church. I just don’t know when. You see, the seeds we plant are very important, but so is the soil. The heart has to be ready to receive. Your dad has to do that for himself; no one can do it for him or force him.”
“But Dad is the best!”
“Yes, he is. He’s a great man.” Mom thought a minute as she returned to the flower bed, dug in the ground, and placed a tulip bulb in the hole. “Look at these bulbs we’re planting. They aren’t going to grow now. No matter how we care for them, these tulip bulbs have to lie in the soil all winter long if they are to be ready to grow in the spring. Do you understand?”
Marianne was silent for a moment. “I guess so. We have to set a good example, share our testimonies, and love Dad. Then we have to wait until the seeds are ready to grow, right?”
“Yes, that is right. And while we’re waiting, we continue to support him as the head of our home.”
“And we can still pray.”
“Yes, sweetheart, we always pray. Does that help you?”
“Yes. I feel much better.”
“Good. It looks like we’re just about done here. Let’s finish up and go fix a nice dinner to welcome Dad home from work.”
As Marianne was putting the last things on the table, Dad drove in the driveway. She ran to give him a hug. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, sweetheart. What have my two best girls been doing?”
Marianne took Dad’s hand, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Oh, just planting some seeds.”

The note was written on blue paper with zigzags drawn around the corners, so even though Jeremy handed it to her, Melanie knew the note was from Rachel. Melanie glanced around. Reading time was over, and her classmates were putting away their books.
Melanie knew how the note would start: “Dear Best Friend.” She smiled to herself. She and Rachel had been friends since second grade. “We’re still best friends, even though we’re very different,” Melanie thought as she unfolded the note.
Dear Best Friend,
Do you smoke?
—Rachel
Melanie was surprised. “Rachel and I are together all the time,” she thought. “Doesn’t she know I don’t smoke?”
She wrote on the bottom of the paper:
No. I think it’s gross. Why do you want to know?
—Melanie
Melanie handed the note back to Jeremy. Soon he passed it back again. Melanie read:
I snuck a pack of cigarettes from my aunt’s house. Do you want to try some with me after school?
—Rachel
Melanie stared at the note. Then she wrote:
Rachel! Why do you want to smoke? It’s bad for you! I know you like to try new things, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.
—Melanie
Rachel wrote back:
A few cigarettes aren’t going to hurt me. I might not even finish the whole pack.
—Rachel
Melanie felt like she was going to cry. She wrote:
You’re my friend and I love you. Don’t smoke.
—Melanie
Melanie watched Rachel as she read the note. Now Rachel looked like she was going to cry. She held onto the note for a long time. Then she wrote back. When Melanie got the note, she read:
Thanks. I love you too. I won’t smoke the cigarettes.
Melanie was grateful she had chosen to be an example. She felt relieved that Rachel had made the right choice.

Last year when I was called to be the Young Women general president, as I was leaving President Monson’s office, he reached over to a bouquet of white roses, took one from the vase, and handed it to me. The moment he handed me that beautiful white rose, I knew why. I went back to the time when, as a young woman, I chose the white rose as my symbol of purity—my personal banner. How did President Monson know? I took that precious rose home, put it in a beautiful crystal vase, and placed it on a table where I could see it every day. Every day that rose reminded me of the importance of my own personal purity and virtue, and it reminded me of you. As you grow and blossom, your personal purity will enable you to become a force for good and an influence for righteousness in the world. I truly believe that one virtuous young woman, led by the Spirit, can change the world.

On Saturday morning just before conference began, our home was buzzing with our Saturday routine, when our television was suddenly filled with the scenes and sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at the opening of general conference. We gathered our two young sons and kept them in “pause mode” long enough for the opening prayer. Then when President Uchtdorf came to the pulpit to begin the solemn assembly, the atmosphere changed in our home. The four of us knelt in front of the television, the Spirit filling our home. I felt momentarily embarrassed that we were present for this sacred moment casually dressed in a room made chaotic with the morning playtime. And yet, as we stood in turn to raise our hands in sustaining support, my heart filled with utter joy. Finally we stood as a family, even the toddler raising his right arm, and there was a sense of holiness that one usually feels in the temple. We stood together witnessing what the Spirit confirmed was right.
Moments later, the whirlwind of children began again and we had to turn the volume up to hear the speakers, but that brief moment of peace remained in our home and hearts.
Christina N., Utah, USA

Wild fires burned out of control in the seaside town of Laguna Beach, California, for two days. When the smoke finally cleared, the young men and young women of the area went to work.
The youth sorted clothing, made thank-you signs and treats for firefighters, planted trees, and prepared meals for families who had lost their homes. When early-fall rains threatened to flood the fire-ravaged landscape, the youth were at it again, this time stacking sandbags to divert water away from the town.
The youth worked hard and helped each other out. Those who were fortunate to have their homes intact helped those who hadn’t been so lucky.
“My family came so close to losing our home, I feel like I should do my part to help others,” said priest Martin Bartholomew, after a long day of sandbagging. “Even though my back aches, I feel happy inside.”

I’ll never forget a lesson I learned as a young man, age 14, from a great leader. I went up to Scout Camp Kiesel east of Ogden in the summer of 1936. I reported at the lodge to our Scout executive. We called him “Uncle Dil.” You knew him as Elder S. Dilworth Young. Uncle Dil was our Scout executive. He had long legs. He was as tall as a pine tree to every young boy. He didn’t smile much, but he knew and loved boys.
I went up to the lodge and reported to him. I said, “Uncle Dil, I would like to pass my cooking merit badge.”
And then in his encouraging way he said, “Do you think you can cook without killing somebody?” You know, that really builds your self-image to begin with.
I said, “I hope so.”
Then he said, “Have you got a buddy who can run?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
He said, “Well, someone who can run up here to the lodge from your campsite every time you cook something.”
I said, “Well, Bob’s over here.”
“Well, all right, you send Bob up every time you cook something, and the examiner will come down to your campsite and taste it.”
I said, “Great! Who’s going to be the examiner?”
He said, “You’re looking at him.” Now there was nothing in the Scout book that said I had to pass my cooking merit badge to Uncle Dil. I mean, there were a lot of men in camp. Why Uncle Dil? Boy, I went back to my camp and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to become an Eagle Scout if I had to cook for Uncle Dil. I’ll never forget that week.
I had to cook an omelet. I sent Bob up the hill, and down the trail came Uncle Dil. I can see those long legs to this day. He came down to my campfire, tasted my omelet, and didn’t even smile. He just kind of grunted and walked away. Next I baked my oven bread in a reflector oven. I sent Bob up the hill, and down came Uncle Dil again. He tasted it and said, “It’s kind of doughy on one side, isn’t it?” Then I baked a bread twist on a stick over a fire. Then came the stew. I did everything that week, and never worked so hard in my life to try to please somebody. At the end of the week, just as we were breaking camp, I went up to the lodge and I said, “Uncle Dil, did I pass?”
He asked, “Did you do everything, LaMar?”
I said, “Well, remember you came down to our camp, and I cooked those meals for you.”
For the second time he asked, “Did you do everything?”
“Well, yeah, Uncle Dil, there was the omelet, the oven bread, the stew, the twist.” I enumerated all the things I had prepared.
For the third time he asked, “LaMar, did you do everything?” By then I was a little exasperated, I took my Scout book, opened it to the cooking merit badge, and went down every requirement, reading aloud and checking it off. I got down to requirement number ten. Number ten said, “Carve and serve a complete meal.” He looked at me and I said, “Well, I’ve done that many times at home.”
Then he said, “You’ll have no objection, then, to coming to my home a week from Sunday at noon to carve a roast and serve dinner for us.” I could have died right on the spot. I mean, no way did it say that I had to go to Uncle Dil’s home to carve a roast and serve a meal.
I prepared all week—we never ate so well in all our lives as we did that week. It was during the depths of the depression, but every day that week my mother had a different kind of roast, and I would carve it and make it look nice.
I got up on Sunday morning, nervous as could be. I went to priesthood meeting and Sunday School. Then I got on my bike and rode the two miles up the foothills to 24th Street and Taylor Avenue. Uncle Dil lived in a great big, three-story, red-brick house. The lawn kind of sloped down at the front. I took my bike and put it up by the old wooden porch. I climbed up on the porch and nervously knocked on the door. No answer. So I knocked a little louder. No answer! I said to myself, “Good, he’s forgotten all about me.” I got on my bike, and started to ride off of the lawn, and I had just reached the sidewalk when he came around the corner in his car with his family. They were just returning from church.
He asked, “Where are you going, LaMar?”
I said, “Just to park my bike over by a tree.” I didn’t dare tell him that mentally I was halfway home.
He got out of the car and invited me to go into the kitchen with Sister Young, “Aunt Gladys.” “She’ll have things there for you to do.” I went into the kitchen, and we began to get out the food that had been cooking during Sunday meetings.
Do you know that when you carve meat you carve it across the grain? Well, she brought out the roast. I had never seen a roast like that in my life, before or since. I couldn’t even find a grain. I went to work on it and tried to make sure that I got the slices even. I never worked so hard in my life. That roast had more gristle and bone than I had ever seen. Finally I got it all together and took it to the dining room.
We sat down at the table, and then Uncle Dil had the nerve to say, “LaMar, will you say the blessing, please?” Now there was nothing in the merit badge book that said I had to say the blessing at Uncle Dil’s house. Oh, I’d done it at home all right, but this was a little different. I said the blessing on the food, not sure if I was being judged on my cooking merit badge or my ability to pray.
Things went pretty well until halfway through the meal. Uncle Dil said, “LaMar, we’ve run out of bread. Will you go in the kitchen and slice some more bread?” Now that’s where I almost met my Waterloo.
I got into the kitchen. Aunt Gladys had baked fresh bread the day before. I was sure that Uncle Dil hadn’t sharpened his butcher knife for several years. I took that butcher knife and started on that bread, and the harder I sawed, the flatter that bread got. I’d get a slice off, and then I’d stretch it back to size and place it on the plate. Then I’d slice another slice and stretch it back. I sliced a third one and stretched it also. Then I got the fourth piece and stretched it. Let’s see—there was one for Uncle Dil, Aunt Gladys, Leonore, and young Dil. I decided that I didn’t want any more bread. I decided that four slices of bread were enough.
I took the bread back into the dining room, and we finally got through eating. Then I had to help clear up the table and do the dishes. When I got through, I said, “Uncle Dil, did I pass?”
He said, “LaMar, did you do everything?”
I said, “I surely hope so.”
My cooking merit badge was the toughest merit badge I ever passed in my life—lots tougher than lifesaving. But Uncle Dil was trying to teach me a correct principle. He was teaching me to do my best, to never take a shortcut, and I have never forgotten that lesson. I don’t think he did either.

When Jean’s senior year began, she started her first journey through the refiner’s fire. Our mother and stepfather were divorced, and Mother drifted further and further from the Church. She no longer cared whether or not Jean even went to sacrament meetings much less all her other activities. Jean trudged on with the help of her friends and the support and sympathy of her bishop’s family. Her testimony grew stronger still, and she continued in all of her activities.
At graduation time, Jean learned that her trials had only begun. Mother remarried and moved far away. Jean had no choice. She had to go live with our father in rural Georgia. He lived in a tiny, isolated town where he was the minister of the only church.
Our father had always been bitter toward the Mormons, and that bitterness had turned to hatred when all three of his daughters had been baptized. Jean was his baby, his special pet, and it cut him to the quick to see her not only in a religion different from his but as a Mormon and a devout Mormon at that. He looked upon her move to his house as an answer to prayers. Now things would be different. Now he would be able to show her the error of her ways.
Although I live more than 200 miles away, I came as often as possible during the summer and took Jean to my home in Columbia. However, the summer soon ended, and Jean had to start commuting to college. Jean had a car to make the drive back and forth to school but not for her personal use on weekends. The nearest branch was 30 miles away, and even if she could get there, Dad wouldn’t let her go. There wasn’t an institute at her small college, and it just seemed that there was no way for her to have any contact with Church members.
Days turned into weeks, and then months had gone by since she had attended a meeting. She read her scriptures, wrote daily in her journal, and spent hours on her knees. As she grew closer to her Heavenly Father through earnest prayer, Jean’s testimony of the gospel grew. She began to realize how often she had taken the opportunity to attend meetings and functions of the Church for granted, how she had even wished meetings would hurry and be over. During this time, Dad made every effort to break her testimony. He quoted scripture after scripture, but Jean’s seminary scriptures stood her in good stead. She was able to parry with scriptures of her own. Sometimes he threw things at her that she couldn’t or, to stop an argument, wouldn’t defend. While her testimony wasn’t harmed, it did make Jean weary as she faced each day on the defensive, knowing that everything she loved and considered holy would be denounced in her father’s booming voice at mealtimes, in discussions with her stepmother, or in his verbal prayers.
Some nights only hours on bended knees kept her from total despair. She fought back the desire to rage against her Heavenly Father for deserting her. Soon even the scriptures she loved were difficult to read because they produced such a terrible longing for her old friends, teachers, and bishop. Often she lay in bed at night with tears streaming down her face trying to remember that she wasn’t the only Latter-day Saint in the world. She tried to be strong, but she was young and alone and there had been no contact with members for so long.
One night in January, Jean reached rock bottom. Her father and stepmother had baited her and prayed aloud for her soul until she was ready to scream. No one understood the trials she was going through. Her sisters sympathized, but we were too far away to be any help. Finally Jean knelt by her bed and poured her heart out as she had so many times in the past. She told her Heavenly Father that she knew he loved her and that he had promised no burden heavier than she could bear. She begged for some sort of help because the burden had grown so heavy that she could not bear it any longer.
When Jean left Natchez, her records had been sent to the nearest branch. Once the records were received, she was assigned home teachers. However, as no one had ever met Jean and she lived so far away and had never attended a meeting, the home teachers didn’t visit her. In their minds, she was probably someone who had joined the Church at age eight but had never been active. Someone in the branch had heard that a Mr. Swilley in Egypt, Georgia, was the Baptist preacher there, and this Jean was probably his wife. No way were they going to drive all that way to get a door slammed in their faces!
In a small branch, the work load is heavy for each member. The home teacher lived 15 miles on the other side of the town where the branch was located, a total of 45 miles one way on country roads from Jean. Months went by, and each month his home teaching report was complete except for Sister Swilley. Being a good and conscientious man, this bothered him. He decided to go at least once just to see what sort of circumstances she was in.
The night came when he couldn’t rest until he had made the effort to see this sister. He called his companion, a young boy of 16, and they began the long drive. As they drove farther into the countryside, they began to be uneasy and wished they could turn around and go home. Yet something urged them on. Little did they know that at that moment, Jean Swilley was on her knees begging her Father in Heaven to throw her a lifeline. As her prayer ended and she dried her tears, Dad knocked on her bedroom door. “Jeanie, there are two men outside, and they are asking for you. They are Mormons, and I won’t ask them in, but you can go talk to them on the porch.”
Jean flew through the house and onto the porch. She stood on the steps, and tears fell again as the older of the two men stretched out his hand and said, “We are your home teachers …” He didn’t have to say anything else because Jean fell into his arms and cried out all the pain and loneliness that was there. Finally someone had come. God had indeed heard her prayers.
As Jean told her story to these wonderful men, I know that their hearts were touched. They expressed sorrow for not having come sooner and promised to make the branch president aware of her situation. They prayed with Jean and told her to call them when it got too hard and left with the most beautiful words Jean had ever heard, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Jean is still not allowed to go to church, but her spirit is so much stronger now that she knows her Father in Heaven is aware of her needs and answers her prayers. Dad said the home teachers could keep coming as long as they had a talk with him first. When Jean explained the situation to the home teachers, they told her that they would talk with him and do it gladly.
Jean’s home teachers had every excuse in the world not to visit her. It was inconvenient—one and a half hours just in driving time. She had expressed no interest in seeing them. They did not think she would welcome them, and they were busy with other church responsibilities. Still, they obeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Those home teachers will never know just how happy they made my sister nor will they know how thankful they made me for a Heavenly Father that heard my sister’s prayers. How can they know what will come of their talk with my dad? Or that Mother, who had drifted so far away that she denied the Church on every opportunity, would cry when told that her baby girl wasn’t quite so wretched anymore and why. How could they have known that Mother would say through her tears, “I knew He would take care of her and hear her prayers.” I know that more good will come because those two men listened and obeyed. I hope that I will learn to listen and obey. I hope we all will.

When Marcus Martins and his wife, Mirian, received their calling to the Brazil São Paulo North Mission, the Laie, Hawaii, USA, residents were counseled by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that there would have to be sacrifice, but he told them not to sacrifice too much.
The Martins went home and prayed to know how they could afford to accept this opportunity. They sold everything. “The blessing—we sold everything in one day,” Sister Martins said. “It was a miracle for us.”