Gospel Story Finder

After that the days seemed to drag, gray and dull, one after another. Part of the time I felt defensive and angry at my mother, wanting to hurt her back. But at other times I felt small and frightened, like a little girl, longing for her to hold and comfort me and dissolve my fears. She had taken the excitement and anticipation out of the whole thing, and sometimes I weakened and felt that maybe I shouldn’t go after all. But too many of my prayers had been answered, too many signposts pointed that this should be the direction my life ought to take. I kept telling myself that things would work out. Perhaps it would be easier for my family if I went away. If I weren’t so close, such a source of conflict and friction, it might be easier for them to understand, to get a broader, kinder perspective. Perhaps they might even miss me and appreciate me a little.
But I was afraid. And there was no one to understand. Lori could only see that I had the world at my feet, that I was going to Zion, Mecca, where everything would be sunshine and happiness and dreams-come-true. But I had never been to Utah before. I didn’t even know what a mountain looked like in real life. I didn’t know a single person in all of Utah, much less at BYU. What were other Mormons like? Would they laugh at me if I was different, if I did things wrong? Our little branch was so casual, so experimental. What would it be like in a congregation of hundreds of Latter-day Saints? What if they all knew ten times more about the gospel than I knew?
Finally, suddenly, the long days were past, and it was time for me to leave. The day before the bus came that would take me to the airport in Madison, I prayed and fasted all day. I couldn’t bear to leave my mother like this, with her hating me and thinking that I was deserting her, rejecting her as, somehow, her older sister once had done.
That night I had a dream. In the dream I was a little girl again, with long pigtails and a dirty face. Some mean little boys were chasing me down the sidewalk and I fell and scraped my knee. I stumbled back up and ran across the lawn, sobbing for my mother, screaming for her to come. Suddenly she was there, sweeping me into her strong, soft arms. She smoothed back my hair and kissed my cheek, and cleaned my scraped knee, painting it with iodine, then sticking a big, beautiful band-aid on top. I woke suddenly, feeling still her gentle fingers against my skin, seeing the smile of love on her face.
I sat up in bed and it came to me that my mother didn’t know how much I needed her! How long had it been since I’d asked her advice or her help? In her eyes I seemed efficient, self-contained, and sure of myself. Mormonism had excluded her from my life, and I had done nothing to compensate for that—to let her know I still loved and needed and valued her! And all these months I had been thinking it was all her fault, that I, alone, was the wounded party!
The next morning I called her into my room and asked if she would help me pack. She’s very neat and efficient, and I knew she could organize and fit in all my last-minute things in a way I never could. I told her so. I talked with her and I praised her, and soon the look of guarded puzzlement left her face and we both began to enjoy being together. It didn’t work miracles; there wasn’t enough time for that. I still couldn’t tell her how frightened I was, how much I really loved her and would miss her. But the look of cold anger had gone out of her eyes, and she came to the bus station, and when I pushed the note I had written into her hands and reached out to hug her, she reached out, too, and held me close a minute and kissed my cheek. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. I looked through the glass and waved to my family, wishing they knew how very much I loved them.

Sidney Rigdon, a member of the First Presidency and a former minister himself, recognized the importance of education and encouraged Lorenzo to continue with his schooling. However, the former Oberlin student now had other goals in mind. Though he said he was extremely shy and the thought of preaching to others concerned him deeply, he was still consumed by a desire to share the gospel with others. To him it was the most important thing he could do.
In the spring of 1837 he was called to serve, and he set out alone to preach in Ohio without purse or scrip. This was to be one of the hardest ordeals of his life.
“It was … a severe trial to my natural feelings of independence to go without purse or scrip—especially the purse,” he said; “for, from the time I was old enough to work, the feeling that I ‘paid my way’ always seemed a necessary adjunct to self respect, and nothing but a positive knowledge that God required it now, as He did anciently of His servants, the Disciples of Jesus, could induce me to go forth dependent on my fellow creatures for the common necessaries of life. But my duty in this respect was clearly made known to me, and I determined to do it.”
With concern in his heart and with trust in the Lord, Elder Snow embarked on his first mission. He visited an aunt and then traveled for about thirty miles. Just as the sun was setting, he made his first official call as a Mormon elder and was refused a night’s lodging. He made eight calls that night before being admitted for the night—“going to bed supperless, and leaving in the morning, minus a breakfast.” This was his first introduction to missionary work, but he refused to let discouragement get him down. He served a faithful mission in his home state, baptizing some of his relatives and friends. Then he moved with the Saints to Missouri.

Brigham Henry Roberts (pictured at age 27)
Have you ever missed your bus? When Brigham Henry Roberts was nine, he and his friend missed their wagon train! They spent a little too much time picking berries, and the company took off without them. The boys made a mad dash for the disappearing wagon train, but stopped short when they saw three Native Americans on horses directly in their path. As the terrified boys inched forward, the three men just watched them without moving or smiling.

The pressure must have been a little much for Brigham. Suddenly, with a wild yell, he flung his berry-filled cap and ran wildly past them.

“They say [Native Americans] never laugh, but I learned differently,” he later said. “As the race for the train continued, I saw they were bending double over their horses with their screams of laughter.”3

Growing up with parents who are deaf, I was keenly aware that my family was different. When I was young, there was no one to interpret for my parents at Church meetings or activities, so we didn’t attend often.
I always felt like an outsider looking in, wanting what others in my ward had—a family who prayed and studied together.
Near the end of my senior year in high school, however, we became more active in the Church. My parents were sealed in the Mesa Arizona Temple, and two of my four siblings and I were sealed to them.
Five years later, I was preparing to be endowed and married in the temple. The night before my temple sealing, my brother and his wife attended the temple to perform proxy work for my mother’s parents in preparation for their sealing the next day. My mother was a convert of almost 20 years at the time, and she was eager to begin her family’s history and temple work.
The next day, our grandparents were sealed to each other, my brother and his wife again standing as proxy. It was my wedding day, yes, but it held extra significance for me. My grandparents, whom I had never met, were sharing this special day with me.
A few days later, as my husband and I opened wedding gifts, we opened one very special gift from my grandmother’s first cousin. She was a religious woman who had been close to my grandmother. The gift was a picture of my grandmother on her own wedding day. An accompanying card said, “Your grandmother is so happy with you and is looking down upon you.”
This cousin had no idea how much her message meant to me. Nor did she know of the temple work that had recently been performed for my grandmother. I knew in my heart at that moment that my grandmother was pleased with me and happy that our family had started on the important journey of family history and temple work.
We were a forever family now, on the path of gathering our ancestors and led by my mother in blessing our family on the other side of the veil.

My great-grandparents buried a child on the trail from Far West, when they were driven to Nauvoo, and another at Winter Quarters, when they were driven west.

Another great-grandmother, a teenager, was pushing a handcart along the south banks of the Platte River. They sang:
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.

Across the river they could see the sun glinting on the weapons of the soldiers of the army.

In St. Louis my great-grandmother bought a little enameled pin of the American flag. She wore it on her dress for the rest of her life.

On a personal level, as a young physician I learned a great lesson about making quick judgments. While I was working a midnight shift in an emergency department, a young man and his wife came in because she was suffering some severe pain. From their dress and hygiene, it was easy to see that theirs had been a rough life. His hair was ill kempt and very long. Their clothing had not been washed for some time, and the effects of a rough life were written on both of their faces.

After an examination, I sat down with him to explain the problem and discuss the treatment. This man looked at me with a deep clarity of love that is rarely experienced and asked with all the love of a caring husband, “Doctor, will my dear wife be all right?” At that moment, I felt the Spirit testify that he was a child of God and saw in his eyes the evidence of the Savior. This man truly projected love for another, and I had misjudged him. It was a lesson that left a lasting impression.

The spirit of Family Past in our doctrine also includes our appreciation for Adam and Eve, our first mortal parents. Our understanding of Family Past reaches even further back, prior to Eden, prior to the earth's creation--to our family relationship with God himself. Through the Restoration, we know that each of us lived in a pre-earth life with God, the literal father of our individual spirits. I recently met a bright and vivacious new Church member from Illinois whose discovery of the doctrine of our pre-mortal life was the turning point in her conversion. These ideas rang so true and meant so much to her that she just kept telling everybody, "We lived before! We lived before!"

In 1974, when I was just 17 years old I was called as the seminary teacher in the Maipú Branch in Santiago, Chile. In the beginning, I had 16 students.
The branch boundaries covered a lot of territory in those days, and some of the students had to travel long distances to come to seminary. I had to walk 25 blocks to get to the old, unheated house where we met. But I was very excited about my calling, and that old house seemed to me the most beautiful place in the world. As we started our course in Church history, everything seemed to be going smoothly and enthusiasm was high.
Then autumn came. As the temperature dropped, participation dropped, too. A reactivation campaign was set up to motivate the students to keep coming. The effort succeeded for a time. But as winter followed fall and it became increasingly colder and more difficult for the students to attend, fewer and fewer attended regularly.
After a time, there were only three. It was a disappointment. I did lack teaching experience, but I had faith and a testimony, and I continued to prepare for each lesson with zeal and dedication. As I walked to class each day, I prayed almost every step of the way, feeling very close to my Father in Heaven. By the time I arrived at the classroom, I was filled with the Spirit and felt as happy as if many students were there.
At other times, I lacked confidence and wondered if I should go on. One such occasion was during a district meeting when a roll call of seminary students was taken for each branch. When the name of the Maipú Branch was called, only two of us reported present: one student and myself. Everyone laughed! It felt like a slap in the face, and I wanted to ask our leaders to let us stop holding the class. However, the sweet influence of the Spirit soon came over me and urged me to continue. I determined to endure to the end.
When seminary graduation ceremonies were held, three participants from the Maipú Branch were awarded certificates of achievement. Only one of them, Pedro Baillón, was in attendance to receive his certificate. But it didn’t matter. By then I understood that there was a deeper purpose in my service, and I knew that the year held great meaning for me, as it did for Pedro.
I have never forgotten Pedro Baillón. Nor have I ever forgotten one of the most spiritual periods of my life.

President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., taught this vital principle in his own life. At general conference in April 1951, President David O. McKay was sustained as President of the Church after the passing of President George Albert Smith. Up to that time President Clark had served as the First Counselor to President Heber J. Grant and President George Albert Smith. President McKay had been the Second Counselor to both men. During the final session of conference, when the business of the Church was transacted, Brother Stephen L Richards was called to the First Presidency and sustained as First Counselor. President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., was then sustained as the Second Counselor. After the sustaining of the officers of the Church, President McKay explained why he had chosen his counselors in that order. He said:

I felt that one guiding principle in this choice would be to follow the seniority in the Council [of the Twelve Apostles]. These two men were sitting in their places in that presiding body in the Church, and I felt impressed that it would be advisable to continue that same seniority in the new quorum of the First Presidency. [CR, 9 April 1951, p. 151]

President Clark was then asked to speak following President McKay. His remarks on this occasion were brief, but taught a powerful lesson:

In the service of the Lord, it is not where you serve but how. In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one takes the place to which one is duly called, which place one neither seeks nor declines. I pledge to President McKay and to President Richards the full loyal devoted service to the tasks that may come to me to the full measure of my strength and my abilities, and so far as they will enable me to perform them, however inadequate I may be. [CR, 9 April 1951, p. 154]

Jimmie Nicholson wears a skirt to work, and nobody seems to mind. In fact he’s following in the steps, dance steps that is, of many of his ancestors who were Highland dancers.
Jimmie, from the Scottish seaport of Dundee, learned to Highland dance when he was four years old and began learning to play the bagpipe when he was about eight. He has been dancing for the past 16 years and now performs semiprofessionally with his younger brother Gary. Their variety show includes singing, Gary playing the bagpipe and Jimmie on the drums, and both brothers dancing.
Jimmie says his interest in Highland bands and dancing was there right from the start. “My mother was a drummer in a pipe band, and I thought she was wonderful. She won many awards, including being named the Winnipeg Band championship drummer.”
Sharing their talents and rich Scottish heritage has brought warm responses, not only in their homeland but also in Canada, where Jimmie and Gary have toured twice.
When he was eight or nine, Jimmie started playing the chanter, a reed pipe with finger holes. “When you are learning,” he says, “you can’t go straight onto the bagpipe. You have to learn to play the chanter first, so you can get all your fingering correct.”
Other skills must also be mastered before finally beginning to play the pipes themselves. The Scottish bagpipe consists of a leather bag that is filled by blowing air through a mouthpiece or tube. The air is pressed from this bag into several tubes. The melody is played on the chanter, which has a double reed as an oboe does. There are three pipes that extend upward, called drones. Each has a single reed like that of a clarinet and produces a single note. When learning to play the pipes, the three drones are added one at a time until you work up to playing with a full set.
Jimmie got his first set of bagpipes when he was 16, and he joined two bands, one in Dundee and another in Armancourt.
“The bagpipe’s an instrument that demands a lot of practice because it’s so difficult and temperamental,” Jimmie says. “Starting right in the beginning, an hour a day is adequate. But if you want to be really good, you’ve got to put in more practice.”
Jimmie has participated in many pipe band competitions and Highland games, which are held not only in Scotland but all over the world. Most Highland games take place in the summer and consist of many different competitions ranging from pipe band contests, Highland dancing, and Gaelic singing to a tug-of-war contest, caber tossing (tossing a young tree trunk), high jumping, and hurdle races.
“During the winter season, the pipe bands practice their competition sets for the summer,” Jimmie says. “Highland dancing competition carries on throughout the year. During the summer months it’s held at the Highland games and during the winter months in halls, theaters—everywhere. Every place big enough to hold a competition, you’ll find dancing.”
Jimmie has stuck with Highland dancing even though it took a back seat to soccer for a while. Now he’s working on qualifying as a dance instructor. He could have qualified four years ago, but changing teachers twice slowed him down. Of course, he has learned a wide variety of styles by having three different teachers.
Entering dance competitions takes a lot of stamina. “It’s a game that’s very demanding,” Jimmie admits. “In the competitions there are so many dances. You usually compete in them all. You’re talking about possibly ten dances. You’ve got to have strength in the legs and be quite fit. You achieve that by dancing.” The standard dances are the reel, fling, and sword dances.
Jimmie still competes with his band, which has won most of the competitions around, but he has given up dance competitions for a while. “My main aim is to become a qualified dancing teacher,” he says.
Four years ago Jimmie discovered a new heritage. Through entertaining, he met a member of the Church. They became friends, and she invited him to go to church with her. He enjoyed the meetings and soon he began talking with the missionaries.
“I found out all about the Church. I was more active than some members,” he says. Finally after two years Jimmie decided he was going to get baptized.
“I had the object one week to pray about it. I did pray, and sincerely. I think that was the big difference. I prayed sincerely because I did want to know if the Church was true. An answer came. I mean it was really strong—very, very strong.
“Before, I was expecting an answer straight away when I was praying. This time I waited. I didn’t have to wait very long. Once I had the feeling, I knew there was no way I could deny it. Just no way at all.
“My parents weren’t too keen on my decision at first. I had been brought up in the Church of Scotland. My mother was slightly hurt, but my father was just concerned I was doing the right thing. I asked them to come to my baptism, and they were there on the front row seats.
“My brother disowned me. He just didn’t want to know me at all. But now he’s great about it. If he hears anyone saying anything bad about the Church or my being a Mormon, he’ll jump to my defense. It’s heartwarming. It’s good to see him stand by me as my parents do.”
Jimmie shares with his family the things that happen at church each weekend. “If I have a calling they seem quite pleased. They know the Church is quite a big part of my life.”
He was attracted to the Church because he had many of the same values it teaches. “I’m a firm believer in doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
When he started studying with the missionaries, he was already living the Word of Wisdom. “As a teenager I drank, but only because all my friends were drinking. I realized that to be one of the boys you didn’t have to drink. They respected me eventually because of it.”
Jimmie is proud of his new-found heritage as a Latter-day Saint and strives to share it with others by his example. He blends his new beliefs with the Highland traditions of his homeland to show others what it means to be a Scottish Latter-day Saint.

Early in 2010, I had been dealing with some serious personal challenges. My bishop suggested that I might benefit from meeting with a professional counselor. The idea shocked me. I work and am training in the field of drug and alcohol addiction treatment, so I thought, “I am practically a counselor myself! I don’t need outside help.”
I was still wrestling with some of my challenges—and my own pride—when April general conference came around. Elder James B. Martino of the Seventy gave a talk titled, “All Things Work Together for Good” (see Liahona and Ensign, May 2010, 101), centered on dealing with affliction.
His message touched me, and I determined to pray for direction about what I should do. I left conference wanting to seek faith and to trust the Savior to guide me through the Holy Ghost.
For two weeks I pondered and prayed and contemplated and ultimately decided I would try counseling. It has been a helpful, successful experience. In addition, rereading Elder Martino’s talk, being buoyed by prayer to Heavenly Father, and relying on the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ, have given me enduring security. I testify that humbly seeking the Lord is always the way to overcome trials. He will guide us to know what specific things we need to do.

In January of 1997, my family and I were living in Luxembourg where I was working as an auditor for Deloitte & Touche.
January is the front end of what auditors refer to as “busy-season.” In our family, Teresa and I would start busy season by pulling out our calendar and planning a really fun vacation for the end of busy-season. Then we would take a deep breath, plunge in, and hang on until the end of March when we would come up for air and escape to that that long-awaited vacation.
As usual, this busy season was busy. Except for Mondays for family night and Saturdays and Sundays, I would rarely see my kids awake because I would leave for work before they got up and return after they had gone to bed. One night, I got home particularly late, feeling a bit more stress than usual, so I greeted Teresa, who was finalizing a sewing project, and then chose to de-stress myself by sitting down and reading the Church News. The messages were great, and as the minutes passed, I felt myself begin to relax. As I reached the back of the issue, the following position announcement jumped off the page at me: “ BYU–HAWAII Assistant or associate professor of accounting.”
I immediately called over to Teresa and said, “Hey, what do you think about this, an Accounting Professor Position at BYU–Hawaii.” To Teresa’s credit and my eternal gratitude, her resounding reply was “I’m there!” I then fired an email off to Bruce Kimzey, and after a couple setbacks, we were at BYU–Hawaii interviewing for the position, and a few months after that, we were packing up our three little children and all of our worldly belongings for a 24-hour flight to Hawaii. I have never regretted what seemed to be a very spur-of-the-moment, life-altering, career-altering decision to effectively say, “Count me in!” to teaching at BYU–Hawaii, a decision that has changed my life and that of my wife and my children for the better.
I often think about that night and how clear it seemed to me and to Teresa that this would be the right thing to do. Naturally, some people would say, “Well of course Hawaii sounded good. You were working long-stressful hours, it was below freezing outside, you weren’t seeing your kids very much, etc. etc. Of course Hawaii sounded good.” However, our motivation felt deeper than that. We felt a spiritual confirmation that at this point in time, the Lord needed us somewhere else and through various means was asking if we wanted to be counted in. Soon after we arrived in Hawaii and after the excitement of moving here had settled down, we realized that saying “Count me in” is easier than sacrificing and working to “be counted in,” but both are necessary. To Teresa’s credit, what really made our move here work out so well was that she was willing to follow-up her words with the necessary sacrifices and required work to be counted in.

During my mission, I had the opportunity to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ to my brothers and sisters in Kenya and Uganda. More important, I gained a testimony of Jesus Christ. When I returned home in 1997, I was a different creature (see 2 Corinthians 5:17).
I had the opportunity to serve with companions from different countries. Most of them told me they were going back to college after their missions. I found myself wanting the same thing.
My companions gave me a lot of hope, but going back to my humble life and home after my mission was a culture shock. However, I knew that Heavenly Father would help me, so I was able to live through that time with much faith and hope.
Using loans from the Church Educational System given to returned missionaries, I was able to study. I earned my diploma in medical laboratory, graduating in 2002. Since then, I have had the blessing of serving in many Church callings. When I came to western Kenya, under area leadership we started a group of the Church in Kakamega. That group grew into a branch that has now been divided into two branches.

My parents taught me the importance of studying and showed me how learning more skills helps us feel more confident. But I still struggled in school because I didn’t have much desire to study. I just didn’t think it was important. Then one day in high school I realized I wasn’t in school for my parents or for my teachers—I was there for me. When I understood that education was important for my future, my performance at school began to improve, and I earned much better grades.
Everything I learned at school has helped me. My parents are divorced, so I’ve had to do a lot to help around the house and take care of my siblings—cooking, cleaning, and helping them do homework. I studied at a high school where I learned to cook at a professional level, and I’ve been able to use those and other skills I learned at school to help my family.
The things I learned at school also help me to learn spiritually. For me, it’s all connected. Take math, for example. Studying math helped me understand the importance of managing my finances and keeping a budget. So when the missionaries explained tithing to me, I understood how important it was to budget for it, and it was easier for me to start keeping the law of tithing once I was baptized. When you study at school, you get used to learning and finding knowledge, which prepares your mind to study the scriptures. And I’ve learned that it works both ways—studying the scriptures can also help me have a clearer mind at school.
Jessica P., Liguria, Italy

I was always active in the Church, but I didn’t realize that I didn’t yet have a true testimony of the gospel. I guess my beliefs were based on the testimony of my parents and my priesthood leaders and everyone else who helped me in the Church. They knew I participated in everything. I memorized the Articles of Faith when I was in Primary. I participated in the Young Men program. But something was missing.
My search for a testimony was triggered when I was a teenager and my peers started asking questions about our beliefs and practices. Latter-day Saints are a minority in the Philippines, so most of my friends and peers were not Church members. I started wondering why I was required to do things or why I couldn’t do some of the things they did.
I also had a question about going on a mission. When I was in Primary, my bishop asked me, “Are you going on a mission?” and my response was, “Of course.” When I grew to be a young man and started enjoying life and high school, “Of course” became “Yes,” still with some excitement. And then in the later years of high school, with more peer pressure, I said, “I think I’m going on a mission,” and I started to waver. And then finally, I actually didn’t know. My response became “Maybe.”
So I had these questions and went to my bishop and my parents. They challenged me to read the Book of Mormon. That is when I came to understand that it was time for me to get my own testimony. I’d been reading the Book of Mormon for seminary, but I decided to take the challenge and really read the Book of Mormon.
I made it a point to pray before and sometimes during my reading—just to have a prayer in my heart and afterwards plead with my Father to let me know the truth about the Book of Mormon and what people had been telling me about gaining a testimony.
The first few times, of course, it was the same—they were just words on the page. But later on the scriptures began to be more understandable to me. And then I started to have particular feelings about some principles that were taught.
The next stage was that I was really getting into it. I was looking for opportunities to read, because I was finding myself in there, and it was having a wonderful effect on me. The Holy Ghost was constantly helping me to feel good about the things I was reading, causing a sensation to come over me—a warm feeling in my heart.
Finally, in one of those prayers, I just knew—I just knew that it was true. It was that overwhelming feeling that, no doubt about it, the Book of Mormon is true, the Church is true. When that testimony came, all the questions went away, and I knew that this is the true Church and that I needed to serve a mission.

August 20
Dear Sarah,
Mr. Trujillo and I took the beans to the Farmer’s Market and sold them. I got $8.00! After tithing, that’s $7.20 I have ready to send you, but I’ll wait till I get some more.
Yesterday I picked beans again. It was easier this time.
Do you remember the Claybourne family? The ones with all those kids? Well, he lost his job, and they’re having a hard time. Mom said they’re trying to get by on their food storage, so she wondered if I would mind giving them the beans from this picking to freeze for the winter. Mom said she’d like to freeze some, too, and that would help us have more money for bills and for you.
So I told Mr. Trujillo why I wouldn’t be selling my beans this time, and he looked at me sort of funny again, then gave me a bushel from his rows too. We gave the Claybournes zucchini also.
I hope you won’t mind about the bean money.
Love,Angela the Delivery Girl

As he drove, he remembered his disastrous first-grade school year in a small farm community, reliving the panic as he attempted to answer a teacher’s question but stuttered so badly she finally turned to someone else for the answer. On the playground that year, other boys in the class had mimicked him day after day until finally he would not even go out for recess.
They had moved to a larger town after that year, and careful professional therapy had helped him overcome the problem, but the emotional scars were still there. He couldn’t speak to large groups.

Dad was sitting on the front lawn, cleaning his bicycle. “Can I help you, Dad?” Michael asked.
“No thank you, Son—it’s too messy. Go ask your mother if you can help her.”
Mom was in back of the garage, painting a bookshelf.
“Can I help you, Mom?”
“No thank you, honey—this paint is sticky,” Mom said. “Go ask Mary if you can help her.”
His sister was in the kitchen, baking cookies.
“Can I help you, Mary?”
“No thank you, Michael—this oven is hot.”
Michael walked sadly out of the kitchen. “There’s no one I can help,” he said.
Just then the baby cried.
“The baby’s crying, and I can’t leave this to get her,” Dad called to Mom.
“I’m too messy to get the baby,” Mom called to Mary.
“I have to take the cookies out of the oven right now, or they’ll burn. I can’t get the baby either,” Mary called back to Mom and Dad.
Dad cleaned the bicycle grease off his hands and went to get the baby. Mom cleaned the paint off her hands and went to get the baby. Mary took the cookies out of the oven and went to get the baby. When they opened the door to the baby’s room, they saw her laughing and playing in her crib.
“I helped her,” Michael said proudly. “I sang a little song and shared my toys with her.”
The baby laughed, waving a toy car up and down.

“We wanted to organize; we wanted to have a club and wear a uniform, a blazer, and be official. We even got together and selected a name and colors for our club. We wanted something that all the LDS kids in our high school would want to be associated with, so we could be clearly identified as LDS.”
As Jean Sabin Groberg continued her account of that period of time in her life, her enthusiasm increased. “The purpose of our club was going to be to strengthen each other and to look after each other. There were only 20 or 30 of us in a very large high school in southern California. We really wanted to have something like the institute, only for high school, so that we could be strong together.”
With the growing desire that they each shared, she told of how a number of the youth unitedly approached the institute director. He listened to them. Then he met with them to discuss their plans, their goals, and their desires for an LDS club on their high school campus. He heard their concerns and felt the intensity of their desire. He agreed to “see what could be done.”
Sister Groberg recalled that after some time of anxious waiting, it was finally announced that they were to meet with the institute director. “Oh, it was just so exciting,” she exclaimed. “We were told that the seminary would be coming to our area that next year. There had been no seminary available to us, and now we had the feeling that our interest and our initiative had helped to tip the balance in bringing seminary to southern California. At least we felt important, that we were part of the beginning. To be a seminary graduate was a goal we just wanted to attain,” she explained.

Yes, the Spirit giveth light in this church. I am thinking of a wonderful new convert in England. In response to my asking, he told me about his conversion. He explained how he was kneeling at his flower bed on a Saturday morning preparing the soil for spring planting. All of a sudden an unseen voice from behind asked the simple question, “Sir, do you love the Lord?”
He said that he turned around, fully, expecting to see an angel standing there; instead there were two angels, two Mormon missionaries. And his response was, “Of course I love the Lord. Please come in the house so we can talk about it.” It was all so simple, so genuine. It was an approach that the Savior might have used.