Gospel Story Finder

After Joseph Smith allowed Martin Harris to take the 116 Book of Mormon manuscript pages, which Martin lost, the plates and Joseph’s gift to translate were taken from him. After repenting and humbling himself in prayer, the plates were returned to him with a promise that someone would come to help him with the translation.
On the 5th day of April, 1829, Oliver Cowdery came to my house. … He stated to me that [while] teaching school in the neighborhood where my father resided, … [my] family related to him the circumstance of my having received the plates, and accordingly he had come to make inquiries of me. Two days after the arrival of Mr. Cowdery … I commenced to translate the Book of Mormon, and he began to write for me.
Whilst continuing the work of translation, during the month of April, Oliver Cowdery became exceedingly anxious to have the power to translate bestowed upon him, and in relation to this desire the following [revelation was] obtained:
“Ask … that you may translate and receive knowledge from all those ancient records which have been hid up, that are sacred; and according to your faith shall it be done unto you” (D&C 8:11).
Oliver Cowdery translated a few words, but was not able to continue. The Lord revealed the reason why:
“Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me.
“But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” (D&C 9:7–8.)
About the same time an old gentleman came to visit us … Mr. Joseph Knight, Sen., … who … very kindly and considerately brought us a quantity of provisions, in order that we might not be interrupted in the work of translation by the want of such necessities of life; … he several times brought us supplies, a distance of at least thirty miles. …
Shortly after commencing to translate, I became acquainted with Mr. Peter Whitmer, … and also with some of his family. In the beginning of the month of June, his son, David Whitmer, came … and brought with him a two-horse wagon, for the purpose of having us accompany him to his father’s place, and there remain until we should finish the work. It was arranged that we should have our board free of charge, and the assistance of one of his brothers to write for me, and also his own assistance when convenient. … There [we] resided until the translation was finished and the copyright secured.
Our translation drawing to a close, we went to Palmyra, Wayne county, New York, secured the copyright, and agreed with Mr. Egbert B. Grandin to print five thousand copies for the sum of three thousand dollars.
I wish to mention here that the title-page of the Book of Mormon is a literal translation, taken from the very last leaf, on the left hand side of the collection or book of plates, … and that said title page is not by any means a modern composition.
Oliver Cowdery made a copy of the entire manuscript for the printer so that the original translation could be kept safe. The printer was given only a small number of pages at a time. When manuscript pages were delivered to the printer, whoever was taking them was accompanied by a guard. The guard also guarded the house where the manuscript was kept. All these precautions were taken so that the manuscript wouldn’t be lost or tampered with again. In March 1830 the printing was completed and copies of the book were available for sale.
(See History of the Church, vol. 1, pages 32–76.)

This story happened in the USA.
Five fluffy yellow chicks stared up at Clara. Peep, peep, peep!
Each spring Clara’s family bought baby chicks to care for. Today she got to help Dad take them home to live with their other chickens.
The road they were driving on was bumpy. But Clara held the box with the chicks steady in her lap. She gently petted one of them with the tip of her finger. It was so soft!
When Clara and Dad got home, they walked to the henhouse in the backyard. The henhouse was a little shed where all the hens lived and made their nests.
“Which hen should we put the chicks with?” Dad asked.
Clara looked around. One hen was moving straw into a mound. The straw would make a cozy nest for new chicks. Maybe she would be a good mother hen.
“This one,” Clara said, pointing to the hen.
Dad gently lifted a chick out of the box and put it next to the hen. The hen looked at the chick. She lifted her wing, and suddenly the chick disappeared!
“Where did it go? Is the chick OK?” Clara asked.
Dad nodded. “Look.”
The chick peeked its head out from beneath the hen’s feathers.
“Why did the hen do that?” Clara asked.
“To protect the chick,” Dad said. “She’ll keep it safe and warm under her wings.”
Clara helped Dad put the other chicks with their new mother hen. The hen lifted her wings to gather all of them close.
“You know, Jesus Christ talked about this in the scriptures,” Dad said.
“Really?” Clara asked. “What did He say?”
“I’ll show you.”
Clara and Dad went into the house. Dad got out his scriptures. Then he started to read.
“How oft will I gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me with full purpose of heart.”
Clara thought about each of the chicks under the hen’s feathers. “So Jesus gathers us like the hen brings the chicks under her wings?” Clara asked.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “He keeps us safe, just like the hen keeps her chicks safe. But He protects us from much more than the cold. He knows when we are hurt or sick or sad. He gives us peace and comfort. He cares for us.”
The next morning, Clara fed the hen and her new chicks. It made her think of the scripture Dad read. She smiled as she thought about Jesus. She knew He loved her and cared for her, like the hen cared for the chicks.
What did Clara learn about Jesus Christ?
Illustration by Assia Ieradi

Birds were singing in the forest, and the dew-covered flowers sparkled as the early morning sun shone through the leaves of trees. Alena was excited as she and her mother headed into the forest near their home in Ukraine. This was a very special day—she was going to help Mom pick mushrooms. Sometimes Dad would come too, but today he was busy at work.
Alena was only six years old, but her mother had carefully taught her about mushrooms and how to find the ones that were safe and good to eat. Alena had already found several mushrooms and put them in her basket.
There should be mushrooms under that big white birch! she thought as she ran to the tree. At first she didn’t see anything, but when she lifted a small branch and brushed away the old leaves, she saw the little grey-brown caps. “Mom, come here,” she yelled. “I found more mushrooms!” Alena’s mother knelt down beside her.
There were lots of mushrooms—big and small. Some were no bigger than a penny. Alena took a small, sharp knife and cut them as her mother had taught her—being careful not to damage the roots so the mushrooms would grow again the next year. “If we leave the tiny ones to grow, someone else can pick them later,” Mom suggested.
With her basket almost full, Alena stood up. She turned and saw a squirrel watching her. His brown striped back was hard to see against the tree trunk he was sitting on, but he seemed very interested in what they were doing. Alena laughed at his large cheeks bulging with food. Looking around, he took something out of his mouth and held it with his front paws. As he started to chew, nutshells fell at the foot of the tree. Then he cautiously turned his head and slipped into a small hollow in the tree trunk.
“His home is probably in that hollow,” Alena said.
“Yes,” Mom nodded. “And he is storing food for winter.”
They walked on through the forest—wondering at the beauties of nature. Suddenly Alena stopped. In the clearing right in front of her was a huge, brown mushroom! She had never seen such a big and bright mushroom before. Alena carefully moved closer, but while she was still several steps away, she stopped in surprise. It wasn’t a mushroom at all! It had brown fur with little white spots. Alena moved back quickly.
Her mother put her finger to her lips. “Be quiet,” she whispered. Alena was frightened, but when she saw that Mom was smiling, she understood that the animal was not dangerous.
Alena looked again at the “mushroom.” “What is it?” she asked quietly.
“It’s a fawn—a baby deer,” Mom whispered in her ear.
How tiny! thought Alena.
They tried to be quiet, but the fawn had heard them move. He jumped to his feet, and Alena saw how thin his legs were. His eyes were big and beautiful. He was moving his ears and looking around.
“Mommy, he is so small and so lonely here,” whispered Alena. “Let’s take him home with us. Please!”
Mom shook her head no.
“Why, Mommy?” Alena couldn’t understand. Why would her kind mother—who had brought an abandoned kitten and a dove with a broken wing to their home—not want to help a poor fawn?
Alena and her mother moved away from the clearing and back into the bushes.
“I don’t think it would be good for him at our house,” Mom said quietly as she got down on her knees.
Alena looked at the fawn. He lay down on the grass again. Once more, he looked like a big, brown mushroom.
“See, we don’t need to hurry. We have time to think,” Mom said.
“And to pray?” guessed Alena.
Alena’s parents had recently been baptized, and Alena liked having family prayer every morning and evening. Also, her father had taught Alena to pray when she didn’t know what to do. He had told her, “Ask Heavenly Father, and you will receive an answer.”
At first, Alena didn’t understand what that meant. She thought that after she prayed, someone would come and tell her what to do. But now she remembered how to know when Heavenly Father was answering her prayers. She thought about the calm, peaceful feeling she had received when she had prayed about a hard decision once before.
Alena got on her knees and closed her eyes. She was sure Heavenly Father would tell her to take the poor fawn home. She was sure that it was a good thing to do.
Alena quietly told Heavenly Father the whole story and asked what she should do. She finished her prayer and opened her eyes.
There was a beautiful doe standing by the fawn. The fawn nudged its mother’s tummy. He was probably hungry. But as the doe looked around, her ears trembled nervously. Then she jumped into the forest and looked at the fawn from there. He ran after her and, with small jumps, followed her into the trees.
For some time, Alena and her mother stood looking in the direction they had gone.
“Imagine what we could have done!” exclaimed Alena. “I thought he was alone.”
“People sometimes don’t understand,” Mom said. “They don’t know that help can be near. But you made a good choice on how to find the answer.”
Alena nodded. “We prayed, and Heavenly Father helped us when we asked.”

Please don’t go, Papa, Maria pleaded silently as she watched her father walk out the schoolroom door. She slid as far down in her desk seat as she could, hoping that no one would see the tears filling her large, brown eyes.
“Maria, will you please come to the front of the room?” asked Mrs. Wilson, the third grade teacher.
When Maria heard her name, she looked up, but she couldn’t understand anything else that was said. When she didn’t get up, Mrs. Wilson motioned to her with her hand.
Have I done something wrong? she wondered as she slowly stood up, but the teacher was smiling.
When Maria got to the front of the room, Mrs. Wilson put her arm around Maria’s shoulder. “Class, I want you to meet a new third grader. This is Maria Nevarez. She and her family have moved here from Mexico so that her father can work in the hospital. Maria speaks very little English, so we will all have to be her friends and help her feel comfortable and happy in our class. Can everyone do that?”
All heads nodded.
What are they saying about me? Maria wondered as she walked back to her seat. Oh, I wish I were back in my schoolroom in Mexico with Señora (Mrs.) Ramas and all my friends!
That evening when Maria’s father came home from the hospital, he sat Maria on his lap and asked her in their native language, “Mariacita, how was your first day at your new school?”
Tears welled up in Maria’s dark eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “It is so good to talk to you and Mama in Spanish. I was afraid today, Papa. I do not like school here. I want to go back to Mexico where I can understand what is being said and be with my friends.”
Maria’s father hugged her and gently brushed her long, black hair out of her eyes. “Maria, remember when we talked as a family about what it would be like to move to the United States? We knew that it would not be easy for any of us, but we also knew that it would be a great opportunity for me to learn new ways to help make sick people well. When we return to Mexico, I will be better prepared to help our people.”
“I know, Papa,” said Maria. “I don’t mean to complain. I just didn’t know that I would feel so afraid.”
“I feel afraid sometimes, too,” Papa said.
Surprised, Maria looked up into her father’s eyes. “I didn’t think papas ever felt afraid.”
“Yes, we do. Today I felt afraid when the other doctors at the hospital were explaining some very technical procedures and I did not understand all their words.”
Maria asked, “What did you do?”
“I talked to my special friend,” Papa said.
“I didn’t know you had a friend here, Papa.”
“He was my special friend in Mexico, too,” her father replied.
Maria was puzzled.
Papa smiled and said, “My special friend, Maria, is Padre Celestial (Heavenly Father).”
“You knelt at the hospital and prayed to Heavenly Father?”
“We cannot always kneel when we need Heavenly Father’s help, but He hears prayers offered from our hearts too.”
“How did Heavenly Father help you today?” Maria asked.
“He sent peace to my heart so that there was no room left for fear. Then I could concentrate on what was being said instead of my fear. That helped me to understand what the doctors were saying.”
That night when Maria was tucked snuggly into bed, she thought about what Papa had said. She had never thought of Heavenly Father as a friend before, but thinking about it made her feel warm and happy inside.
The next day Mrs. Wilson had the students go, two at a time, to the chalkboard and write answers to columns of multiplication problems. Maria saw that they were to answer as many as they could in just one minute.
Maria knew that soon it would be her turn, and her stomach began to feel queasy. She closed her eyes and prayed from her heart, “Dear Padre Celestial, please help me to not be afraid.”
“Brien and Maria,” called Mrs. Wilson.
Maria stood up, took a deep breath, and walked to the chalkboard.
Her hand flew as she wrote the answers.
“When Mrs. Wilson stopped her and Brien, Maria had almost completed both columns, more than anyone else.
“Wow!” said the class. “Maria is good.”
Maria could not hide her pleased smile. I wasn’t even afraid, she thought as she walked back to her seat.
After lunch Mrs. Wilson came to Maria’s desk. She smiled and asked slowly and clearly, “Maria, will you sit by Brien and help her with her math?” She pointed to Brien and then to the papers she held in her hand.
Maria understood. “Sí (yes),” she said. “I will help Brien.”
For a time Maria and Brien just looked at each other, not knowing quite what to do; then they both giggled quietly. After that, everything was easy.
“What’s this?” asked Maria’s father that evening when he saw the big smile on her face. “Something is different today.”
“I liked school today. I didn’t feel so afraid. And Papa, I made a friend! Her name is Brien, and she invited me to her house after school to play.”
“How did you talk to her?”
“Oh, we didn’t talk very much. We just laughed and played.”
“Why was today different from yesterday, Mariacita?” Papa asked, bending down and looking into her eyes.
Maria gave her father a big hug. “Because today I remembered my Special Friend. I prayed to Him in my heart that school would go better, and He answered my prayer.”

While I was visiting Buenos Aires, Argentina, I met Marianela, a frail, beautiful mother with two children, ages nine and twelve. All three had been baptized. Marianela was dealing with severe rheumatoid arthritis. She could only stand or lie down; she could not sit. At home she taught her children with what resources she had. She used both the scriptures and the Relief Society manual. I noticed those two books stacked neatly on her table. She wanted her children to keep the commandments and participate on Sunday and partake of the sacrament, so she accepted the invitation from the bishop’s wife to pick them up weekly. Marianela would ride to church lying down in the backseat of the car. It was her way of practicing obedience and aligning her heart with His. In Primary we sing the words “Keep the commandments! In this there is safety; in this there is peace.”19 There was peace in Marianela’s home.

Following their marriage and Hal’s eventual appointment to the faculty of the business school at Stanford University, late one night in December 1970, just a few months before Hal was released as the bishop of the student ward in Palo Alto, Kathy asked a question seemingly out of the blue. As Hal climbed into bed after a demanding day, she leaned over and asked, “Are you sure you’re doing what you ought to be doing with your career?”
Her question caught him by surprise. Everything in their life seemed perfect. The future seemed bright and clear, even down to the Eyring dream home that Hal had recently outlined in his journal. It would include such niceties as “a room for projects, large enough and rough enough to work on and store a kayak,” along with “at least five electrical outlets by the kitchen table” and “a shed or bathhouse retreat for writing.”
“What do you mean?” Hal asked his wife.
“Couldn’t you do studies for Neal Maxwell?” she suggested, referring to the Church’s new Commissioner of Education. At this, Hal was truly dumbfounded. He had only met Neal A. Maxwell once, and he knew that Kathleen had never met him at all. He tried to describe to her why such a career shift would not be a good fit for him, yet she insisted he at least pray over the matter. This he did immediately, dropping to kneel by the bed and offering a short prayer. When no answer came, Hal felt the matter decided and soon went to sleep.
The following morning, however, Hal received two distinct spiritual impressions that would forever alter the course of his career and his life. He captured both in his journal. First, “Don’t use your human judgment to eliminate opportunities presented to you: pray about them all with an open mind.” And second, “Do the tasks you are assigned in the Church and your profession as well as you can; they are preparation.”
The first impression came as something of a rebuke that Hal would forever thereafter live by. After having previously rejected three different job offers without praying over them, into his mind came the words, “Don’t you ever make that mistake again. You don’t know which end is up in your career.”
With this spiritual direction fresh in his mind, Hal was prepared when less than three weeks later, Commissioner Maxwell called to schedule a meeting with him in Salt Lake City. Brother Maxwell got right to the point. “I’d like to ask you to be the president of Ricks College,” he said. Hal replied that he would have to pray about it. He did and the terse answer he received was, “It’s my school.” The rest, as they say, is history. His service in the Church since then has been as exemplary as it has been conspicuous, moving on to serve as Deputy Commissioner of Education and then Commissioner (twice), followed by calls to the Presiding Bishopric, the Quorum of the Seventy, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and as a counselor to three Presidents of the Church.

For thirteen years I was a devoted, “born again” Christian and an equally devoted anti-Mormon. As part of an organized evangelical program, I talked to people in stores, in parks, and in their homes, seeking to share the “good news of the gospel.”
Many of those people I encountered in my evangelical work were Latter-day Saints. I took every opportunity to tell them that their church was not of God, but was a cult inspired by Satan. I was well-read in anti-Mormon literature, and my heart ached for those “misguided Mormons.” They went about trying to “work” their way to heaven, believing in the words of a self-appointed prophet named Joseph Smith.
I told them again and again that those works didn’t count. Only those people who ask Jesus into their hearts will go to heaven, I said. All others, good and evil, share a fate of agony and eternal separation from God.
“What about those who have never heard of Jesus?” I was always asked. Having no answer, I quietly ignored the question.
After a divorce that was hard for me, I stopped going to church, and although my faith in God and love for him remained, I decided to lay aside the spiritual part of my life for a time. I married an inactive Latter-day Saint who nonetheless possessed an unshakable testimony. We rarely discussed religion, but whenever the subject came up, I made fruitless attempts to show him the error of his beliefs. He quietly listened, but his testimony remained intact. Then, through a family crisis, my heart began to change.
My father-in-law became very ill with cancer, and as death approached, he felt the need to express the importance of the Church to his children. Something about his simple testimony touched my heart, and I decided to find out for myself the truth regarding this church. I began by cross-referencing the scriptures, and found to my surprise that there were no inconsistencies between the Bible and the Book of Mormon. To me, the Bible was the precious word of God. I believed it without question. Could Mormon doctrine possibly be proven within the Bible? I set out to find the answer.
In going through my husband’s Church books, I came across A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards. As I read it, I felt as if it had been written for me. I discovered New Testament scriptures regarding baptism for the dead and Christ’s mission during the time prior to his resurrection. I discovered Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb: “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” (John 20:17.) Had he not returned to his Father immediately after his death? But I had used his words to the thief on the cross, “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43) to prove deathbed repentance! I had read these same scriptures countless times before but had never really understood them. Now I realized I had been deceived about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied and prayed, I began to find answers to the questions I had quietly pushed aside. Finally, I knew that this church was the Savior’s church, and its doctrine was his doctrine. In 1984 I was baptized.
I am grateful the Lord waited so patiently for the moment when my heart would open so that his Spirit would lead me to the truth.

At age sixteen, I started to deliver newspapers. I had an old trade bike, a bike that has room to carry papers on the front. I loved cycling! One day I was cycling through the city, and in the bicycle-shop window, I saw a Coventry-Eagle bicycle. It was magnificent! It was lilac-colored with black trimming, and it had racing handlebars. I went home and told my father about it.
The next day, he said, “If you’ll save up half the price of the bike, I’ll give you the other half.” Great! It took me many months to get half the money together. I did not realize until long after the event that my father would not have had sufficient money to contribute to the purchase when I first asked concerning the possibility. He knew that as I was saving, he could also save. That way, between us, we could raise the amount needed. My father always kept his promises.

The story is told of a shy Latter-day Saint man who often sat on the back row of the chapel alone. When a member of the elder’s quorum suddenly passed away, the bishop gave priesthood blessings to comfort the elder’s family members. Relief Society sisters brought in food. Well-meaning friends and neighbors visited with the family and said, “Let us know if there is anything we can do to help.”

But when this shy man visited the family later in the day, he rang the doorbell and when the widow answered, he simply said, “I have come to clean your shoes.” In a couple of hours, all the family’s shoes were cleaned and shined in preparation for the funeral. The following Sunday the family of the deceased elder sat by the shy man on the back row.

Here was a man who was able to fill an unmet need. Both they and he were blessed by his empathy-guided ministering.

When I was a freshman in high school, the weightlifting coach asked me to join weightlifting.
“Mmm … no thanks,” I said. “Not my thing.”
But he kept at it. For weeks.
Finally, I tried it out. He was right: I really liked weightlifting. It was definitely weird at first; my body had never done anything like it before. But I grew to love the feeling of working out. I also loved my teammates and the competitions. And I started doing really well!
Now weightlifting is a huge part of my life. I practice every day for at least two or three hours, doing back squats, clean and jerks, and snatches. (And if you don’t know what any of those things are, don’t worry—neither did I!)
Like many things, weightlifting takes time and patience, and sometimes that can be difficult. Luckily, my family is always right there encouraging me, even when I complain about how sore I am (which is often). My dad always has ice packs and pep talks ready for me when I get home from practice. And my mom always sacrifices so I can go to competitions.
A few years ago, I went to one of those competitions in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. I was excited to compete against weightlifters from all over the country, but I was a little worried about being so far away from my family. To make it easier, my mom promised to text me scriptures and thoughtful messages every day.
The night before the competition, some kids threw a party. I thought it would be cool to go, so my roommate and I went to check it out. But right away I knew it wasn’t my kind of party. There were teenagers drinking, smoking, saying bad words, and dancing inappropriately. I knew I shouldn’t be there, but I was worried what my roommate might think. Or what the other competitors might think.
But then something popped into my head:
“Stand ye in holy places.”
It was from my favorite scripture, and one my mom had sent me that morning: Doctrine and Covenants 87:8: “Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the Lord come; for behold, it cometh quickly, saith the Lord. Amen.”
I don’t know why my mom sent me that scripture that day, but it’s one I’ve loved my entire life. I’ve had it memorized since I was eight, and again and again it has reminded me to have courage, be obedient, and stand for what I believe in.
“Stand ye in holy places.”
“I’m gonna go,” I said to my roommate. I explained about the scripture my mom had sent me that morning. “This is not a place I should be standing.”
My roommate told me she didn’t want to be there, either. She was uncomfortable too but hadn’t wanted to leave by herself and be seen as a loser. She thanked me for saying something, and we left.
The next morning, we found out that soon after we left, the kids who were at the party were caught and eliminated from the competition for drinking and doing drugs.
If I hadn’t been prompted to remember my mom’s verse, I might’ve been disqualified from the competition too. I ended up winning first place, so I’m really grateful I got to compete. (I think I thank my mom every single day for texting me.)
Winning a weightlifting competition is a pretty obvious and immediate blessing from keeping the commandments. But Doctrine and Covenants 87:8 doesn’t say, “Stand ye in holy places so you can win weightlifting competitions.” And John 14:15 doesn’t say, “If you want immediate blessings, keep my commandments.” It says, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” The Lord blesses us because He loves us. And we try to be holy and obedient because we trust and love the Lord.

Emmeline also embraced this command. She understood that what the Lord said to one, He said to all (see Doctrine and Covenants 25:1, 16; 82:5). Even before her baptism at age 14 in March 1842, Emmeline had shown a love of learning and a talent for writing. Shortly after her baptism she finished her last term of formal education in Massachusetts and began teaching. After emigrating to Nauvoo, she taught in the common school system there. As Emmeline’s faith led her to join the Saints in other locales, including Winter Quarters and Utah Territory, she continued her educational and literary pursuits, in large part through her involvement in the Relief Society.

We were living in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, on 3 May 1999 when we learned that a tornado was headed toward us. It was a mile and a half wide and had 250-mile-an-hour winds. We didn’t have time to evacuate. Golfball-sized hail began to fall. We looked out the window, and it was black as far as we could see.
We got into the closet in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I went into the crawl space with Mom, but the tornado hit before Dad could get everyone else in. Dad lay over Dallin and Brooke and held onto Mom’s hands. The wind was so strong that it nearly pulled us apart. We were crying and praying harder than we ever had. We sang all three verses of “I Am a Child of God.” We heard glass breaking, and then the wind started to die down. Everything was calm.
We came out of the closet and saw glass and debris all over the carpet. Outside, poles were knocked down, and electrical wires were wrapped around everything. Roofs were gone from homes. Someone’s roof was on our front lawn. Some homes had only a slab of cement left. Our home looked a lot better than the homes around us, but we still had a lot of repairing to do. We had to replace the roof, carpet, windows, doors, and siding. All my clothes and toys had glass in them. Some boards had fallen through the roof and broken a toilet. We found someone’s Raggedy Ann doll, a stop sign, pictures, videos, old checks, and lots of other things in our backyard. Ten homes on our street were completely destroyed and had to be bulldozed. Many more had been destroyed on the streets around us. Our whole neighborhood was smashed.
It was not an easy time for us, yet everyone seemed to be cheerful and helpful. The Relief Society president climbed up on roofs and replaced shingles. Our bishop fixed our hot water tank. Church members came from all over to help. They stayed for weeks, sleeping at the church. A member from New Mexico stayed in our home and roofed many houses.
We realized that it really doesn’t matter what you own—it can be taken away in an instant. We can’t take our possessions to heaven anyway. Being happy and together as a family is the important thing.Krystal Richey, age 11Boise, Idaho

When I was released as a stake Young Women president, I was surprised to find that it was camp that I missed most of all. I missed the fun and excitement of young women learning to appreciate the world around them, and the tender testimonies of those who had “never felt that way before.” I missed the young women I had grown to love. And I missed sleeping under the stars.
There’s something magic about sleeping under the stars at a Young Women camp, especially on a dark night when there’s no moon and the stars are bright. It’s a perfect setting for quiet talks about things that matter most and for music. No matter how tired the girls may be, there’s music—little groups singing somewhere in the dark as they settle in for the night—and, at times, the faraway sound of a ukulele or guitar. I found that sleeping outside keeps one closer to the action when someone needs help or comfort or counsel in the middle of the night.
It had been a night such as this that last year I went to camp. About the time the last tearful campers were tucked into bed and the camp was finally quiet, I noticed the first hint of morning in the sky. We had been looking for a place to hold a sunrise service, and because I was still awake, this seemed to be the perfect time to find it. So I slipped out of my sleeping bag and headed up a little trail through the trees. Coming up over a small rise, I found a grassy meadow where you could look out over the valley and the mountains to the north. I stood there for a long time watching the sky grow lighter and the clouds turn from grey to pink and then white.
As it grew light, the mountains across the valley seemed in some way to be familiar to me even though I had never been in this location before. I dismissed the thought at first, and then realized that I was looking at the back side of the same mountains that I knew so very well from a different viewpoint. These were the mountains that I could see from my bedroom window at the ranch when I was a child growing up. Many times I had watched them change color on stormy days as clouds would gather over them, and the rain came down the valley where our ranch was located.
Memories flooded back of my mother and father and their love for me. I thought of my Heavenly Father and how he had blessed me. As I stood there watching the sunrise, I could feel the warmth of the Savior’s loving, guiding hand. I knew without being told that I was a literal daughter of God and, because of the sacrifice of his Son, I can be with my earthly parents again some day and live in the presence of our Heavenly Father. I had taught this truth many times to others, but this morning it seemed as if I had discovered it for the first time. Perhaps I really had. I had received a witness of the Spirit.
Standing on that hilltop, I thanked my Heavenly Father for what I knew. And I promised to dedicate my life to his service. I can’t express the joy of that moment. I wanted to hurry back to camp and wake everyone up. I wanted to tell them who they really are, daughters of God! I wanted to tell them to have faith, to talk to our Heavenly Father—to stop worrying about little things or things they can’t change. I wanted them to know that God lives and watches over us, and through his Son, Jesus Christ, all things are possible. All he asks is that we do the best we can with what we have and stay close to him. I wanted to tell them, “You’re a daughter of God and he loves you. He needs you—every one of you! Do you know that?!”
When I got back to camp, I didn’t wake them up. People don’t listen very well when they’re half asleep. I saved it for another time—for today.

Another hurdle the Committee Coordinators faced was regarding the chairs for the dedication.
“Where are we going to rent nice chairs?” Elder Gregorio Karganilla said. “But then in February, the Tabernacle Choir came to the country.”
The choir’s visit to the Philippines two months before the dedication was a miracle. The chairs they used were brought in for the dedication.
Truly, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Often, the activation energy needed for blessings requires more than just looking or asking; ongoing, repeated, faith-filled actions are required. In the middle of the 19th century, Brigham Young directed a group of Latter-day Saints to explore and settle Arizona, an arid region in North America. After reaching Arizona, the group ran out of water and feared they would perish. They pled with God for help. Soon rain and snow fell, allowing them to fill their barrels with water and provide for their livestock. Grateful and refreshed, they returned to Salt Lake City rejoicing in the goodness of God. Upon their return, they reported the details of their expedition to Brigham Young and pronounced their conclusion that Arizona was uninhabitable.

After listening to the report, Brigham Young asked a man in the room what he thought about the expedition and the miracle. That man, Daniel W. Jones, tersely replied, “I would have filled up, went on, and prayed again.” Brother Brigham put his hand on Brother Jones and said, “This is the man that shall take charge of the next trip to Arizona.”

I would like to pay tribute to my angel mother, who for many years prayed that a husband would become active, that he would recognize his sonship to God, and that he would accept the priesthood. As a little boy, I walked through those many years with my mother’s sustaining hand at church, finally seeing my father receive a testimony by the power of the Holy Ghost. I honor him tonight, and I love him and respect him. He has been my friend, for he has taken me into his confidence. He has taught me how to work, and how to love, and how not to be judgmental. I am grateful for my father and my mother.

I recently spoke with a faithful man who shared with me the deepest feelings of his heart. In a meeting, I had just explained the difference between being called to the work and assigned to labor. This good brother shook my hand and with tears in his eyes said to me, “The things you helped me learn today have lifted a burden from my shoulders that I have carried for more than 30 years. As a young missionary, I was initially assigned to a field of labor in South America. But I was unable to obtain a visa, so my assignment was changed to the United States. All these years I have wondered why I was unable to serve in the place to which I had been called. Now I know I was called to the work and not to a place. I cannot tell you how much this understanding has helped me.”

My heart ached for this good man. As I have taught these basic principles throughout the world, countless individuals have expressed privately to me the same sentiment as the man I just described. I am addressing this subject today because not a single member of this Church should carry an unnecessary burden of misunderstanding, uncertainty, anguish, or guilt about an assignment to labor.

“Wherefore, go ye and preach my gospel, whether to the north or to the south, to the east or to the west, it mattereth not, for ye cannot go amiss.” As you ponder the words of this scripture and open your heart, I hope and pray you will invite the Holy Ghost to carry deep into your soul the understanding, the healing, and the restoring you may need.

1 George was only five years old, but he loved to help his mother. He often ran errands for her. One morning his mother dressed him in his best velvet suit and asked him to take a message to President Brigham Young.
2 George was nervous as he walked the two blocks to the Prophet’s office. He was even more nervous as he pushed open the big wrought-iron gate and looked around for the prophet.
3 A guard stopped the young boy and gruffly asked what he wanted. When George replied that he had a message for President Young, the guard said that the prophet was too busy to see him.
4 George was frightened. While he was trying to decide what to do, a door opened and President Young walked out.
5 Laughing, the guard told the prophet that little George wanted to see him. Imagine how surprised George was when President Young asked him to come in!
6 President Young sat down at his desk, lifted the boy onto his knee, and began to visit with him. George was very impressed with the respect and love that President Young showed him.
7 Throughout his life George Albert Smith always tried to treat people as kindly and respectfully as he had been treated by President Young. When he became the eighth President of the Church, he was already well known for his love and charity toward all people.

Lisa stood with her elbows on the window sill watching for Grandmother’s little car. Her big eyes sparkled as she pressed her nose against the cool glass trying to get a better look.
“I wish she would hurry,” Lisa said out loud, leaving a large steamy spot on the window.
With her finger she drew squiggly lines through the steam as she thought about the pretty blue dress Grandmother brought her the last time she came. “I know she’ll bring me something as nice this time,” she said confidently.
Just then Grandmother’s car turned into the driveway. “Grandma’s here! Grandma’s here!” Lisa cried as she opened the door in welcome and ran to Grandmother’s open arms.
“What did you bring me?” she asked.
Grandmother smiled her usual happy smile and gave Lisa a big hug. “I didn’t bring you anything this time, dear,” she said.
Lisa pouted. Her shoulders drooped with disappointment. She wouldn’t even look at Grandmother.
“I’m sorry you’re so sad, Lisa,” said Grandmother. “Sometimes I bring you something and sometimes I don’t—but I love you all the time.”
Suddenly Lisa’s face broke into a smile. “I love you too,” she said, flinging her arms around Grandmother’s neck.
That afternoon when Lisa went upstairs to her room, she opened the drawer where she kept all her treasures. There were beads, pretty rocks, ribbons, bright bits of colored yarn, a little ball, and a small plastic turtle. And there in the corner of the drawer was Lisa’s favorite treasure—a sparkling earring.
Lisa picked up each of the treasures, and then she carefully put them down again as she thought and thought. It was hard to decide what to choose. She picked up the sparkling earring. It was especially beautiful. She was sure Grandmother would like it. But Lisa liked to wear it when she played house, so she placed it back in the drawer.
She picked up the little ball, the small plastic turtle, and one pretty rock and walked toward the bedroom door.
Grandma would like that sparkling earring better, Lisa thought again as she stopped and looked back at the drawer. Then she walked over to the drawer and exchanged the pretty rock for the sparkling earring.
Lisa hurried to find her grandmother.
“See, Grandma,” she said, smiling. “I have some presents for you. Now you’ll have toys in your purse for all your grandchildren to play with, and here’s a pretty earring for yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Grandmother, examining the sparkling earring. “It’s beautiful!”
Grandmother gave Lisa a special smile and a warm hug. Lisa smiled back with happiness as she said, “I won’t always give you presents when you come to see me, Grandma. But I love you all the time!”

Not long ago, while riding in a plane, I engaged in conversation with a young man who was seated beside me. We moved from one subject to another, and then came to the matter of religion. He said that he had read considerably about the Mormons, that he had found much to admire in their practices, but that he had a definite prejudice concerning the story of the origin of the Church and particularly Joseph Smith. He was an active member of another organization, and when I asked where he had acquired his information, he indicated that it had come from publications of his church. I asked what company he worked for. He proudly replied that he was a sales representative for IBM. I then asked whether he would think it fair for his customers to learn of the qualities of IBM products from a Xerox representative. He replied with a smile, “I think I get the point of what you’re trying to say.”

I took from my case a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and read to him the words of the Lord expressed through Joseph Smith, words which are the source of those practices my friend had come to admire in us while disdaining the man through whom they had come. Before we parted, he agreed to read the literature I would send to him. I promised him that if he would do so prayerfully he would know the truth not only of these doctrines and practices which have interested him, but also of the man through whom they were introduced. I then gave him my testimony of my conviction concerning the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith.