Gospel Story Finder

It seemed an easy-enough project at first, and after mapping out a few ideas, they hurried to find Mr. Baker, who was still watching the Second World War movies. Finally persuading him out into the hall, they asked him for help. "We think it’d be nice if the band gave a Christmas Eve concert for the people stuck here by the storm."
He seemed to be in some sort of a trance. "What was that again?"
"We’d give a concert—just do the pieces we did last night. It’d be a real treat for the kids."
"Are you kidding? Dragging all the instruments and music from the bus? No, absolutely not. Now excuse me, I’ve got to get back."
He staggered back into the room where he entered the battle of Midway.
Their next stop was the sheriff.
"We’d like to organize a little Christmas party for the people stranded here."
The sheriff wiped his brow. "Look, don’t I have enough to worry about without that? How am I going to feed these people? Don’t bother me about Christmas parties. Now why don’t you go watch TV. I’m sure there’s plenty of good specials on."
Back at the vent at the end of the hall, they sat and glumly watched the storm.
"Well, we tried," Steve said.
"That’s all anyone can do."
"Sure."
"Do you want to watch TV now?"
"We didn’t pray about it, Steve."
"It’s too late now; we’ve already bombed out."
"You don’t want to pray about it?"
"No, Cathy, I don’t."
"Why not?"
"Because if we pray about it, and it still doesn’t work out, then it will cause your faith to waver. I never pray about things in front of somebody else unless there’s a pretty good chance for it to happen anyway."
She sat in silence and pouted.
"You can pray about it if you want," he finally suggested.
"I’d feel better with the priesthood saying the prayer."
He sighed, realizing he was going to have to open himself up a little more to her. "Cathy, let me tell you something. The priesthood’s no magic carpet. A lot of things I pray for never work out. Girls always think that guys who honor the priesthood are their tickets to happiness, but we’re stumbling around as much as anybody."
But she wouldn’t let it be. "I think Father in Heaven will honor somebody who holds the priesthood and tries to do the right thing."
They sat for several minutes in silence.
"Okay, I’ll pray with you, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out."
It was a simple prayer, offered by Steve. He tried to be as general as possible, not wanting to pin the Lord down to anything specific, but just before closing, she nudged him and whispered, "Ask him about the Christmas party, and the band playing, and the gifts."
And so he did, point blank, with no cop-out clauses that would let them or Father in Heaven off the hook.
A few minutes later they stood at the entrance of the gym and looked at the restless crowd.
"What’ll we do, Steve?" she asked him. He noticed the way she was looking at him. She thinks I know what I’m doing, he thought.
"We’ll just walk around and see if anything happens."
They walked slowly around the gym.
As they approached the trucker’s area, the one who had given Steve a bad time looked up, saw Cathy with him, and made some off-color joke about her.
"Why don’t you be quiet?" Steve snapped.
The guy stood up and started walking toward them. Massive shoulder muscles, a tattoo on both arms. I knew we never should’ve prayed about this, he thought.
Just before the guy was about to punch Steve, a booming voice behind him rang out, "Lay off the kid, Bert, or I’ll get mean!"
Steve looked around to see the biggest man he’d ever seen before in his life standing up. Middle-aged, bald, a little paunchy in the middle, but he must have weighed two hundred fifty pounds, and he spoke with authority.
Bert swore and said he was going to the bar.
The man who helped them said his name was Al and that he had a daughter about Cathy’s age who played in a band in Ohio.
"Al," Cathy said with a big smile, "we’ve got a little problem I think you could help us with."
Steve couldn’t believe the change in the sheriff when Al asked for permission to hold a Christmas party. And Mr. Baker, after he came out of the movie room and looked around to see Al’s figure entirely filling up the doorway, agreed it would be nice to have the band play a concert.
Then Al made a general announcement to everyone in the gym. "I want everybody here to get in the Christmas spirit. There’s no reason for us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. We’re going to have a party, and this is what we need. We need gifts for the children, we need some food for a supper, we need Christmas cookies for the children, we need a Santa Claus and somebody to lead us in Christmas carols, and we need enough blankets for everybody. Now get going!"
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.
They ate their meal, and then the pep band played. Then Santa Claus arrived, wearing a red jump suit covered with grease from engines and a cotton beard. He passed out the presents from the tree, and they shared the cookies. There was more than enough for everyone.
A traveler who led a Protestant church choir in Abilene, Kansas, then led them in Christmas carols. By that time it was 10:00, and a minister from Polson, Montana, led them in scripture reading and a prayer.
There were blankets left over, even after everyone had taken what they needed.
In the morning they had more ham, and a driver from a bakery provided them with enough bread to make toast. The kids played with their toys, which as the morning passed, gradually self-destructed.
By noon the storm was over and the snow plows had cleared the roads. The truckers were the first to go. The band was delayed because of having to repack all the instruments into the bus.
Steve and Cathy were the last ones to leave.
"It was a miracle, wasn’t it?" she asked.
"Yes, a miracle. For a few hours, we all loved one another."
"Steve, it must be just a small part of the way Jesus feels about all of us all the time."
"How can he do it?"
"I don’t know, but he does."
"Cathy, for a while there, I even liked you."
"Did you?"
"Yes, for a while I did. Could I sit with you on the way back?"
"I’d like that, Steve."
"But look, I’m still going to try and beat you out of first-chair clarinet."
"And I’m still going to show you that I’m twice the musician you are."
"So that hasn’t changed," he said.
"No, I guess not."
They left together, the last ones to leave the now-deserted, paper-strewn gym. The Christmas tree, decorated with Mity Fine aluminum foil, leaned at a precarious angle, and then toppled to the floor with a crash.

It had been four years since my baptism, and I had been less active for most of that time. I was drinking, smoking, and very depressed. My husband, Ian, was away at sea, leaving me home alone with two small children. And now his submarine had major defects and was in dry dock at the other end of the country. Each evening for six weeks the phone would ring, and Ian would say, “We should sail tomorrow.” But tomorrow never seemed to come, and the promised sailing was repeatedly delayed.
The bright lights on the horizon were my marvelous home teachers and visiting teachers, who came regularly to my door and shared their love and fellowship. I must admit I was not always polite and sometimes downright rude. Nevertheless, I knew I could pick up the phone at any time and they would be willing to help. My home teachers were consistent in their belief that if I came back to church, Ian would get baptized—but I had to set the example first. Yet I never felt the desire to put their faith to the test. I was too spiritually low.
One evening after speaking to Ian and learning that the submarine had again been unable to sail for home, I sat and cried, feeling utterly desolate. Then I began to pray, something I had not done for a very long time.
As I prepared for bed that evening, I was conscious of something I had not noticed before—a very strong, though not unpleasant smell. It stirred a memory long forgotten. I had to think for a while before I recognized that it reminded me of the chapel where I had been baptized. As recognition dawned I felt a warm, comforting glow within and an awakening desire to go back to church.
I phoned Tony, one of my home teachers. Soon he and his wife, Rosie, arrived at my door, and we talked as we had never talked before. All past barriers were swept away. I was going back to church.
I could hardly wait for Ian’s next phone call. This time he was met with excitement rather than depression. To my astonishment, his reaction to my story was to suggest that when he got home we should go to church as a family.
The following Sunday Tony and Rosie picked up the children and me and took us to church. I was surprised to see a missionary who had been sent back to the area for a second time. He had been to our home before but had failed, along with many others, to impress either Ian or me to go to church. He greeted me warmly now and announced that he had come back to our area to baptize Ian. I was skeptical and laughed, but during the following week Ian at last came home. As he had promised, he came to church the next Sunday. Elder Paskett approached him on that first visit and made arrangements to come with his companion, Elder Brown, and teach Ian the discussions. Within two weeks Ian had accepted the invitation to be baptized. The whole process took less than a month, and shortly afterwards the missionaries were moved from our branch to another area.
During those weeks the outpouring of love through the Holy Spirit and from the members of our branch was overwhelming. We made a commitment then that if we were going to live the gospel at all, we would live it fully. Shortly after his baptism Ian was called as president of the Young Men, and I was called to serve in Primary. Our Church life became full and exciting. Over the years our family blossomed from two to five beautiful children. We were sealed in the London England Temple in 1982, with Tony and Rosie in attendance.
The gospel has touched every part of our lives since that time. We have had our ups and downs but have never regretted our decision to serve the Lord. We have truly found a home in His Church.

While living and working in Alaska a number of years ago, I had occasion to go on a fishing trip with a group of young men that included one of my sons. The other adult leaders and I knew that the area we would be camping in was bear country, so prior to the trip, we gathered the boys together to discuss certain safety measures.
We talked about four basic rules to remember when fishing in bear country: First, don’t do things that would invite a bear into the camp. For example, don’t store food out in the open that would attract the bears. Second, keep the camp clean. Take care of all garbage. If you catch and clean fish, get rid of the entrails and slime. Third, if a bear does come, know how to defend yourself. Drop down, be still, and play dead. Fourth, if someone gets hurt or is attacked by a bear, know how to get help. Signal to others that you are in trouble, and keep a good orientation of your surroundings so that you know the fastest way to go for assistance.
I am confident that all would have gone well on that trip had we kept all those rules. But we didn’t! On our last day we cleaned fish in the center of the camp and didn’t properly dispose of the remains. That night a Kodiak bear wandered into camp. We had just settled inside our tents, when we heard its panting. We literally froze in fear. We couldn’t talk.
Luckily for us, the bear got what it was after and nothing more. It found and ate some of the fish we had cleaned, and it ran off with two buckets, which were filled with the day’s catch. But it left us alone and didn’t do more harm.

Joseph annually went to where the plates were buried and received further instruction from Moroni. However, in the excitement and temptation of potentially finding other valuable objects in the stone box, Joseph put down the plates in violation of the command God previously gave to him. Joseph was thrown violently to the ground; when he recovered, the angel Moroni was gone, and Joseph returned to the house “weeping with grief and disappointment.”3

This incident filled the Smith family with great uneasiness that Joseph might fail to get the plates due to his own negligence. “We therefore doubled our diligence in prayer and supplication to God,” Lucy recalled, “in order that he might be more fully instructed in his duty.”4 Shortly thereafter, tragedy struck the Smith family when the oldest son, Alvin, died. His deathbed instruction to Joseph was to keep the commandments God gave him and to do everything in his power to obtain the record. Joseph in time received the plates to translate.

Several years ago, my wife and I were asked to meet with the bishop. I had been recently called to serve in the elder’s quorum presidency as a counselor. I was confident my wife was about to get a new calling. The bishop talked with my wife for a moment about how things were going in our lives, but then he suddenly shifted his attention to me. "Brother Henrie, I hate doing this," my bishop said looking up at the ceiling, tears welling in his eyes. "I've gotten permission to take you out of the elder's quorum presidency." I thought that sounded pretty cool. My friend in the ward was just called into the Young Men’s organization and there were still some open callings there that needed to be filled. Maybe my friend and I might have the chance to serve together!

My bishop continued: "I've been trying to fill this calling for a while, and we've tried different names and it just wasn't working. But last night I prayed about you and felt that we needed to call you to be our ward mission leader."

My jaw dropped. I was not expecting this. All I could think about was my full-time mission where every Saturday we would stand in busy marketplaces to invite people passing by to stop and learn more about the Church. I could picture the many times I watched people pass, too afraid to get their attention. I am an introvert and being in social situations with unfamiliar people is not something I am good at. The thought of trying to invite my neighbors to come unto Christ seemed daunting. Did the Lord really want me to do this job?

But I could feel the Spirit testify to me that this call was from God. I accepted the call and got to work. I failed a lot. At times it was discouraging, just like I imagined it would be. But while serving, I was placed in the right position to be able to help my next-door neighbor, who I will call John.

John was a rough-looking guy you wouldn't expect to see at church on Sunday. John and I lived across the hall from each other in our condominium complex and had parking stalls next to each other. John was very intimidating to me, but I always made it a point to say hello and be friendly. One day, I felt impressed to invite John to church. I had no idea how I was going to do that, but I prayed that if God would give me the opportunity, I would extend the invite. That exact same day, I was out on my front porch making dinner on the barbecue when John, who was out on the lawn below talking to a friend, saw me and called up, “What time does church start these days?” God couldn’t have made it any easier. I gave John the time for church and invited him to come sit with me and my wife.

While John never made it to church with us, that moment did lead to several spiritual gospel discussions and priesthood blessings with him in his home. John came to understand more deeply God’s love for him, and that God had angels round about him to bear him up.

“Why do my legs feel like bricks?” I thought anxiously as I jogged slowly around the warm-up field at the high school league track meet, where I was desperately hoping to qualify for the upcoming state championship in my favorite race, the 800 meters. My anxiety was more than just the usual pre-race butterflies. I had been battling a cold all week, and having just finished a race, I was worried that I was too exhausted to compete well in my event, which was within the next half hour. I thought about how defeated I would feel to have worked so hard all season only to fail when it counted most.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. “Hey, how are you feeling?” It was Joe, a local track coach who had come to watch the meet.
“Umm, I’ve been better,” I responded truthfully.
“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you win the 800 today,” Joe smiled encouragingly.
“We’ll see,” I responded, “I haven’t been feeling well, so at this point I just hope I can make it through the race and qualify for State.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Joe said. “Just relax and you’ll do OK!”
I wished I could feel so sure, but waves of doubt continued to wash over me. As the first call for the 800 meters came over the loudspeaker, I tried to mentally prepare myself for the race. Suddenly, I remembered that a prayer before a race always calmed me and helped me focus. I needed that more than ever, so I found a secluded area on the field and silently began to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” I offered quietly, “I feel so weak today and really need Thy help. I am going to try my very best out there on the track, but please meet me halfway.”
I heard the final call for my race and ended my prayer quickly. A warm peace filled my heart, and I knew that Heavenly Father had heard my quiet plea for help. I calmly took my place on the starting line and waited for the starting gun. Suddenly the official yelled, “RUNNERS TAKE YOUR MARK … SET …” and the gun was fired.
I took my first few strides with ease, noting how light my legs were. I felt as though something special was inside of me. I felt strong and swift, despite having felt so terrible only moments before. As I approached the home stretch of the race, I realized I was in the lead, and before I knew it, I was crossing the finish line in first place!
Joe motioned me over to him as I stepped off the track. “Hey, that race was great! I thought you were sick? What got into you?”
I smiled back. “I was sick, and I was praying that I would be able to get through that race!”
Joe chuckled and replied, “That’s great that you prayed, but I don’t think God really cares that much about track and field.”
I paused for a moment and then softly responded, “You’re right! I don’t think He cares very much about track at all, but I know He cares about me.”
As I walked away, I felt the same peace return to my heart that I had felt before my race. I knew Heavenly Father was confirming what I had just told Joe—that He did care about me—and what I had said was true. I thanked Heavenly Father for that assurance. Knowing I was loved by Heavenly Father was the best feeling I had ever felt, even better than winning a race!

I have recently been given the challenge of teaching the teenagers in combined courses 17 and 18 in the Sunday School. The other day as I walked past my home business office, my eyes were drawn like a magnet to the January-February 1982 New Era atop my desk. I let myself be interrupted from what I was doing that Saturday morning and settled myself in a comfortable chair with the New Era.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that Feedback appears in the very front of this choice, choice magazine. I carefully read the contents of each letter. As my mind dwelled on the contents of Sister Lesley Burton’s letter, the words I was intended to find sprang from the printed page: “How important it is to prepare ourselves spiritually for the tests of life.” My theme sign for weekly use with my Sunday School class throughout the year will read “Prepare yourself spiritually for the tests of life.”
When I read Sister Burton’s words, I knew through the promptings of the Holy Ghost that I had discovered just what I needed for my teaching efforts. Needless to say, I shall make time to continue reading all the contents of this New Era in the very near future.
Sue H. BaileyOrangewood, California

May I tell you of my own testimony concerning the benefits of Relief Society for single women?
After my husband’s sudden death several years ago, I felt that life was giving me more challenges than I should have. I felt a large amount of self-pity and rebellion to think that as a relatively young woman, I was facing the fact that I would probably spend the rest of my life alone. While I was wrestling with these problems, the opportunity came for me to accept a position at the headquarters of the Relief Society and to become a member of its general board. There was but one drawback—it required that I move far from my family and friends to Salt Lake City.
Of course, I accepted the calling and loved my work in it. But as satisfying as it was, I found that I still needed friends and companionship outside my world of work.
In Relief Society I found that I had friends in my ward. My testimony was strengthened as I participated in gospel studies and heard the testimonies of other sisters. It brought out my valuable feminine qualities, and I found opportunities for service, as well as for homemaking activities. It brought relief from some of the pressures of life and from loneliness, and it gave me a fresh point of view.

“Let’s get off the train here and walk home, Katja,” Michaela suggested. She put away her knitting, zipped her coat, and stood up. “We can be home before the train even starts for the next station.”
“Sure. Why not?” Katja said. She pulled on her warm knitted cap and followed Michaela off the train. The two girls had often walked from this station to their family’s small apartment in Switzerland. They went down the stairs to the walkway under the tracks. As they got to the bottom and turned toward the exit, they both stopped.
“We have to go back,” Michaela whispered.
“I know,” Katja said, nodding solemnly. “We have to get back on the train.”
Together, they climbed the stairs, got back on the train, and waited. They were quiet, each thinking about what had happened. At last, the train started, and they rode to the station near their home. They walked home in silence.
“Girls, what happened?” Mom asked, seeing the serious look on their faces.
“Mom, the Holy Ghost prompted us not to walk home,” Michaela said.
“Yes. We had to stop,” Katja said. “It seemed like there was a wall blocking the exit, but it wasn’t a wall we could see.”
“We both knew immediately that we had to get back on the train.” Michaela shook her head. “I never knew the Spirit could be so strong.”
“Oh, my girls!” Mom cried. She gathered them into a big hug. “I’m so glad you are in tune with the Spirit so He can prompt you and keep you safe.”
“But what would have hurt us?” Katja asked. “We’ve walked home from that station lots of times.”
“We’ll never know,” Mom said. She smiled. “I’m so grateful you are all right!”
As they knelt to give thanks for their protection, Michaela said, “I will never forget how it feels to listen to the Spirit and do exactly what He says.”

Sister Tingey and I were married and our first child was born while I was in law school. Our first apartment, a basement apartment, was a huge step down from our prior experience of living in our parents’ homes. The ceiling of each doorway included heating pipes, and the height of the pipes was the middle of my forehead. I cannot number how many times I hit my head going from room to room. Sister Tingey remembers the “hideous wallpaper,” as she called it, displaying large red roosters. We had no laundry facilities and used a commercial Laundromat for 18 months.

Our second apartment, while I served in the military, was a duplex that shared one bathroom located between the two apartments. The bathroom had two doors, one to each apartment. You may well surmise what my wife thought of that arrangement. We slept on a fold-up bed that was easy to move around but extremely uncomfortable. Our first kitchen table was a card table with folding legs. On many occasions during the year we used that table, I inadvertently knocked one of the legs, and the entire table and contents came crashing to the floor.

For several years when we had four children under the age of nine, we lived in an apartment with only two bedrooms. Were we crowded? Absolutely! Yet, today, some of the sweetest memories of our family come from that period.

As you can see, we had few of life’s necessities and no luxuries in our first living arrangements. Looking back on it, we realize it didn’t matter. We were in love, we wanted to start a family, and we simply trusted in the Lord and had faith that all would work out.

Today, 48 years later, we have a lovely home with all, and probably more, of the necessities and conveniences that we need. But when we started out, we had so little. We are happier today because our love has grown through the sometimes difficult life circumstances we have shared and not because we have acquired more worldly possessions.

This story happened in Indonesia.
“Aminah, that’s mine!” Indira shouted. She grabbed the doll away from her little sister.
“Girls, I’m leaving,” Mom called. “Please be good for Dad.”
Indira looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To the market. I’m buying food to cook something special tomorrow.” Mom waved goodbye.
A special meal? But why? Indira went to find Dad. “Why is tomorrow special?” she asked.
Dad smiled. “Tomorrow we get to watch general conference! It’s special because we get to hear the prophet and other Church leaders speak. They’ll tell us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear.”
When Mom got home, she put away the food. Dad swept the floor.
“Indira, can you help Aminah set out her clothes for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Indira frowned. “Why do I have to help her?”
“Please do what I ask,” Mom said.
Indira groaned. She dragged her feet and went to help Aminah.
The next morning, Indira woke up to a yummy smell. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mom had made beef rendang and satay to eat for lunch later! It would taste so good.
Soon general conference began. Indira sat with her family to watch on the TV. She listened to the choir sing. She heard people talk about temples and scriptures and Jesus Christ.
The last speaker was the prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He talked about how the Church helps people around the world.
“Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters,” he said.
Indira thought about that. Did helping make her happy? She kept listening. President Nelson said that living the second great commandment can help us be like Jesus Christ.
When it was over, they ate the lunch Mom made. Indira kept thinking about the prophet’s talk.
“What is the second great commandment?” she asked.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” Dad said.
Indira thought about the people the Church helped all over the world. “How can I help if my neighbors live far away?”
“Your neighbors are everyone around you,” Mom said. “Like your family members.”
Indira looked down. She was not very nice to her family sometimes.
But maybe helping them could make her happy, like President Nelson said. It was one way she could follow Jesus. She wanted to try!
For the rest of the week, Indira tried to be extra nice to her family. She played with Amirah. She shared her toys. She did what Mom and Dad asked without complaining. When Indira helped her family, they were happy. And that made her happy too.
The prophet was right. Helping others brought her joy!
What did Indira learn from the prophet?
Illustrations by Judi Abbot

Rachel put her key in the lock. Coming home to an empty apartment was the worst part of every day. It wasn’t really empty, but for the three long hours until Mom arrived home from work, it felt that way.
The first time she’d come home to the Mom-less apartment, Rachel had thrown herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep. But now, seven months later, instead of crying each day, she planned something to keep her busy until Mom came home. This helped a little, but down deep she was still afraid to be in the apartment alone.
Today Rachel had a video Mom had borrowed from the Richardsons, a family who lived downstairs. She took the tape out of the box, which was labeled “From Grandma, with love.” She loaded the tape into the VCR on her way to the small kitchen. She could see the TV while she fixed herself a snack.
The video began in the middle of the tape. A man was talking. How boring, Rachel thought. I wonder if there’s anything else on the tape.
She opened a jar of peaches and dished some into a plastic bowl. When she picked up the jar to put it back into the refrigerator, her elbow bumped the bowl of peaches, splattering peach halves all across the floor. The bowl landed upside down in its own puddle of peach juice.
“What a mess!” She glanced over at the TV. The man was still talking: “… young girls, learn from your mothers the important homemaking skills you will use in your own home.”*
Yeah, skills like how not to make a mess when you’re getting a snack, Rachel thought. As she worked, she began to scold herself again. Then the man’s words caught her attention once more: “Now I want to talk to you children who do not feel safe and who are frightened. … Sometimes you may feel all alone. You need to know that even when it seems that no one else cares, your Heavenly Father does, He will always love you. He wants you to be protected and safe.”
Who was this man? His kind eyes and smile sympathized with her and her loneliness. He told a story about Jesus blessing children while angels came down and fire surrounded them. The man continued: “I promise you, dear children, that angels will minister unto you also. You may not see them, but they will be there to help you, and you will feel of their presence.”
The words filled her heart with calm. Maybe it was true. Maybe angels were there to help her. Maybe the calm she felt right now was their presence.
Well, whatever this feeling is, I hope it won’t go away. It’s very nice, Rachel thought as she wiped up the floor.
By the time she finished cleaning up the peaches, she wasn’t hungry anymore, so she returned to the living room.
The man’s talk was over, and a very old man was on—he looked like a great-grandpa. Surrounded by children, he was singing a song Rachel had never heard. He kept repeating the words “Mormon Boy.” Afterward he said to the children, “I love you, and you, and all of you.” Rachel pretended he said it to her too.
Who were those men? Why did they make her feel so good? Were there really angels? What was a “Mormon boy”? Was it a nationality, like being a French boy? Maybe Mom could answer some of her questions.
But Mom was so tired after work that she only wanted to get supper over with and go to bed. Rachel didn’t want to bother her with questions.
After Mom went to bed, Rachel decided to watch the video again. Maybe that same good feeling would return.
Rewinding the tape to the very first, she lined up several dolls on the couch, and flopped down among them.
The man with the kind eyes spoke. “We shall now be pleased to listen to the closing remarks of President Ezra Taft Benson, our beloved prophet, which he has asked me to read. Following the presentation of his message, we shall see a delightful television clip of President Benson singing to the youth, whom he loves.”
Rachel told her dolls, “The grandpa who sings is a prophet!”
“… And as you listen, I pray that you will know that this is a personal message just for you.”
“He’s talking right to us,” Rachel told her companions.
“How I love you! How our Heavenly Father loves you!” were the prophet’s words.
The warmth of the message wrapped around Rachel. And for a moment, she was calm and happy again. From the bedroom, Mom’s voice interrupted. “Rachel! Turn off the TV and go to bed!”
Rachel sighed. To her dolls she said, “Come on, we’ll watch more tomorrow.”
The next morning Rachel tried to talk to her mom about the videotape. “Mom, are there really angels?”
“I’ve never seen any.” Mom still seemed tired.
“Are there prophets?”
“Oh, maybe there were back in Bible days. There aren’t any now.”
“Oh.” She decided to say no more about the video for a while.
That day after school, and the next several days as well, Rachel dreaded coming home from school until she remembered the talk. Sometimes she kept the talk on in the background as she did her chores or her homework. Other times she arranged her dolls on the couch and sat with them, listening.
Rachel was happy when she listened to the talk, although there was a lot she didn’t understand. What were Latter-day Saints? What was a Book of Mormon? The prophet wanted them to read it. What about Primary? Sacrament meeting? He wanted her to attend, but she didn’t know what they were. He also said to pray, something Rachel and her Mom hadn’t done in years, although they used to back when Daddy was still alive.
Rachel began praying each night, which made it easier to keep hold of the special feeling the talk gave her.
Mom noticed a difference in Rachel. “Something good must be happening at school. You’re a lot happier lately.”
Before bedtime on Friday, Mom had news that abruptly ended Rachel’s happiness: The Richardsons were being transferred.
“Would you return their video in the morning?” Mom asked. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“But that’s so soon!” Rachel exclaimed. “I wasn’t exactly done with it.”
“Well, honey, it’s just a video. I’ll get another one after work tomorrow.”
“But I want this tape.”
“What’s on it?” asked Mom.
“I don’t know what it’s called. Their grandma copied it for them off the TV.”
“If you find out what it is, maybe we can copy it from the TV ourselves sometime,” Mom suggested.
What a simple solution! “That’s a great idea, Mom,” Rachel said. “Thanks! Good night.”
The next morning Rachel woke up extra early so that she could watch the video before returning it. She closed her eyes tight, trying hard to memorize all her favorite parts. She fast-forwarded the tape to President Benson’s singing and his words, “I love all of you.” She whispered, “I love you, too,” rewound the tape, and ran downstairs to the Richardsons’.
Their door was wide open. Two men were carrying a sofa from the nearly empty apartment. Rachel followed them out to a truck parked at the curb. “Where are the Richardsons?”
“They’ve gone ahead in their car,” one of the men answered. “Didn’t you get to say good-bye to them?”
Rachel shook her head. Holding up the video, she added, “I was supposed to give them this. It belongs to them.” She hesitated. “And I wanted to ask them the name of the program on it so that I could tape it off the TV sometime.”
“Well, I’ll see them in just a few hours. I’ll give it to them and ask them to write and tell you the name of it.”
“Thank you very much.”
A week passed. Each afternoon before climbing the stairs to her apartment, Rachel checked the mailbox for the Richardsons’ letter. Every day it grew harder to recall her favorite parts of the talk. Every night she prayed that the Richardsons’ reply would come.
When Rachel woke up Saturday morning, she said to her dolls, “I just know the letter will come today!”
As she and her mom spent the morning doing housework, Rachel kept peeking out the window. “I’m waiting for the mail,” she explained. “The Richardsons are going to send me a letter that tells the name of their video so we can tape it off the TV.”
“They may not have had time to write yet, what with moving and unpacking and all,” Mom said gently.
Rachel’s heart sank. She let the curtain fall back into place and began folding clothes. Mom was probably right; the Richardsons would be too busy to write.
In spite of this, Rachel checked out the window once more. “The mail truck’s pulling away!” She ran out the door and down the steps to the cluster of mailboxes. Unlocking theirs, she reached inside for the mail.
“A bill, an advertisement, another bill—that’s all! That can’t be all!”
“Is something wrong?” said a voice behind her.
“Can we help you?” another voice joined in.
“Oh, I was hoping for something to come in the mail today, but it didn’t, after all.” Rachel turned around to face two strangers. Schoolteachers? She thought. Why are they wearing name tags?
“Do you live here?” one of the ladies asked.
Rachel nodded.
“Do you know the Richardsons?”
Again Rachel nodded.
“We stopped by to visit with them, but apparently they’re gone.”
“They moved last week,” Rachel said.
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, but my mom might be able to find out. You can come ask her.”
While talking to the ladies, Rachel had glimpsed “Latter-day Saints” on the little name tags! “Do you know a really old man, a prophet, named Ezra Taft Benson? I heard a talk by him, but someone else read it for him, and I wonder …”
The ladies smiled at her, then at each other as they followed Rachel up the stairs to her apartment.

From the time she was a young teen, Emilie struggled with substance abuse. Experimentation led to habit, and habit eventually hardened into an addiction that held her captive for years, notwithstanding occasional periods of wellness. Emilie carefully concealed her problem, especially after she became a wife and mother.

The beginning of her deliverance did not feel like deliverance at all. One minute, Emilie was undergoing a routine medical exam, and the next, she was being driven by ambulance to an inpatient treatment facility. She began to panic as she thought of being separated from her children, her husband, her home.

That night, alone in a cold, dark room, Emilie curled up on her bed and sobbed. Her ability to reason diminished until finally, overcome with anxiety, fear, and the oppressive darkness in that room and in her soul, Emilie actually thought she would die that night. Alone.

In that desperate condition, Emilie somehow summoned the strength to roll off the bed and onto her knees. Without any posturing that had sometimes been part of previous prayers, Emilie completely surrendered herself to the Lord as she desperately pleaded, “Dear God, I need You. Please help me. I don’t want to be alone. Please get me through this night.”

And immediately, as He had done with Peter of old, Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught her sinking soul.11 There came over Emilie a wondrous calm, courage, assurance, and love. The room was no longer cold, she knew she was not alone, and for the first time since she was 14 years old, Emilie knew everything would be all right. As she “awoke unto God,”12 Emilie fell asleep in peace. And thus we see that “if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.”13

Emilie’s healing and ultimate deliverance took a long time—months of treatment, training, and counseling, during which she was sustained and sometimes carried by His goodness. And that goodness continued with her as she entered the temple with her husband and children to be sealed together forever. Like the people of Zarahemla, Emilie now gives thanks as she reflects on the immediate goodness of God and His power in delivering her from bondage.

“I am so grateful for the Personal Progress program. I know that it has changed my life for the better. When you think of seven 10-hour projects, it seems like a lot, and you can get discouraged. But when you work on the projects one at a time, before you know it, you’re done with another project and can move on to the next.
“For one of my Personal Progress projects, I helped Grandpa clean his house. This was hard at first, but after a while it didn’t seem like a chore. As we worked, we really enjoyed talking to each other and got to know each other better. I’m glad I was able to strengthen my relationship with my grandpa. I really enjoy Personal Progress.”Tara Lunt, 16Duncan Ward, Duncan Arizona Stake

Memory started her research in 1985, when notebooks, pages of pedigree charts and group records were the conventional way of record keeping.
While patience is important in family history work, Memory says that patience is one of the keys to success in all avenues of life, and most especially in family history.
“I had been struggling to get my maternal grandfather’s records for years. And it was only after ten years of thorough research and hard work was I able to add his records to FamilySearch,” she said.
Memory also said her love and knowledge of her ancestors deepened as she spent time researching them.
Despite having submitted over 15,000 of her ancestors’ names, Memory still feels she has a long way to go and encourages those who haven’t started to get going.
“Start by writing down information about your present family and work your way back to your grandparents and their children and then move on to your great grandparents and their children and so forth,” she said. “Ask family members for the names of those who have passed, where they lived, and their birth and death date.”
Memory currently spends hours adding information from notebooks, pages of pedigree charts, and group records onto FamilySearch.
Having laid a firm groundwork, her children, Stephen James Smith, Louise Smith, and Lizanne Ellis, are keeping the family history ball rolling. Stephen is a ward and family history leader in Cape Town, Louise is a ward historian in Centurion, Pretoria, and Lizanne is a ward temple and family history consultant in Auckland, New Zealand.
Memory went on to articulate how accessible family history has become.
“It’s now at the tip of our fingers. Whether it’s on cell phones or computers, it’s an incalculable blessing from our Heavenly Father. The gathering is indeed in progress, as we have been encouraged more recently by President Russell M. Nelson,” she concluded.

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

Just a couple of weeks ago I had the privilege of taking my family downtown as Santa Claus made his appearance. It was interesting. Crowds gathered. One little girl I particularly noticed had been standing on the side of the curb for what seemed like many minutes, waiting for this great event. Just as Santa Claus was to make his entry, great throngs of people crowded in front of her, and she began to cry.
A six-foot-three man who stood by her asked, “What’s the matter, dear?”
She said, “I have been waiting to see Santa, and now I can’t see him.”
He picked her up and placed her on his shoulders, providing her a commanding view. As Santa Claus came by, she waved her little hand toward him, and he smiled and waved back to her and to everyone else who was in the crowd.
That little girl grabbed the hair of that great, big fellow and exclaimed, “He saw me! He saw me and smiled at me! I’m so glad it’s Christmas!”
That little girl had the Christmas spirit.

One day I was waiting outside the First Presidency boardroom. I had been invited there to take part in a meeting to discuss temple matters. I sat quietly outside the room, alone. I thought the First Presidency was already meeting and that I would be invited to join them in a few minutes.
As I sat there, I could hear someone walking down the hall whistling. I thought to myself, “Someone doesn’t understand proper protocol. You don’t go walking around whistling outside the office of the President of the Church.”
A moment later the whistler walked around the corner—it was President Monson. He was happy, and he was positive. He greeted me warmly and said, “I guess we’ll start the meeting in a couple of minutes.”
Even with the weight of the whole Church on his shoulders, he is an example of happiness and he always has a positive attitude. We should be that way.

Sometime later, the adversary continued his temptations; someone close to me kept trying to convince me to come over and drink with him. He was pressuring me with the lie that drinking isn’t a big deal as long as you’re not an alcoholic. I felt the inner struggle—on one hand I wanted to have that relationship and common ground with that person, but on the other hand I wanted to show Heavenly Father my love and gratitude by keeping the Word of Wisdom. While I was struggling with these thoughts, my phone dinged and lit up across the room. I went to see what it was—a Facebook notification with a quote from President Thomas S. Monson’s talk “Principles and Promises”:
“The Word of Wisdom … gives specific direction regarding the food we eat, and it prohibits the use of substances which are harmful to our bodies.
“Those who are obedient to the Lord’s commandments and who faithfully observe the Word of Wisdom are promised particular blessings, among which are good health and added physical stamina [see Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21].”2
It is my testimony that Heavenly Father saw fit to send me that specific message at the exact time I was struggling. While answers may not always come that directly and we should always seek to follow the commandments, I was grateful for that blessing. I knew what my decision needed to be and the course I needed to keep following in my life. I needed to confess and forsake my sins and continue to turn away from all ungodliness. I needed to become sanctified through the power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I understood that “this life is the time for [me] to prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32) and to “prove [myself] herewith, to see if [I] will do all things whatsoever the Lord [my] God shall command [me]” (Abraham 3:25). I understood that this is the time to overcome my physical addictions, while I still have a mortal body. And I understood that I needed to show Heavenly Father a mighty change of heart (see Mosiah 5:2; see also Alma 5:12–14) and “have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2).

The missionaries taught me for over a year. I attended church and continued to interact with the members. We played games together and talked about many things. I was encouraged to follow the Savior and be baptized, but I was worried.
My parents were devoted Buddhists and did not approve of my learning about the Church. Wanting to meet my family’s expectations, I told the missionaries that I couldn’t be baptized. But the truths of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had been prompting me to go down a different path from the one most people around me pursued. I had to decide for myself which path to take.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I should pray. I knelt by my bed and prayed out loud for the first time in my life. Before I even finished, the Holy Ghost had made it clear to me that I had found the truth. But what would my parents think?
When my parents realized my desire to be baptized, they surprised me by agreeing to have the missionaries come for a visit. When they arrived at our home, my parents had a good feeling. After talking for a while, the missionaries invited us to sing a hymn, “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294). As we sang together, my mother had tears in her eyes. Everyone was touched.
This experience softened my parents’ hearts, and a year and eight months after I first met the missionaries, I was baptized. I later served a mission in Utah and have had many wonderful opportunities in the Church.
Have you ever stopped and thought about how the gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed your life? In doing so, you will be filled with love for God and come to better understand that He loves you so much that He sent His Only Begotten and precious Son, Jesus Christ, to the world to strengthen and uplift you as you come unto Him.
When you feel this love, I hope that you will respond by opening your heart to your loved ones and others and sharing what you know to be true. My life has been blessed because of friends who reached out to me and shared their love of the Savior and His gospel with me. I’ve also been blessed as I’ve continued to strengthen my testimony through prayer, studying the life and teachings of Jesus Christ, and choosing to be His disciple. You can do the same!
As you strive to remember the promises you made when you were baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, God has promised you that the Holy Ghost will “show unto you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:5). Please have faith in His promise. You can be guided in the right direction in all you do and say. You can reach out in friendship and invite others to hear your testimony. I know that this can make you happier than just about anything else ever could.