Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Kevin Keele
The smell of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies started filling the house. Nathan caught the scent and ran as fast as he could toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Mom was pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven.
“You made cookies!” he said. He couldn’t wait to taste one. Mom’s cookies were the best.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Some are for us, and some are for Michael. I want to send him a care package.”
Nathan nodded in excitement. Michael would be so happy to get a box of Mom’s cookies out on his mission.
“Awesome idea! Can I put something in the care package?” he asked.
“Of course,” Mom answered.
Mom handed Nathan a cookie. He thanked her and started nibbling on the treat—so tasty!—while heading to his room. He wanted to search through his things for the best gift to send.
It had to be just right. Wrapping little presents and giving them to friends and family was one of Nathan’s favorite things to do. Sometimes he’d draw a picture and wrap that. Other times he’d give away an eraser. You never knew when you might need an eraser.
Nathan kept thinking as he finished his cookie. Would Michael want a small toy? Maybe. How about a nice pen? Possibly. A pen could be useful to a missionary.
Then his eyes landed on a two-inch flashlight that could fit right in your pocket. Any missionary would love such a cool flashlight. It would be the perfect gift! Nathan wrapped the flashlight and took it to Mom, who slid it into the care package.
A few days later Dad gathered the family. “I have some news,” he said. “Michael’s mission has been hit by a hurricane.”
Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. That sounded bad! Was Michael OK?
Mom held up a hand. “He’s fine. Nobody has to worry. The worst that happened to Michael was that the power went out. But I want to tell you something he said in his letter.”
Nathan let out a sigh of relief. Michael wasn’t hurt. But still, a hurricane! He leaned forward, listening closely.
“Michael said that our care package arrived about an hour before the storm hit. He said he appreciated the cookies.”
Nathan smiled. He knew Michael loved Mom’s cookies almost as much as he did.
“But then he mentioned something else. The flashlight he keeps in case of an emergency was packed deep in a closet. He wasn’t able to find that flashlight when the power turned off and everything went dark.” Tears started forming in Mom’s eyes as she continued. “However, that wasn’t such a big problem for Michael. Does anybody want to guess why?”
Nathan thought for a second. Then a smile spread across his whole face. “My flashlight!”
Dad nodded. “Yes, Nathan. The flashlight you sent your older brother was the only light he had during that big storm. He was so grateful you sent it.”
Nathan thought about how scary it would be to go through a hurricane without any light. He was so glad he’d been able to help his big brother. Nathan felt warm inside, happy that he’d made a difference.
Now all he had to do was figure out what to send the next time Mom put together a care package!

Recently I became acquainted with a young mother with two active boys under the age of three. Her husband is in college and works two jobs. Both hold responsible callings in the ward. I don’t ever remember seeing her without a smile on her face and a warm greeting for everyone. You can imagine my surprise when I learned that she suffers from the painful and debilitating disease of rheumatoid arthritis. How do you manage I asked her? “Well,” she hesitated, “I’m trying to learn to submit to His will, especially when every joint aches and I only have energy enough to lie on the couch and watch my boys play.” “But you never miss church and are always so pleasant,” I said. “How do you do it?” I was not prepared for the simplicity of her answer. “We try to do what we are asked – to hold Family Home Evening, read the scriptures everyday, and pray. I am so grateful for prayer. Several months ago I wanted so badly to have a party for my son’s first birthday. I prayed to Heavenly Father, ‘You know how to help me. This isn’t for me; it’s for my son.’ When I finished that prayer, I knew I would be sustained.” This young mother understood the enabling power of the atonement.

A girl’s journal is often a record of her dreams, and Annapurna Guru’s journal held her most cherished desire. “Someday,” she wrote, “I will go to the temple.”
Annapurna was not a member of the Church when she wrote these words. Raised in Hyderabad, India, she had learned something about Christianity as a child in a Catholic school. Then, in 1992, her older brother met Latter-day Saint missionaries and was baptized. Annapurna was 14 when her brother, Murthy, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. “Once I read it,” she recalls, “I felt it was true.”
Annapurna found in the gospel answers to her most troubling questions, especially her worry about what happens after death. But just as surely as she knew the gospel to be true, she knew something else: Her parents would not allow her to be baptized in a Christian church.
During her remaining teenage years, Annapurna lived her new faith quietly. She read the Book of Mormon and the Bible. She prayed. She learned all she could. And she began to form in her mind a beautiful dream: Someday she would marry a Latter-day Saint. Someday she would go to the temple. And someday she would give her children the precious gift she lacked: membership in the Lord’s Church.
By the time Annapurna graduated from college at age 20, her parents had begun planning a traditional arranged marriage for their beloved daughter. But Annapurna never considered her dreams to be unattainable because she felt that they were not hers alone. “I had big dreams,” she says, “but actually God had His own plans for me.”
When Annapurna was 21, those divine plans started to become reality—miracle by miracle. First, she met Santosh Murala, a faithful Latter-day Saint visiting his family in Hyderabad. A medical student, Santosh was doing a surgical residency in Chandigarh, two days away by train. When they met, Annapurna and Santosh talked for half an hour. After that brief conversation, Santosh called his friend Neil Twitchell, who was then serving as India Bangalore Mission president, and confided, “She’s gold!” Santosh felt quite clearly that this was the woman he had been looking for. Annapurna felt that Santosh—the first Latter-day Saint young man she had ever met—was the man she had been praying to find.
The two exchanged a few letters, confirming their feelings. Several months later they married. Understandably, Annapurna’s family was upset at first, as was Santosh’s. But Annapurna was legally old enough to marry a man of her choosing.
Annapurna viewed this situation through the eyes of faith. “If I had married to please my parents and other people,” she says, “then my children might never have known about the Church and the whole responsibility for that would have been on my head. This one step has changed life for me and my posterity. For this life my parents may be upset with me, but for eternity they will be happy and proud of me.” In fact, Annapurna’s parents are already more accepting of her marriage. They like Santosh and even get together socially with Santosh’s parents.
Map by Randall J. Pixton
The next part of Annapurna’s dream came true when at last she was baptized. There was no branch in Chandigarh, so the Muralas made the five-hour journey to New Delhi for the baptism. Ironically, now that Annapurna was free to go to church, the nearest branch was far away. “Before I was baptized, the church was very near my house, just on the corner at the end of the road, and I didn’t have the opportunity to go,” she says. “Now the church was five hours away, so we could go only once a month.” Then Annapurna became pregnant, and the five-hour trip was too taxing for her.
But then came another miracle, in the form of two Latter-day Saint families. “God takes care of you,” explains Santosh. A British couple, Brother and Sister Beer, came to Chandigarh, where Brother Beer worked in highway construction. Sister Beer taught institute classes to the Muralas, and the Beers held family home evening with the Muralas every week. A Korean family, the Moons, also moved to Chandigarh, where Brother Moon worked for a construction company. Every Sunday for two years, this little group of Latter-day Saints met at the Moons’ home for sacrament meeting. Shortly after Santosh finished his residency in Chandigarh, the Beers and the Moons moved away too.
In New Delhi, where Santosh is receiving specialized training in heart surgery, there are two branches of the Church. Now Annapurna’s knowledge about the Church is catching up with her knowledge of the gospel. She has learned how to sing hymns and conduct meetings.
On 19 June 2001—Annapurna’s 24th birthday—her girlhood dream of temple marriage came true. The Muralas traveled to the Hong Kong China Temple when their first baby, Neil, was not quite two. During the five full days they spent serving in the temple, the most sacred and wonderful moment came when they were sealed to each other and to their son.
Today the Muralas’ lives are full to overflowing. Annapurna serves as Primary president and Santosh as president of the New Delhi First Branch. Santosh also spends about 100 hours a week at the hospital, working 18- and 36-hour shifts. In order to have Sundays free for Church responsibilities, he works on holidays. So Annapurna spends most of her time caring for their two young children and supporting her husband in his heavy responsibilities.
And she continues to dream. She dreams of sharing the gospel with her parents. She dreams of the day when her own and others’ children—the first generation of children in India to have Primary, seminary, and Young Men and Young Women—will be strong leaders of the Church. She dreams of the time when her children will serve missions. She dreams of the time when they too will go to the temple. And she even dares to dream that that temple might be in India.

Many years ago I learned something very important from President Henry B. Eyring. He determined as a young father to ponder every night how the Lord’s hand was blessing his life. Here are his words:
I wrote down a few lines every day for years. . . . Before I would write, I would ponder this question: “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch [my wife and me] or our children . . . today?” As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.

Three years ago, my paternal grandmother passed away. She had struggled with poor physical health and declining mental stability in her later years. However, in her younger days, Grandma had been an avid genealogist. When several of my distant cousins were cleaning out sheds on her property, they found a trunk full of genealogy. They weren't interested in the papers, but they recognized the potential value--so they called my father.
Within days, I had the aqua-colored trunk, with glittery sparkles embedded in its padded vinyl cover, sitting in my kitchen. I opened it to discover thousands of moldy, old genealogy forms--the long kind, where the ordinance work was stamped on a grid at the right-hand side. Much of the work had been started, but most of the pages had many empty squares. Because the smell was almost overwhelming, I wrapped the trunk in several garbage bags. Then I called Church Headquarters to see what we should do. They offered to have missionaries at the Family History Center in Salt Lake verify that the work had been finished; however, they said they would be ever-so-grateful if we would do it.
It took my mother and me several months (and a good deal of allergy medicine) to type the 30,000 names into the computer, but we did it. Then we checked the names against the various indexes to see if the work had been completed by others during the 60 years the trunk had sat in the apparently quite leaky shed. We discovered that roughly 90% of the people whose names we had found had been baptized, confirmed, endowed, and sealed--but 10% had not. We printed cards for them--enough cards to fill a shoebox. Then I began recruiting help.
Some of you were in my classes two years ago when we did the 3000 baptisms. Oh, what a spiritual feast we had together in the temple! What a delight it was to watch my students and friends perform those sacred ordinances for my family members. Even President Tucker came down to help, sitting in as proxy. I have many special memories of the impressions you had about my ancestors, which a number of you shared with me.
Because a few of you had already been endowed, we were able to perform the initiatory ordinances (which go rather quickly) on hundreds of names. However, we weren't able to get very many endowment sessions completed--a handful, but nowhere near 3000.
Then, last winter, the Matron announced in our preparation meeting that the Idaho Falls Temple had almost run out of names for endowment sessions. We were asked to encourage patrons to help out in the initiatory area until we had a cushion of names built up again. Because I had that shoebox full of cards, I dropped by the office and offered them to the Recorder. He was eager to use them. Since I work in the Temple each Tuesday evening, I took five or six hundred (which had the initiatory done) with me the next week. The sisters working in the office told me they would stamp them "Return to Recorder's Office" and use them--probably by that Saturday, as they were really low on names by then. They thanked me for offering my family names for temple use, and I assured them I was happy to help out.
The next week, when I arrived at the temple, I was told that my names had not been finished on Saturday; they were still being handed out. That evening, the sessions were all full, with no empty chairs. And almost every patron was acting as proxy for one of my family members. As it happens, one of my assignments was to accompany a session as the sister who sits at the front, making sure that the patrons' needs are met. Mere words cannot convey what it was like to watch 150 Saints stand and make sacred covenants for my ancestors. Some of you were there that night; you've stopped me to tell me you'd read my name on the card as the person submitting the work. So, I am comfortable telling you that, from my vantage point at the front of the congregation looking out at the patrons, the walls in the ordinance rooms were, hmmm, rather transparent that night. The Spirit opened my eyes, and I was granted a glimpse of eternity that I shall not soon forget. And that's a ninth way the Spirit speaks to me. Oh, you'll be happy to know that my cousins and I have spent the past year getting our ancestors sealed into families.

I hate going to the doctor. I always dread the fuss, the wait time, the shots, the orders to “take it easy.” When I was really little, I thought nurses and doctors were just mean people who thought I was a pin cushion, but as I got older I figured out they weren’t evil; they were helping. And I almost always felt better soon after seeing them. No matter how boring the waiting room was, how much I yelped getting a shot, or how disappointed I was when the doctor told me I needed to stay off my feet, in the end, it was always worth it.

For example, my full name is Clarence Weldon Tom Collins III, but I go by Tom. Every once in a while, especially at the beginning of school while teachers are still figuring out their rolls, someone will laugh and say, “Ha! Your name is Clarence!”
Now I could get upset about it, but that wouldn’t stop the teasing. So I just say, “Clarence means bright. What does your name mean?” They find out it’s something I’m not ashamed of and won’t be teased about, and they end up respecting me.

A few weeks ago on a day when this area was experiencing one of its worst snowstorms, and that is saying quite a bit because we had plenty of severe weather this past winter, a handsome young serviceman and his beautiful bride-to-be encountered extreme difficulty in getting to the Salt Lake Temple for their marriage appointment. She was in one location in the Salt Lake Valley and he was to come from another nearby town. Heavy snows and winds had closed the highways during the night and early morning hours. After many hours of anxious waiting, some of us were able to help them get to the temple and complete their marriage plans before the day was over.
How grateful they, their families, and friends were for the assistance and concern in their keeping this most important appointment. My friend—we will call him Bill—expressed his deep gratitude with, “Thank you very much for all you did to make our wedding possible. I don’t understand why you went to all this trouble to help me. Really, I’m nobody.”
I am sure Bill meant his comment to be a most sincere compliment, but I responded to it firmly, but I hope kindly, with, “Bill, I have never helped a ‘nobody’ in my life. In the kingdom of our Heavenly Father no man is a ‘nobody.’”

Former Student Life Vice President and Interim President of BYU-Idaho Robert Wilkes had a gift for teaching using stories. One principle he taught employees and their spouses at another Student Life retreat came from a story about his dad who had old, weathered, worn-out, ugly fence posts. He determined it was time to replace them and went and tore them out.

Most people would have burned the fence posts or thrown them away. His dad, however, was a fine carpenter and saw the potential that still laid within the old fence posts. He took them to a mill where there were cut into pieces which he then carefully crafted into beautiful cedar wood chests which he then gifted to his granddaughters.

From this story we learn that there were different choices that could be made with the old fence posts, each having different outcomes. Like Brother Wilkes’s father, how can we see the potential for good in others and make the investment of our time and nurturing to bring about a similar transformation like the old worn-out fence posts into beautiful cedar chests? Such transformations can even take place with ourselves.

Serving a full-time mission in the Dominican Republic, I had just been transferred to a new area that had a reputation of being difficult to find people to teach. When I arrived, we had only one investigator. His name was Oriviades. He had attended church before, but because he was deaf and communicated using sign language, previous missionaries hadn’t been able to teach him.
One day my companion and I decided to fast and pray for a miracle that would allow us to teach Oriviades. We set an appointment with him at a time when one of his family members would be available to help translate, since neither my companion nor I knew sign language.
When we arrived to meet with Oriviades, however, none of his family members was there. When Oriviades briefly left to get a chair, my companion and I took the opportunity to pray that the Spirit would guide us. Before we had even finished the prayer, I felt the Spirit’s presence strongly.
Oriviades began signing, but we couldn’t understand him. We simply smiled at him and looked at each other, trying to figure out what we should do. We decided to write a note indicating a time for our next appointment, hoping that next time we would have a translator. But suddenly both of us felt strongly that we should stay and try to teach him. “Let’s at least try—the Spirit will help us,” I told my companion.
We tried using drawings and rudimentary hand signals as we taught the lesson. Gradually we started understanding Oriviades’s signs and were able to sign in reply to him. He seemed to understand us perfectly.
We felt prompted to share our testimonies with him. We showed him a picture of the First Vision, and I wrote on a piece of paper, “I know it’s true.”
Then, using signs, Oriviades responded, “I know it’s true—God told me. I prayed and know it’s true.”
My companion and I left the appointment with tears in our eyes. I knew that God had allowed us to testify of the restored gospel to this investigator and that the Holy Ghost had carried our message unto his heart (see 2 Nephi 33:1). I learned that we don’t need to speak perfectly or eloquently when we share the gospel—sometimes, we don’t need to speak aloud.
It’s incredible how simple things like fasting, prayer, and faith can work mighty miracles in our lives and in the lives of those we serve.

by Anne C. Bradshaw
“It all began with winning every running event I entered in primary sports,” said 15-year-old Gillian Tate of Saltcoats Branch, Paisley Scotland Stake. “Because of that success, my parents decided to start me training with a proper coach. Now I’m really grateful. I hope to run for Scotland in the Olympics one day.”
And that desire may well come true. Gillian recently was awarded the special prize at Birmingham Athletics, during the 150th anniversary, for coming in first or second in so many events.
Gillian is a member of the Scottish Women’s Amateur Athletic Association and trains three times a week. She is the North Ayreshire Schools champion in 400 meters and is a consistent winner in competitions.
However, Gillian feels her speed is a little unfair for any more Church sports and is thinking of withdrawing from future stake and regional races. “I have to slow down to give other girls a chance,” she says.

Photographs courtesy of the Koch family
The day before they were to be married, Cristi and James Koch received devastating news. Test results showed that Cristi had breast cancer. What’s more, the cancer was already at stage 4, spreading throughout her body.
Cristi: They said I had about two years to live. I told James I would understand if this was more than he wanted to take on. “This is your chance to get out,” I said. But he said, “I’d rather be with you. We’ll fight the cancer together and do whatever we can. We’ll take whatever time in this life Heavenly Father will give us. Just remember, we’re in this for eternity.” And he is right, you know. An eternal marriage doesn’t end just because one of you moves into the next life.
James: I knew she was who I wanted to be sealed to. We had both been married before, and I fasted and prayed for a long time to find her. I prepared to be worthy of her and to be a husband who would take care of her. I wasn’t going to just walk away from that.
Cristi and James were sealed in the Draper Utah Temple.
Cristi: We decided we wanted to do all we could to be happy now and happy in eternity.
James: We’ve both always been physically active, and we decided to keep doing the things we love for as long as we could—running, hiking, swimming, traveling, dirt biking, and riding motorcycles. And we love spending time with our family. Even after surgeries to remove tumors from her chest and her back, Cristi kept doing as much as she could for as long as she could. At the same time, she started doing other things she felt needed to be done too.
Cristi: From previous marriages, James had five children and I had four. I decided I needed to write letters to them. So, I wrote this whole box of letters, and guess what—years have passed since then, and now my arm is so swollen and full of tumors that I can’t write anymore. Just a few days ago I tried to write a letter to my daughter for her birthday, and my arm was in such horrible pain that I was out of breath. So, writing those letters when I did was inspiration. I’m glad I listened to that prompting because now I wouldn’t be able to do it.
James: Cristi has this Christlike ability to see the good in others. She has a deep testimony of her Savior and a great desire to do missionary work.
Cristi: I remember trying to bargain with the Lord. For a while, it was like, “Come on, heal me. I want to gather Israel!” I tried to boss God around, but it didn’t work. Then I thought, “OK, my name, Cristi, means ‘follower of Christ.’ While I’m still here, I want to bring as many souls to Christ as I can.
James: And that led to another prompting.
Cristi shared her challenges but also shared upbeat messages of faith.
Cristi: I started doing a social media message each day, a little message of hope and love. I called it “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive.” People started hearing about it. My sister-in-law was an atheist, but she said, “Will you start sending me your messages?” Over time she became a believer, and now she’s a member of the Church. And my brother started reading the messages. They helped him to find faith again. Now he’s active in the Church.
James: I was traveling a lot for work, going to small towns in Texas and Georgia. Cristi often went with me. We’d meet people we wanted to stay in touch with, and she would say, “Can I send you one of my messages? Then you can decide if you want to keep receiving them.”
Cristi: The number of people who wanted my messages kept growing. Now there are about 200. Some are Church members; some are not. For a long time, I sent out a thought every day, but now that’s getting harder and harder. I think the messages will be like a little history. When I’m gone, my family and friends will still have my witness about what I know is true.
James and Cristi both agreed, “We’re in this for eternity.”
James: What she has written will help us to keep an eternal perspective. She keeps telling me she’ll be watching over me, watching over us. We want to be an eternal family. That’s the real goal.
Cristi: It’s been seven years since I was diagnosed. As it gets harder to write my message, I sometimes call it, “It’s a Great Day to Be Grateful.” I am so grateful for Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I think of the words of the hymn “Count Your Blessings.”1 If we lose everything in this life, we still have the promise that families can be forever. We can always count that blessing, and it will lift us.
Editors’ note: Soon after this article was written, Cristi passed away with James at her side.
Cristi filled her life with hope and helped others to do the same.
Keep Striving!
No matter what she was going through physically, Cristi shared a spirit of hope, faith, and good cheer. Here are edited excerpts from a few of her many posts.

Joseph permitted teachers to use the large upper room to conduct their classes. However, the boisterousness of some students frequently disturbed the clerks, who were often at work writing the history of the Church. One of the Prophet’s sons, Joseph Smith III, recalled: “As schoolboys we had good reason to remember Doctor Willard Richards [one of the clerks], for often in going down the stairway from the schoolroom we were noisy, which seemed to annoy him considerably. Upon one or two occasions he met us at the foot of the stairs and refused to let us pass, the while he cautioned us to be more quiet. Doubtless we were annoying as we trampled and jostled, crowding the steps and surging through the door. He especially scolded the larger children. We learned it was better to go quietly than to cause such real distress” (Mary Audentia Smith Anderson and Bertha Audentia Anderson Hulmes, editors, Joseph Smith III and the Restoration, Independence, Missouri: Herald Publishing House, 1952, p. 28).

In 1940, the Kimballs began construction of their dream house, a pueblo-style home they designed themselves. The business was going well. Prosperity beckoned. They looked forward to a long, comfortable, and happy life in Safford.
Then, on July 8, 1943, the phone rang, a phone call that would change the Kimball’s lives.
“It must have taken only a few seconds for me to cross the room to the phone, grasp the receiver and say, ‘Hello,’ but it seemed that an hour’s thinking and retrospection coursed through my mind.”
Then came the voice of President J. Reuben Clark, a counselor to President Heber J. Grant, and a call to the Quorum of the Twelve. There followed six days and nights of weeping, confusion, and prayer. He yearned for a confirmation from the Lord. Finally on a hilltop in Boulder, Colorado, where he and his wife had been visiting their son, he received the calm assurance and peace that his call was indeed inspired. “My tears were dry, my soul was at peace. A calm feeling of assurance came over me, doubt and questionings subdued. It was as though a great burden had been lifted. I sat in tranquil silence surveying the beautiful valley, thanking the Lord for the satisfaction and the reassuring answer to my prayers.”

When we think of the Prophet Joseph Smith we recognize that he was a man who possessed many great attributes. Courage was certainly one of these. Even at the tender age of seven, he would not take counsel from his fears. He had contracted typhus, from which he developed a fever sore that settled into his left leg. To save his leg, doctors cut a deep incision and removed several pieces of affected bone. There was, of course, no anesthetic available at that time, and already the seeds of greatness were sprouting as the brave young Joseph endured this excruciating operation with only the comfort he could draw from his father holding him.

As you think celestial, your faith will increase. When I was a young intern, my income was $15 a month. One night, my wife Dantzel asked if I was paying tithing on that meager stipend. I was not. I quickly repented and began paying the additional $1.50 in monthly tithing.
Was the Church any different because we increased our tithing? Of course not. However, becoming a full-tithe payer changed me. That is when I learned that paying tithing is all about faith, not money. As I became a full-tithe payer, the windows of heaven began to open for me. I attribute several subsequent professional opportunities to our faithful payment of tithes.

Anna sat up in bed. The room was still dark. She strained to hear sounds of Mama fixing breakfast in the kitchen. The only thing she heard was the chirping of crickets. She had been dreaming again—the same dream she had had every night for a week: She was walking out of darkness into a brilliant light. Seated in the center of the light was a man in a white robe, surrounded by children. As she neared him, he looked at her with the kindest eyes she had ever seen. He reached for her with large, strong hands and lifted her onto his lap. Then she woke up. But the feeling of loving hands holding her lingered.
The next day Anna had a hard time keeping her mind on what her teacher was saying. Anna thought, My teacher has promised to spend her whole life serving God. Surely she must know, if anyone does. Anna raised her hand.
“Why, Anna,” her teacher responded, “I didn’t think you were even listening this morning. Can you tell the class the answer?”
“I—I didn’t know that you had asked a question,” Anna stammered.
The children around her snickered. She felt a hot flush burn her cheeks.
“Then perhaps you have a question of your own?” the teacher inquired gently.
“Yes, I do have a question. Does God have hands?”
Again the children laughed. The teacher gave them one of her stern looks. “That’s not the sort of question I expected in the middle of mathematics,” she admitted. “However, class, there is never a wrong time to ask about God.” An orderly quiet returned to the room. Turning back to Anna, she said, “The Holy Bible tells us that God is a spirit. We might say that He is like the wind or the sunshine. We feel His power and love, but He cannot be seen. He does not have hands like you or I. We are His hands as we serve one another.”
Anna had always believed everything her teacher told her. She was very kind and wise. But every time Anna tried to think of God as a spirit without a body, she remembered the hands in her dream and their loving touch. It isn’t true, she whispered to herself. He does have hands. The dream made her feel so good that she knew that it must be true.
Her mother was in the garden when she arrived home from school. “Hello, Anna,” Mama greeted her. “I’ll be finished shortly.”
Anna sat on the warm earth near the flower bed and watched silently as Mama dug up the daffodil and tulip bulbs, separated the old ones from the new, and reburied them.
“My, but you’re the quiet one this afternoon,” Mama said as she finished the last bulb and sat on her heels to survey her work. “Usually it’s talk, talk, talk when you come home from school. Is there a test coming tomorrow that’s got your tongue?”
“No, Mama, there’s no test. I’m just thinking about a dream I keep having.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Mama asked, rising to her feet and reaching for Anna’s hand.
“There’s really not much to tell,” Anna said. “I’m in darkness. Then I see a light. As I go toward it, I see a kind man in white seated among some children. When I get close to him, he reaches out and picks me up. That’s when I wake up.”
“Who do you think this man is?”
“I think it’s God, Mama,” Anna answered. “But my teacher said that God is a spirit and doesn’t have hands.” Anna took one of her mother’s hands in both of hers. “When he picks me up, his hands are just as real as yours are right now, Mama.”
Her mother was silent for a few moments. Then she placed her free hand on top of Anna’s and looked lovingly into her face. “It’s a sweet dream,” Mama said slowly, “but I’m afraid that that’s all it is. Your teacher is right—a spirit has no hands.”
“It’s more than a dream,” Anna insisted. “I know it is.”
Mama patted Anna’s hands and smiled. “If it makes you happy to think of God in that way, I don’t see any harm in it. But I wouldn’t go talking about it at school anymore, all right?”
“All right,” Anna agreed. “I won’t.”
Anna stopped having the dream, and she stopped talking about it, but she never stopped thinking about it. Sometimes when she sat between Mama and Papa in their pew at church, she closed her eyes and thought of those loving hands holding her close.
Several years later two young Americans in dark suits came to Anna’s village. She felt a strange longing to talk to them. Sometimes she followed them a short distance. But when they turned to talk to her, she always ran away shyly.
One afternoon there was a knock on the door just as Anna and her mother sat down to eat. It was the Americans.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” said the taller one. “We have a message of joy that we’d like to share with you and your family.”
“We’re happy with our own church, thank you,” Mama replied quickly and began to shut the door.
Anna jumped up from her chair at the table. “Please, Mama, let them come in. Just this once,” she pleaded.
“All right, Anna. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt just once,” Mama said.
The taller one introduced himself as Elder Thomas, and his companion as Elder Johnson. Anna liked to listen to them talk.
“Anna,” Elder Thomas said now, smiling at her, “I’m glad we finally got a proper introduction. Every time we’ve tried before, you’ve run away.”
Anna blushed. “I see them on my way home from school sometimes, Mama,” she explained.
“So that’s why you wanted me to let them in.”
“I only wanted to ask them about America,” said Anna. “I thought it might help me with my studies.”
“I’m glad that you’re interested in America,” Elder Thomas told her with another smile. “That’s just what we’ve come to talk to you about. You see, something very exciting happened in America—something that isn’t even in the history books.” He paused, then asked her, “How old are you, Anna?”
“Fourteen, almost,” Anna answered.
“Fourteen. That’s how old a boy named Joseph Smith was when something very special happened to him.” Elder Thomas told Anna and her mother how Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in a grove of trees.
Excitement filled Anna’s heart as she listened. “You mean he actually saw God?” she asked when Elder Thomas finished.
“Yes, Anna,” he assured her. “He saw God just as plainly as you can see me at this moment.”
“Did God have hands?” she asked.
Elder Johnson started flipping through the book he carried with his Bible. “This book has what we call the Doctrine and Covenants in it,” he explained. “It contains revelations given to Joseph Smith. Listen to what it says in section 130, verse 22 [D&C 130:22]: ‘The Father has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; the Son also.’ So he does have hands, Anna. ‘Tangible’ means that you can feel them.”
“I knew it, Mama!” Anna cried. “It’s just like my dream.”
“I had forgotten the dream,” Mama said softly.
As Anna told the missionaries of the dream, she felt as though the whole room was filling with love. “I know that God has a body, just as Joseph Smith said. And someday I will see Him, and He will hold me in His hands.”

Lately our family had been praying to strengthen the family bond. The answer to our prayer really came in a shocking way. Can you imagine this? Three teenagers and a nine-year-old down with the chicken pox the last week of summer vacation. We had to live together 24 hours a day in the same house for a week and a half straight. That was a trial! We all learned to get along. Each day we compared our skin to see whose was worse. My oldest brother won. We made this awful experience fun. We talked about walking down the beach looking like this in our swimsuits and other crazy ideas that made the situation seem funny. Unfortunately it did not ease the itch. We decided to be more specific when we prayed. We are all involved with each others’ lives and feelings. We are now closer than ever.

One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put … our flour in sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, “Brother Hall, how are you out for flour.” “Brother Millett, we have none.” “Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.” Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett. “Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.” You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett.

A month ago I visited a group of young women. I asked the older girls what advice they would give a new Beehive to help her to remain faithful and virtuous in every setting that she may encounter. One young woman said, “When you walk down the halls of your school, you might, out of the corner of your eye, see something that catches your attention, something that doesn’t seem right. You may be curious and want to look. My advice to you is this: Don’t look. I promise you’ll regret it if you do. Believe me; just look straight ahead.”
As I listened to this young woman, I knew I was hearing the Lord’s advice to Joshua, “turn not from it to the right hand or to the left” (Joshua 1:7), applied to an everyday setting in these latter days. … Avoid the temptations that surround you by strictly following the commandments. Look straight ahead at your eternal goal.