Gospel Story Finder

My mom passed away when I was 12. That’s when I started to have questions about what happens to families after this life. The priest at the church I attended told me that when we die, we will not have families. He said I will see my mother again, but I will not recognize her as my mom, and she will not recognize me as her daughter.
That was not the answer I had hoped for. I continued attending church with my family, but my questions persisted. I also wondered, “Where are the prophets? Where are the Apostles?”
When I turned 14, I searched “Jesus Christ” on the internet. It led me to a website for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Not long after that, two missionaries knocked on my door. They wanted to share a message about Jesus Christ. I invited them in and asked my father to join us.
The first question the missionaries asked me was, “Do you know that families can be eternal?”
I replied, “No, they cannot.” Then I told them what I had learned from my priest. After our discussion, I found the elders on Facebook. I watched videos of them saying goodbye to their families. I wanted to know why they had left their families to come to my country and why they believed as they did. I called the phone number they had left me and said, “Elders, I need to go to your church on Sunday.”
For two years, I attended church and met with the missionaries. My family, however, was not open to the Church. When I turned 18, I told my family I wanted to be baptized. I tried to share the gospel with them, but they were not ready.
In 2015, I was doing proxy baptisms in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While I was there, a man asked me if I was preparing to serve a mission. I said I hoped to serve someday. Then he said, “I think you need to prepare to serve a mission and speak French.”
I thought to myself, “Why French? I’m from Brazil. How will I serve a French-speaking mission?” Nevertheless, because of that experience in the temple, I started studying French.
A few months later, I was at a bus terminal in São Paulo reading the Book of Mormon in French. When the woman next to me saw the book’s cover, she started speaking to me in French. I had been studying the language for only a few months, but I understood her perfectly!
To my surprise, she knew about the Book of Mormon because she had met the missionaries in Paris, where she lived. She asked me many questions about the Nephites and the Savior’s visit to the Americas. Inexplicably, I was able to speak to her as if I were speaking in my native language. I gladly gave her my Book of Mormon.
At the beginning of 2020, I went to England to study English through an exchange program. I met a girl there from Morocco. Her questions about why I didn’t drink alcohol led to a discussion about the Word of Wisdom, the Church, and the Book of Mormon. I showed her my Book of Mormon in French, and I was again able to answer questions about the gospel in French.
I realized that people need to know about the gospel and this special book in their own language and that I could use the Book of Mormon to be an instrument in God’s hands to help others.
Inaê Leandro (right) with one of her companions, Sister Wongsin Elisaia, while serving on Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Later, when I opened my mission call, I learned I was going to Temple Square in Salt Lake City, speaking Portuguese.
“Really?” I thought. “Everyone there already knows about the Church, and they don’t even speak French in Utah.”
When I told my family, my father asked, “You are leaving your high school teaching job, your home, your career—everything—for a mission? How much will they pay you?” He was surprised when I told him I would pay for my mission myself.
At first, I didn’t know why I was called to Utah, but Heavenly Father knew where I needed to be. At Temple Square, I quickly learned that if you know 10 languages—or only 2 or 3—you can teach in all 10 languages there. My companions and I gave tours in Spanish, Portuguese, and English at Temple Square and at the Humanitarian Center at Welfare Square. We also taught online in different languages through the ComeuntoChrist.org website.
I have experienced the gift of tongues for myself. When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard, God blesses us in miraculous ways that help us speak and understand.
“When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard,” says Inaê, “God blesses us in ways that help us speak and understand.”
I love reading the Book of Mormon in other languages. Doing so helps my language skills and grows my testimony and understanding of gospel principles.
Whenever I called home on preparation day, I shared details about mission successes and experiences. I focused on what I had in common with family members, and they shared their travels and things that were happening at home. They even told me how they fed the full-time missionaries pizza because they had heard stories of nice people in Salt Lake City taking care of my companion and me.
It has been 16 years since my mother passed away. That was a difficult day, but I know that families can be eternal. I know I will see my mother again. I know she will recognize me as her daughter. Many people don’t have this knowledge.
That’s why I served a mission. That’s why I learned new languages. And that’s why I still try to help others find gospel answers for themselves.

I had the privilege of visiting with a faithful family of Latter-day Saints in a small nipa hut in the Philippines. In this humble setting a beautiful young woman, fourteen years old, listened intently while her father explained that by saving all the money they could and selling everything they owned, the family would one day have enough to go to the temple, where they could be sealed as a family forever.

It is our faith in the importance of making covenants with God and coming to understand our immense possibilities that the temple, the house of the Lord, becomes the focus for all that really matters. In the temple we participate in ordinances and covenants that span the distance between heaven and earth. They prepare us to one day return to God’s presence and enjoy the blessings of eternal families and eternal life.

How can we do this in our homes? Some of you have heard me tell how overwhelmed my husband, Mel, and I felt as the parents of four young children. As we faced the challenges of parenting and keeping up with the demands of life, we were desperate for help. We prayed and pleaded to know what to do. The answer that came was clear: “It is OK if the house is a mess and the children are still in their pajamas and some responsibilities are left undone. The only things that really need to be accomplished in the home are daily scripture study and prayer and weekly family home evening.”
We were trying to do these things, but they were not always the priority and, amidst the chaos, were sometimes neglected. We changed our focus and tried not to worry about the less-important things. Our focus became to talk, rejoice, preach, and testify of Christ by striving to daily pray and study the scriptures and have weekly family home evening.

During a demanding time of my life, I was called to be the Relief Society president in my ward. I felt intimidated and inadequate, but I tried to be optimistic as I began serving.
Not long after I was set apart, despair and dread overtook me. I knew I needed the Savior’s help. I prayed often, asking Heavenly Father for direction.
One day, I was talking to a friend of mine, and when I told her about my calling, she looked thrilled. “That was the best calling I have ever had!” she said. “I learned so much.”
I was so confused by her reaction and wondered why I didn’t feel the same way about my assignment.
I wanted to feel better about the calling and learn to love it, so I prayed to feel “more joy in his service.” I received a prompting to further develop three Christlike attributes.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.” The times I struggled most in my calling were always when I doubted God’s power. Over time, I watched Him perform miracles for me and others.
For example, when I got a text from a sister telling me she couldn’t attend an event because of some family issues, I felt prompted to go visit her.
She told me the traumatic, heartbreaking challenges her family was going through. I had no idea what to say—I had never encountered similar issues in my own life. I prayed as we talked, and the Spirit inspired me with comforting words to share with her.
We can accomplish what’s required of us through God’s power. “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful” (Doctrine and Covenants 136:29). When I gave my trust and faith to God, He returned it with support and joy.
Confidence includes self-assurance and acceptance. “Spiritual confidence increases when you accept that ‘often trials and tribulations are allowed to come into [your life] because of what [you] are doing right,’” Elder Jörg Klebingat of the Seventy taught. God loves me enough to challenge me.
At the beginning of my service, I hesitated to share my ideas in ward council meetings. I felt like I shouldn’t be trusted with stewardship over the Relief Society.
With more time and experience, I learned that I wasn’t just a placeholder in this calling—God called me so I could learn to serve and love my ward members. I possessed unique talents that could benefit others.
As I became more confident in my capacity to receive revelation, I found it easier to help the sisters in my ward. And eventually, I realized that my insights were valuable to ward council meetings. This realization filled my heart with joy and belonging.
God didn’t give me this calling by accident. I needed to learn submission. Elder David P. Homer of the Seventy taught: “The choice to submit our will to God’s is an act of faith that lies at the heart of our discipleship. In making that choice, we discover that our agency is not diminished; rather, it is magnified and rewarded by the presence of the Holy Ghost, who brings purpose, joy, peace, and hope we can find nowhere else.”
When I aligned myself with God, other parts of my life fell into place. I found it easier to recognize the Spirit, make decisions, love my ward, find friends, strengthen my mental wellness, and so much more. Submitting my will also included delegating responsibilities to my counselors and allowing them to support and help me. Through all of this, my devotion to God grew, and my heart softened.
I was not happy when I received the calling, but I found joy in the experience. Once I accepted God’s plan for me, I didn’t feel upset or resentful anymore. Submitting brought me peace.
I am still learning to find joy in my calling. I’ve grown significantly, but I’m not perfect at it.
If you are called to serve in your ward or branch, act on it. “While serving is not always convenient, it is always rewarding.” Magnifying your calling will bring increased joy to your life, no matter what capacity you serve in.

I grew up on a small farm in southwest Utah. To escape the heat, our family would sometimes drive up a nearby canyon where a creek flowed year round. I can still feel the dry desert air blowing in my face in the backseat of the car. As we entered the canyon, the air became cooler and more fragrant.
My favorite place to go was the Big Spring, the major source of the creek. At the base of an almost vertical canyon wall, a steady stream of clear, cool, sweet water burst from a cleft in a large boulder.
I learned how to get a drink by watching my father kneel on a large, flat rock and scoop water from the spring. He would never drink downstream, where the water had been fouled by surface runoff. Near the source, the water would always be pure and clear.
As a young boy I learned the difference between the common, muddy water that flowed past my home and the pure, clear water from the stream in the canyon. To obtain the pure water, I had to climb to higher ground. I had to walk the narrow path, and I had to kneel. The pure, clear, sweet water came only at the source of the spring, and it was constant.

“Missionaries from the Western United States knocked on my door in England many years ago. After telling my wife and me that they were representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ, they told us that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that it had been translated from ancient records by the power of God. They told us how this wonderful book came to be. As I looked at it, a warm feeling came over me and I knew that the writings were true. I still had to read more and then pray before I knew that the young boy, Joseph Smith, whom the Lord used to translate the Book of Mormon, was indeed a prophet. My family and I were baptized. A desire to know the truth, coupled with study and prayer, gave me a testimony. Everyone can receive the same blessing through study and prayer. President Benson has challenged every member of the Church to read the Book of Mormon every day because it will bring us nearer to our Heavenly Father and Jesus than any other book.”

Many miracles paved the way for Raymond Knight’s journey to the house of the Lord.
The first was his baptism in Alice Springs on 1 July 2017, at age 74. Elder Joel Barfuss, of the Australia Adelaide Mission recalls, “We were walking to an appointment and saw Ray walking down another road, so we decided to turn down the road just to talk to him. . . . He came to Church that Sunday and the rest was history.”
The second miracle came through family history. In the years after his baptism, senior missionary couples, Elder and Sister Clark, and later, Elder and Sister Gamble helped Ray to discover his family history.
Elder Scott Gamble helped Ray identify his father through the BillionGraves cemetery index.
“Ray is legendary with the young missionaries in Alice Springs,” says Sister Diane Gamble. “They all know and love him. He loves to share life stories about how his grandmother taught him to knit when he was nine years old, how his daughter in the Philippines asked him to bring her a kangaroo, and about how he knitted a jumper for Johnny Cash, the famous western singer.”
The third miracle involved a series of events that allowed Ray to travel 1,532.8 kilometers to attend the temple for the first time.
Cancer required the removal of Ray’s stomach, but while recovering from massive surgery, the Gambles taught him temple preparation lessons, which he continued after leaving the hospital.
Branch President Schwalger granted permission for the missionaries to resume Ray’s lessons over the phone and at his home. The Gambles used skeins of yarn and other props to review principles like the plan of salvation.
Ray eventually received his temple recommend, and with aid from the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund he prepared to receive his endowment.
Two weeks before his scheduled temple date, the Gambles received a call from Ray. Sister Gamble recalls, “He was in the hospital and told us he just wanted to die. We found him in the emergency department having a vial of potassium administered intravenously, which is apparently quite painful. Elder Gamble gave him a blessing, which helped him tolerate the procedure.”
Once Ray was cleared for travel, the long-awaited moment finally arrived. Ray and the missionary couple set out on 30 January 2024, and the group walked into the temple the following day.
At 81 years old now, Ray was able to participate in proxy baptisms and confirmations for his male ancestors. Then he used his Melchizedek Priesthood authority, for the first time, to perform proxy confirmations on Sister Gamble for his female ancestors. “I was moved to tears when Ray placed his hands on my head,” says Sister Gamble.
The fourth miracle was found in the power of prayer.
Ray wasn’t feeling well on the day Elder Gamble picked him up for his own endowment. His medication was making him dizzy and weak in the knees. They had to stop and rest several times between the hotel room and the car.
After a fervent prayer for Ray’s health and ability to proceed with his journey, Ray got out of the car and walked into the temple to receive his endowment. He had no further issues that day.
With additional support from senior missionary couples, the Felts and the Carrs, and President and Sister Kuhn from the mission presidency, Ray was able to perform proxy endowments for his ancestors. Elder Gamble described evidence of the Spirit in the celestial room later, where he saw tears rolling down Ray’s cheeks. “This is the first time I’ve felt a closeness to the Lord in such a profound way,” Ray explained. “I am in wonderment of His rich blessings.”
His ability to participate in all the planned sessions of his temple trip depended on how Ray felt, but on the days he didn’t attend, Sister Gamble says, everyone at the temple asked where Ray was. “It was like they were inquiring about a long-lost friend.”
Some days, Ray relied on the power of prayer to keep going. “On Saturday morning, [he] was feeling sick again,” Sister Gamble reports. “We said a prayer with Ray in the car and again he perked up almost immediately and was able to move forward with sealings.”
Referencing President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to think celestial, the sealer said, “doing sealings is just about as close to thinking celestial as one can get in this life.”
Ray was sealed first to his parents, and then his mother was sealed to the grandparents who raised him. In total, 96 family ordinances were performed throughout the week. The group had many tender mercies and felt very close to the Spirit.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how idyllic it was for me to be introduced to the temple for the first time,” Ray said. “It was a joy unimaginable. I’m so looking forward to many more such visits… If only the same joy could be felt in absolutely every other location throughout the world and every single person could focus on the exquisite experience and peace of our Heavenly Father’s presence, there could not be any room for the hurt and devastating destruction that we learn about so constantly in our world.”

Congratulations to the Figueroa sisters of Puerto Rico, 16-year-old identical triplets who were baptized not long ago. The missionaries had visited their home more than seven years ago but hadn’t returned. One day last year, Belen felt inspired to take a different route home from school, where she found other elders. She approached them and asked them to come teach her family.
They did, and soon Awilda, Belen, Cecilia, and Carmen (an older sister) were baptized.
They’re all active in the Trujillo Alto Ward and love seminary and Young Women.

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

When I was in my teenage years, we thought that my older brother wouldn’t get to serve a mission because the ward was allowed to send only one young man at a time on a mission. Everybody else had to be available for the military draft. But our bishop and stake president found out that they could send one more. So, they talked to my brother about it, and he came home and told my parents.

My father was a wonderful man, but he was not active in the Church. His response was negative—but for an unusual reason. He wasn’t critical of the Church or even of a mission, but my brother was preparing for medical school. My father said, “You’ve prepared yourself to go to medical school. You’ve taken the classes. You can do more good if you go to medical school than you can if you go on a mission.”

That evening, this faithful, wonderful brother of mine sat with me, and the two of us talked. We concluded that there were really three questions that would determine his response to our father. The first one was, “Was Jesus Christ the Savior of the world?” The second one was, “Is the Book of Mormon the word of God?” And the third one was, “Was Joseph Smith a prophet?” I realized that the answers to those three questions would affect almost every decision I would make for the rest of my life.

I had always loved the Savior and I had read the Book of Mormon, but realizing how significant those answers were, I prayed that night and received through the Holy Ghost a profound favorable answer to those questions. Jesus Christ is the Savior, the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and Joseph Smith was a prophet. I testify that these things are true.

Illustration by Allen Garns
A quiet calm settled over my family and me as we walked into a barn to see a live nativity. Animals lined the stalls, and a man and woman, dressed as Joseph and Mary, stood with a baby wrapped in the woman’s arms. They were quiet and focused on the little child. The whole atmosphere was very peaceful.
My older children, my wife, and I stood while my youngest daughter sat on a hay bale in front of us. She was quiet and still, and her eyes stayed focused on the baby. When the rest of my family was ready to go, I placed a hand on my daughter’s shoulder and whispered that it was time to leave. She said she wanted to stay with baby Jesus. Her words touched my heart, and I decided to stay with her.
A few minutes later, I gently took my daughter by the hand and told her we needed to leave. She said she still wanted to stay. I put my arm around her and knelt beside her.
It didn’t take long for me to feel as if I had traveled back in time and was with Mary and Joseph. I then understood why my daughter wanted to stay. I felt the Spirit wash over me. In that place, I felt that I was in the presence of the Savior. Tears glistened in my eyes as I felt of His love. When it was finally time to leave, I picked up my little girl. As I turned toward the exit, I heard her tell baby Jesus good-bye and how much she loved Him.
That evening I shared an experience with my daughter that I will treasure for the rest of my life, and I almost missed it. That night, I was given a gift. I felt closer to God and felt His love for me. I am grateful for the Savior and the opportunity to remember His birth. I know that the Savior’s life, example, and Atonement constitute a wonderful gift of never-ending love from God to all His children. I will always cherish this gift deep in my heart.

In 1847 Latter-day Saint pioneers were traveling across what is now the United States to find their promised land in the West.
The Saints did not know exactly where they were supposed to go. Brigham Young was President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at the time. He was the only one who knew where the Lord wanted them to establish Zion. But he was very ill.
Brigham Young: Elder Woodruff, I need to continue traveling westward.
Elder Woodruff: But you’re too sick!
Brigham Young: Nonsense. Just lay me in the back of your carriage.
On July 24, 1847, Elder Woodruff drove the team of horses pulling his carriage toward the Great Salt Lake. Lying in the back of the carriage was President Young.
Elder Woodruff: Heavenly Father, please bless President Young that he will know where to lead the Saints.
As soon as President Young saw the desert valley of the Great Salt Lake, he told Elder Woodruff to stop.
Brigham Young: This is the right place; for the Lord has shown it to me in a vision.
Twenty-two years later, Elder Woodruff remembered that event as he was writing in his journal.
Elder Woodruff: Today I attended a Pioneer Day celebration. We now number more than 100,000 souls. See what God hath wrought!

“Run, Jimmy, run!” Margi called as the boy started through the meadow after the bright yellow ball. Seven-year-old Jimmy turned his head to admire his big sister.
“No, Jimm …” But it was too late. Jimmy’s awkward feet hit each other and he tumbled to the ground. Margi ran to see the hurt.
“Jimmy fall,” he said proudly.
“Yes, Jimmy did.” Margi sat down in the grass beside her brother and ran her fingers through his blond hair as if he were a puppy. “Jimmy’s a big boy. He didn’t cry.”
His unique, innocent smile grew bigger, revealing two missing teeth, and his blue eyes twinkled with pride. “Jimmy big boy,” he said.
Margi didn’t answer. She whisked again at his blonde hair and pulled him onto her lap. Jimmy cuddled contentedly into her arms, and they sat silently breathing in the crisp autumn air seasoned with the smell of freshly cut hay. Margi loved the meadow with its clean smells and the feel of grass on her ankles and the rainbow of meadow flowers.
A lonely autumn leaf floated across the grass, landing right in Jimmy’s lap. He grabbed at it, but Margi pushed his hands away.
“Careful, it will tear. It’s a leaf. Pretty leaf.”
She twirled the leaf in her fingers as Jimmy stared. “Pretty leaf,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Margi said, “pretty leaf. Here.” She placed the leaf carefully between his thumb and index finger and moved his fingers back and forth.
“See, you can twirl the leaf, too. Now do it alone.”
Jimmy’s thumb skidded off his finger, and the leaf floated to the ground. Sadly he turned and searched Margi’s face for a reaction.
Margi smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “It’s all right.”
Quickly the smile spread back over Jimmy’s face. “Now go get the ball!” She laughed as she stood Jimmy up on his feet.
Awkwardly he stumbled toward the ball. Margi watched, wishing so hard that she could help, but she couldn’t. No one could. He had to walk alone no matter how clumsy he was or how often he fell. She lay down in the grass and stared at the hazy blue sky.
“Maybe Sue is right,” she thought. “Maybe I am stupid to waste so much time trying to help Jimmy.” Her face flushed as she thought of Friday when she took Jimmy to the football game at school. She’d never thought of the possibility, but when she went to sit with her friends, they asked her not to.
“It’s not that we don’t like you, but, well, he does such stupid things,” Sue had said. “I know he can’t help it, but, well, you know; it’s embarrassing.”
Margi could feel the awful sting in her stomach all over again.
“But Sue didn’t mean to be cruel; she just didn’t understand,” Margi thought as she remembered the excited look on Jimmy’s face when she told him they were going to a football game.
“That’s it,” she thought. “Sue just doesn’t understand. She’s never been around Jimmy to see how he loves life and how in his own way he’s so special. It doesn’t matter that he’s not as capable as other kids his age. People understand.” Then she remembered Sue’s words again and once more the hollow dejected sting settled deep in her stomach. “Or do they? Is it really worth it? I’ve got my own life. Jimmy has teachers and friends at the school and Mom and Dad. There are lots of people to help him, but what about me? Am I really helping him anyway? What can I do that his specially trained teachers can’t? Maybe I am just wasting my own life. Maybe Sue understands more than I do.”
Suddenly Jimmy was next to her. He held the ball high then let it fall on her stomach. Then he threw his head back and laughed. But the action made him lose his balance, and he tumbled onto her.
“Oh, Jimmy!” Margi started to scold then swallowed the words as she looked into his face. Love, that’s all that was there. Love wanting to be loved back. Love longing to love. So instead she smiled.
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll roll the ball to you.”
But Jimmy didn’t hear. A bright yellow butterfly had caught his eye. His chubby little hand reached out to touch it. Quickly the butterfly was up and away.
Margi took Jimmy’s hand. “Shh,” she said, putting her other hand to her lips. Quietly they lay on their stomachs and waited as the butterfly slowly found its way back to the dandelion in front of them.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Margi said.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Jimmy repeated slowly. Margi watched Jimmy stare. He seemed to see more than she did. His innocence—maybe that is what it was—made him seem part of their surroundings.
She looked again at the butterfly. “What more can he see? It is just a butterfly, a plain yellow butterfly.” She looked back at Jimmy and she knew he did see more. “Maybe someday I’ll see it, too. Jimmy is teaching me!” She laughed out loud at the thought, and the startled butterfly escaped into the sky.
“Butterfly gone.” Jimmy sighed sadly, and Margi was sorry she’d laughed.
“Look at the yellow flowers,” she said, wanting somehow to make it up to him.
“Pretty flowers,” Margi said, picking the dandelion and holding it close to her nose. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower?”
Margi looked at Jimmy to see if it really were a question. “Yes, yellow. Yellow flower, green grass, yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower,” Jimmy repeated proudly.
Margi sat up and grabbed the beach ball. “Yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow ball.” She held the two side by side.
“Yellow ball,” Jimmy repeated. “Yellow grass.”
“No, Jimmy, green grass, yellow ball.” Margi sighed as she remembered all the times they’d been through similar scenes, and still Jimmy didn’t learn. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “That’s all right, tiger. What does it matter if you don’t know the colors. You love it, don’t you? And maybe that’s what more you see in it, love.”
Jimmy looked at her face searching to understand.
Margi laughed. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.” He smiled.
Suddenly the butterfly was back. “Look!” Margi pointed. “Pretty butterfly.”
Suddenly Jimmy’s eyes grew wide and he stared excitedly. “Pretty yellow butterfly.”
Margi looked hopefully into Jimmy’s face. Did he know?
“Yes, Jimmy, yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow butterfly.”
“Yellow, pretty yellow.” Jimmy pointed.
“Yes, yellow ball.”
“Yellow ball,” he repeated.
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow grass?” she tested, holding her breath.
Jimmy stared at the grass she pointed to. Seconds passed as his face drew into a worried grimace. “No, Margi, yellow flower.” Margi grabbed Jimmy and hugged him to her, half crying, half laughing.
“Yes, Jimmy, yes.” she cried. And her heart cried too. No words; just love. Jimmy knew and she knew. It was her life and she was living it, really living it. And she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sue.

Let me refer to and sort of paraphrase “The Parable of the Defective Battery,” written by Elder James E. Talmage. (See Albert L. Zobell, Jr., The Parable of James E. Talmage, Deseret Book Company, 1973, pp. 7–12.) He said that in order to carry out a certain laboratory experiment he needed a powerful primary electric current. He asked his assistant to prepare a battery consisting of a dozen cells of simple type. His assistant followed the usual procedure. He prepared twelve jars containing acid solution, in which were immersed a pair of plates, one of carbon and one of zinc. The cells were then connected “in series.” This should have resulted in the series giving out strength equal to the total force. It was discovered, however, that he had not given sufficient attention to details—those seeming trifles that make or mar perfection.

Elder Talmage said he was disappointed when he tried to use the battery because it was not functioning as it should. As he inspected it he found that the cells were not all working alike; some of them were intensely active, and the liquid seemed to be like boiling water because of the escaping gases. Its current was very weak. The energy from it was practically used up in overcoming its own internal resistance, and it had no power.

He took the battery apart and made an individual examination of each cell. The first eight cells proved to be in good condition. The ninth, however, was seriously at fault. This cell was set aside and the others tested and found to be good. It was plain to see that number nine cell was the cause of the trouble. It was the one, too, that had been fuming and fussing more than the others. Leaving it out, he hooked up the other eleven and found them to form a good, strong current, ample to operate an electric receiver or to fire a blast on the opposite side of the globe.

Later he began to inspect the rejected unit and found that it had short-circuited itself through its foaming and fuming. The acid had destroyed the insulation in some parts, and the current was wholly used up in destructive corrosion within the jar. It had violated the law of right action. It had corrupted itself in its defective state. It was not only worthless as a working unit, but an unproductive member in a community of cells. It was worse than worthless in that it caused an effective resistance in the operation of the other clean and serviceable units.

He did not destroy the unit, however. He thought there was a possibility of restoring it to some usefulness. He searched its innermost parts and with knife and file removed the corroded crustment. He baptized it in a cleansing bath and set it up again and tried it out. Gradually it developed energy until it came to work almost as well as the other cells. However, he continued to watch the cell with special care, not trusting it as fully as he had before it had defiled itself.

Elder Talmage said this was an actual experience, but he called it a parable and said how much we are like the voltaic cell. There are men who are loud and demonstrative, even offensive in their abnormal activity. Yet what do they accomplish in effective labor? Their energy is wholly consumed in overcoming the internal resistance of their defective selves.

There are others who do but sleep and dream. They are slothful, dormant, and, as judged by the standard of utility, dead. There are men who labor so quietly as scarcely to reveal the fact that they are hard at work. Through their earnest devotion they greatly influence the lives of those with whom they associate. The unclean cell, however, was much like the sinner. Unfitness was the direct effect of internal disorder, self-corruption. Such a defection in men we call sin, which is essentially the breaking of the law. They, in association with others who are clean, able, and willing, are an obstruction to the current, and the efficiency of the whole is lessened, if not entirely neutralized, by a single defective unit.

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be so dumb.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new in the neighborhood. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he had hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished painting words on the fence, Greg and a couple of other kids took their turns. Then someone handed the can to me. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I would either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I would rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I had done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I had done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I had planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what else was in store for me at home—Mom and Dad said I couldn’t go anywhere with my friends for six weeks!
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it when you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he would leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to tell you who they were.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence, but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other boys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark, I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I would have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No, thanks.” I turned and walked away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

The spicy scent of spaghetti sauce wafted through the air as Joseph and his family sat down for Sunday dinner. Dad said the prayer, and the food started its way around the table.
“Let’s play Movie Quotes!” Joseph declared.
Movie Quotes was his favorite game to play around the dinner table. His mom, dad, and two sisters, Jill and Julia, enjoyed the game too. One person would quote from a movie the family had seen. Then everyone else would try to be the first one to guess which movie the quote was from.
“Perhaps we should play a different game,” Mom said. “Since it’s Sunday, maybe we should play Scripture Quotes.”
“What’s that?” Joseph asked.
“I’ll think of a quote from the scriptures, and all of you try to guess who said it,” Mom said.
“That sounds boring,” Joseph said. “Besides, I don’t know any quotes from the scriptures.”
“I’ll go first!” Jill said. “‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded.’”
Julia’s hand shot up. “Nephi said that!”
“You guessed it, Julia. Now it’s your turn to think of one,” Jill said.
“Let me see. … All right, guess this one if you can: ‘This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!’”
This time Dad raised his hand. “That’s what Heavenly Father said to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.”
“That’s right,” Julia said. “Way to go, Dad!”
Joseph slowly began to sit up a little straighter in his chair.
“I want to come up with a really hard one,” Dad said. “How about this: ‘Let my people go.’”
Joseph’s hand popped up. “Hey, Moses said that. That was easy.”
“That’s right. Now you think of one,” Dad said.
Joseph rested his chin on his hand. Then a smile swept across his face as he remembered his Primary lesson from earlier that day. Sister Morris had talked about the time Jesus’s disciples had tried to keep some children from approaching Him. “‘Suffer the little children to come unto me,’” Joseph said.
Once again Julia raised her hand. “Jesus said that.”
“You guessed it!”
They played until everyone had finished dinner.
Later that night, as Mom tucked Joseph into bed, he said, “I guess that game wasn’t so bad after all.”
“You came up with a really good quote today,” Mom said.
“Thanks. Can we play it again next Sunday?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said. She gave him a hug and a kiss and left his room.
Joseph snuggled into his covers, smiling. A new Sunday tradition had just begun.

As I sat there on the porch, I continued thinking about Cindy’s question. In one of our Primary lessons we learned that the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Truth. Our teacher said that He would help us to not lie. I guessed I needed help with that too. I remembered the day Mom had come into the kitchen right after I had accidentally knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. Before she could even speak, I said, “Shauna made me do it.”
“Janna, look out the window,” she told me. “What do you see?”
I saw Shauna swinging on a rope hanging from the pecan tree. I said, “That’s how she made me do it. I was thinking about hurrying out to swing with her, and it made me bump into the table.”
“Janna.” Mom tilted my face toward hers. “None of us breaks dishes on purpose. We all have accidents. It isn’t the sugar bowl that counts. It’s you. More important to me than all the dishes in the cupboard—even the crystal glasses—is a little girl who tells the truth.”
I looked down at the floor. I knew I should’ve said I was sorry, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Don’t dishes sometimes get too close to the edge and fall off by themselves?”
“Oh, Janna Lynn,” Mom said, and I wished she’d spanked me instead of looking at me the way she did. It would have made me feel a lot better.
I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

I remember a fast and testimony meeting that I attended in my ward—I occasionally have opportunity to do so. On this particular day a young man arose to bear his testimony. He said, “When I was younger, I often thought how I would react if temptation should come into my life. Would I yield to the temptation, or would I have the strength and the power to resist it? I thought and prayed about it. I made up my mind, if temptation should come into my life, that I would resist that temptation. Ultimately temptation did come into my life, and I thank God to this day that I had prepared myself against that temptation and it wasn’t difficult for me to resist.”

I don’t think, brothers and sisters, that we can afford to wait until temptation does come into our lives. Before that time we should make up our minds how we are going to react to that temptation. If we haven’t made up our minds, when temptation does come, it will be too late in many cases.

Family—what a sacred name for those we love the most. If someone asked you to name the greatest thing about your family, what would it be? I know that most families, including mine, are not perfect, but every day we are trying to be more kind and thoughtful to each other. This past month my father died. I learned many lessons from my dad. He had such great faith. He said, “Dying is just like walking into another room.” The day he died, I thought: My dad died today! This was his last day on earth! He has just walked into another room. It was such a sweet, sacred experience for my family and me.

“Excuse me, boys,” said a loud voice from behind John and me as a heavy hand fell on each of our shoulders, “but I think you’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.”
I was too stunned to speak, but my friend John wasn’t.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” he said as he wrenched his shoulder free and turned to face the man who had addressed us so suddenly. “We didn’t do anything. Who are you anyway?”
The man’s face turned red. “I’m Mr. Kennard, the manager of that store you just left,” he said. “And I watched you steal those candy bars.”
Steal? Candy bars? I looked at John. He didn’t even blink an eye as he continued to argue.
“What do you mean? I just bought these.”
“Now look, boy, I saw you take those candy bars and stuff them into your jacket pocket. Then I watched you as you left my store, without paying, and met your accomplice out here.
“And you,” he said, looking at me, “are just as guilty. I saw you reach for the candy bar as soon as this kid left the store. Even though you didn’t steal it, you’re just as guilty for letting him do the work and then sharing what he stole.”
His words shocked me. “Wait a minute. I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what your friend said.”
“No, really, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know he was going to steal anything.” I explained to Mr. Kennard how John had told me he had some money and asked me to wait outside the store while be ran in to get us something to eat.
Mr. Kennard didn’t believe me. “Look,” he said, “I don’t have all day to play games with a couple of teenage shoplifters. What are your names?”
He wrote down our names and made us come back inside the store while he called our parents. I was angry—angry at being wrongly accused of shoplifting and angry at John for stealing and getting me caught in the whole mess.
“Sorry,” John mumbled as we sat in Mr. Kennard’s office.
“Sure, but not nearly as sorry as I am.”
“No, really, Chris, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d get caught. I’ve never been caught before.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. Just forget it, okay?” We sat in silence until our parents picked us up.
When Dad and I were finally alone in our car, I told him the whole story.
He listened quietly until I finished, then started the car. As we drove away from the store, he said, “I believe you, son, but you can’t blame Mr. Kennard for not believing you. You have to admit, you must have looked guilty. It’s a case where you’re guilty by association. You’ve heard me say before that you’re judged by the company you keep, haven’t you? Well, today you looked like a shoplifter because you were with one.”