Gospel Story Finder

I grew up as an only child, raised by a single mother. We moved a lot. I remember feeling like I had no stability or a place to call home. When I was a senior in high school, my mother moved to California and I stayed behind in Utah, hoping to find some stability in my life.
I moved in with some relatives. I came and went as I pleased, and I never had to check in with anyone. Sounds like every teenager’s dream, right? It wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t the stability I was hoping for. I still felt like I didn’t belong. I felt alone.
I put on a brave, happy face during the day, but at night I often found myself parked in a Church parking lot listening to Church music in tears. I began to have this desperate feeling to know that God truly existed.
“Heavenly Father, I want to know that Thou dost exist. I am lost. I feel alone. I want to know for myself. I so desperately need to know.”
Silence. All I heard was silence.
That peace and comfort never came. I always left feeling defeated, like I had wasted my time in prayer. The prayers I offered up those nights in my car, in tears, always seemed to go unanswered. There always seemed to be … silence.
Over the next several years, I still felt alone, but despite those prayers that seemed to go unanswered, I still had faith that God existed.
When I met the man who became my husband, I finally felt a sense of belonging and stability—a sense of home. His family welcomed me wholeheartedly. That was a big deal for me because I had longed for those feelings for so long. When we married in the temple, I felt so much joy in joining a family centered on the gospel.
I loved seeing priesthood blessings being given at home, attending church in my husband’s mother’s ward with dinner in her orchard to follow, and listening to sweet music playing from her kitchen window as we all sat, ate, and talked. These experiences took root in my heart and began to fill a void that so needed to be filled. This family unit was just what I needed, and God knew it. But He wasn’t finished answering those late-night prayers.
I sat with my mother-in-law on her porch one morning. She said something that was so meaningful to me. For the first time in my life, I heard the Spirit testifying to me that Heavenly Father really existed.
“When you know Heavenly Father is really there,” she said, “everything changes.”
From there, everything did change! My testimony grew as I sought to know more. Now I know when the Spirit speaks to me. I know that sweet feeling when He is near.
One day I read an inspiring question on social media that asked, “Where will you meet the Lord today?”
I “met” Him through a spiritual impression that came to me as I walked along a trail near our home several years after I got married. I stopped walking and wrote down the impression. I saw myself all those years ago, sitting alone in the Church parking lot and understood that, back then, God saw what I couldn’t.
What I couldn’t see then was that one day God would show me who He was through my future mother-in-law, whom I had not met yet. He could see that I would gain a bond with her that would build and strengthen me in ways I had never known before.
He was answering me way back when, but I didn’t hear it. He saw the big picture, and I didn’t. I couldn’t see His plans for me. In that moment on my walk, He gently impressed upon my heart what He had had in store for me all along.
When I hear my mother-in-law pray or speak of her steadfast love for her Savior, I can feel her testimony. Being blessed to become one of her daughters is a special gift from God. Her testimony is also a gift from God that blesses all our lives. I know that my Savior lives because she has spent her whole life drawing near to Him. She radiates His reality for all to see.
“To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world.
“To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful.”
Doctrine and Covenants 46:13–14.

At last I am alone. The crowd of students, their parents and Church leaders have finally filtered into the cool darkness after the dedication ceremony. It’s November 19, 1995, and we have a new seminary building. I am the senior seminary president.
I loosen my tie, slump into a desk in the corner of the classroom, and admire the strength and splendor of the new structure: the high-arching ceiling, the state-of-the-art audio/video system, the oak shelves for our scriptures, the red brick walls, and the double-paned windows.
My mind travels back to the seminary burning two years earlier and the transformation that followed. After the fire, my testimony of seminary’s importance blossomed. It wasn’t until I went without seminary for two months that I realized the powerful impact those daily lessons had on me. While the Church members spent several weeks cleaning up the old building and searching for a temporary replacement, I wasted my vacant seventh periods shooting pool at a friend’s house. That was fun at first, but over time, I felt that something was missing. That missing something was the spiritual nourishment of seminary. I missed that. The warm, comforting feeling that embraced my soul when I entered the seminary building—I missed that too.
When we finally received a temporary trailer and seminary classes resumed, the lessons had new meaning for me, and my appreciation for seminary continues to grow.
I rise from my desk and quietly slip out of the dim building. As I shuffle through the front door, I glance up at the New Era poster hanging overhead. With a simple picture of a baby chick cracking through its shell, the poster proclaims, “Adversity can make you strong.”

Although Gabriel Salomão Neto is not a Latter-day Saint, he feels blessed by the Perpetual Education Fund just the same. “This is a great thing your church is doing,” he says, speaking for many employers in Brazil.
Mr. Neto, a manager and co-owner of a large vending-machine company in São Paulo, has reason to be grateful. He was so impressed with the qualifications of Church member Silvia O. H. Parra, who earned a degree in business administration with help from a PEF loan, that he hired her as his executive secretary.
“We love the job she does. She is hardworking and efficient. We believe in her, and we trust her,” says Mr. Neto. “The investment your church made in her has paid off—for you, for her, and for us.”
Grateful for the Perpetual Education Fund and for her membership in the Church, Silvia teaches English classes at her São Paulo ward to both members and nonmembers. “As I have received,” she says, “I also want to give.”

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

Throughout the U.S. and Canada there are 2,775 Lamanite students representing 75 tribes on the Church’s placement program. The four Sioux Indians from South Dakota living in Burley, Idaho, have made a particular impression by sharing their culture and abilities with members of the Burley Idaho Eighth Ward. The four are Gertie Eagle from Bullhead, Charles White Eagle of Thunder Butte, and brothers Raymond and Donald Pine of McLaughlin.
Gertie is sharing her ceremonial dancing ability with the Perkins family where she lives during the school year. In exchange, her “sister” Jean is giving her lessons on the organ.
Gertie is a convert to the Church and was encouraged by her mother to join the program. “At home I am the only member of the Church in my family. Here we go to Church as a family and have family home evenings and family prayers.”
Charles, 12, is active in football, edging out his older “brother” Todd for a spot on the team. “That didn’t mean I was better, just a little bigger,” he said modestly.
Raymond, 15, has been demonstrating his carpentering skills for one of the area families. In addition to nine-year-old brother Donald, also staying in the Eighth Ward, Raymond has three other brothers and sisters on the program.
Ward members report that the program has been a two-way street for members of both cultures, and each has learned much about the other.

“Hank’s going to be our new Webelos leader?” I gasped to my best friend, Rodney. “Old Hank Thomas?”
“That’s what I heard Bishop Willis telling my mom. He said that Sister Franklin has to quit until after she has her baby.”
“But that won’t be for weeks,” I moaned. “Sister Franklin’s the best leader we’ve ever had. Why do we get stuck with Hank Thomas?”
Rodney dropped his chin into his cupped hands. “How’s Bishop Willis going to make Hank do it? He doesn’t even go to church.”
I had never seen Hank in church, although his wife came all the time. Most Sundays he was out working in his yard or driving around in his old green pickup.
The next day six of us Webelos sat on the church lawn, nervously picking at the grass and squinting down the street.
“I bet he doesn’t show,” I muttered.
“He still has two minutes,” Rodney commented, glancing at his watch.
“Here he comes!” KC shouted.
Sure enough, Hank’s pickup was rumbling toward the church. We all jumped up and stared, wondering if Hank would actually stop or drive on toward the DoNut Place, where he liked to hang out.
Hank parked his truck and climbed out. “Are you the Webelos that Bishop Willis told me about?”
One of us must have nodded. “Well, I guess I’m going to be your teacher.” Hank coughed, glaring at us. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and looked past us toward the church. “I haven’t been one to go to church much. Bishop Willis said we could have these meetings at my place.” He glanced at our bikes parked on the sidewalk. “Can you meet me over there in about five minutes?”
We nodded.
Nobody spoke as we all dragged up Hank’s driveway while he waited for us in his huge garage. We gaped about as we entered, eyeing the table saw, the drill press, the toolboxes, and the hammers, wrenches, and screwdrivers all carefully hung on the wall or lined neatly on shelves.
“Mrs. Franklin said I was supposed to teach you something about tools,” Hank announced. “I don’t know much about Webelos, but I know a thing or two about tools.”
Rodney raised his hand. “Brother Thomas, are we going to have a prayer? Sister Franklin always started with a prayer.”
Hank stared at Rodney. Rodney gulped.
“Just call me Hank, not Brother Thomas,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “I guess we could all use a good prayer.” He pulled the battered baseball cap he always wore from his head. “So you give us one,” he said to Rodney.
Rodney gave a short prayer, and then Hank pulled a Webelos book from his back pocket and thumbed through it for a while. “Well,” he finally spoke, “according to this book, you’re supposed to learn to use a saw and a hammer and a few other things. Now all we have to do is figure out what you’re going to build.”
“I think all you have to do is watch us use each of the tools,” I offered. “When we were Wolves, we just had to hammer a nail and use a screwdriver to put in a screw and—”
“What did you make?” Hank cut me short.
“We didn’t make anything,” I told him. “We just had to know how to use the tools.”
“How did anybody know if you really knew how to use the tools if you didn’t make anything with them?”
I shrugged.
“Well,” Hank muttered, “I’m not planning to watch a bunch of boys hammer nails and screw screws for nothing.” He studied us from under his cap. “What do you want to build?” When we all just stared at him, he grunted, “When I was your age, I wanted to build a coaster car.”
“What’s a coaster car?” Rodney questioned.
Hank glared at Rodney like he’d asked whether the moon was really made of cheese. “You fellows have skateboards and fancy bikes,” he said. “When I was a kid, we had coaster cars.”
“But we don’t know anything about building coaster cars,” I squeaked.
For the first time a gruff smile cracked Hank’s lips. “You’re going to know something about them before you’re finished being Webelos.”
I figured we’d just watch Hank work, but he didn’t even touch a tool. He made us do it all. Before that first day was over, we had ruined a few of Hank’s good boards, but we finally got the ones cut out that we were going to need.
The next week Hank was glaring down at his watch as we pushed our bikes up his driveway. “When I say three-thirty, I don’t mean three-thirty-two.”
We all gulped and nodded.
“Let’s hurry and get started,” Rodney said, trying to make amends for us.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hank demanded.
We all looked at each other and then back at Hank.
Hank pulled off his baseball cap and bowed his head. “Rodney forgot to say his prayer.”
I don’t remember a Webelos activity ever going so fast. Hank had us measuring with a square, using his power sander, chiseling boards so they’d fit together. We did all the work, but Hank was always right there telling us the how and why of every little thing. “How long do you fellows stay around?” he finally asked.
“Oh, about an hour,” I answered.
“Well, you’d better head home then. You’ve been here almost two.”
We all looked up in surprise.
“We just got here,” KC protested.
“May we come over a little earlier next time?” Rodney asked shyly.
Hank thought a moment, then nodded.
From then on, we were there right after school.
Gradually our coaster car started taking shape. It looked like a race car with a square back. Hank took us around to bicycle shops and junkyards until we found some good used bike wheels. He showed us how to fix the axles and mount the wheels. We cut the legs off an old kitchen chair and mounted it inside the car. Hank had an old steering wheel he let us use.
Some days we didn’t work on the car. One day Rodney asked why lumber was so expensive. Hank piled us all into his truck and took us to a nearby canyon. He had us hike up into the trees and told us why certain trees grew where they did and why some kinds of lumber cost more than others. The next week he took us to a sawmill and showed us how the lumber was made.
At first we were a little afraid of Hank, but after a while, he was a friend. Rodney and I stopped by his place one Saturday and stayed most of the afternoon. Pretty soon we were stopping by all the time. Sometimes we’d talk. Sometimes we’d help him in his shop or his yard.
One afternoon while Rodney and I were playing a Little League game, I glanced at the stands, and there was Hank cheering for us. I never played a better game, and afterward Hank took us to the DoNut Place for a soda and an eclair.
“Sister Franklin had her baby last night,” Rodney announced one afternoon when we were heading to Hank’s for Webelos.
We all stopped and stared at him.
“Does that mean she’s going to be our Webelos leader again?” KC asked.
Rodney shrugged.
“I really like Sister Franklin,” KC said, “but shouldn’t she stay home a while longer and take care of her baby?”
Finally we finished our coaster car. It had a sleek wooden body and polished bicycle wheels. We painted it blue, and on the side, in big green letters, we wrote: WEBELOS WINNER.
The next afternoon we hauled it over to the hill at Adams Park and took turns coasting down. It was better than any skateboard or fancy bike.
As we were lifting the car back into Hank’s truck, he announced, “I guess Mrs. Franklin’s about ready to take you fellows back.”
We were all quiet for a long time. Then Rodney asked, “Is there any way you can be our Webelos leader all the time, Hank?”
All of us held our breath. Hank turned away. “I was just kind of filling in for Mrs. Franklin. I think she’d feel pretty bad if someone took her job.”
“Oh, Bishop Willis can find her another job,” I assured him.
Hank chuckled. “The bishop has to decide that, boys, and I think he wants someone who will go to church and—”
“You can go to church,” Rodney spoke up. “Anybody can go to church. If we’d known you wanted to go to church, we’d have asked you a long time ago.”
Hank smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about going to church.”
“We didn’t know anything about making coaster cars until you taught us. We can teach you about going to church.”
Hank shook his head. “People would drop over dead if I showed up at church. They’d wonder why I was barging in after all these years.”
“You could tell them you showed up to … well, to …” KC stopped and scratched his head. Suddenly he brightened up. “You could go to hear me talk in Primary! I’m giving a talk this Sunday. Honest.”
“Yeah, you could go to hear KC’s talk!” I burst out.
Hank slammed the tailgate of his truck and rubbed his chin. “Boys, it’s been a long time since—” He swallowed and shook his head. “No one would want to see me in church.”
“We would!” we all yelled.
“Honest, Hank,” I said. “And we want you for our Webelos leader too. You just have to.”
“We’ve built your coaster car. What else would we do?”
“We need another coaster car. How are we going to have races in just one car? And how are we going to build another car unless you help us?”
“What would the bishop say?”
“We’ll take care of the bishop,” I promised rashly.
A funny smile tickled Hank’s lips, and all of a sudden he was grinning. “Well, maybe I could—”
“We’ll pick you up Sunday at nine-twenty,” I told him.
“I meant I could help you build another coaster car. I didn’t say anything about going to—”
“And when we say nine-twenty,” Rodney interrupted with a grin, “we don’t mean nine-twenty-two.”
Hank didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either, and we all knew that we were going to build another coaster car and that Hank was going to hear KC’s talk on Sunday.

I think of the woman I met in the Dominican Republic right after Christmas in 1983. Some missionaries and I were sitting in her San Francisco home as she told us of the dramatic changes Church membership had brought into her life. I was impressed with her courage in blazing trails through habits and traditions she felt needed to be changed. My faith was strengthened as this great pioneer soul spoke of her deepest feelings about Jesus Christ and her joy in discovering the gospel.

I cried as I had to leave. We had been together for only a short while, yet I felt as if I had known her forever. As my companions and I walked down the street, I kept looking back to wave. She was still waving back as we turned a corner and lost sight of her radiant face.

When I was six years old, I struggled to learn to read. My teacher said I would need to repeat the first grade. My father was concerned when he heard this. So every night after dinner, he practiced reading with me. Dad made a game out of it so I would stay interested. Soon I was recognizing words when I saw them, and Dad rewarded me with praise and encouragement. We spent hours reading together, and my ability improved.
My teacher decided to promote me to the second grade. Dad was proud of me. He was always interested in my progress at school. For Christmas he bought me books he knew I would enjoy.
A few months after I completed high school, my father died of cancer. He didn’t live to see me graduate from college or medical school, but he did live long enough to know that I had learned to love to read. That gave him great satisfaction.

I am also very grateful to my mother Leonarda Cruz Dumaguin for her sacrifice and example of Christ-like love. She had the courage to learn about Jesus Christ, recognized the truth and was baptized. My mother has a green thumb and has a love for plants. She lives in a place on the Big Island that appears to be the most unfriendly place to grow anything. Her land is covered by lava rock. However, she did not let that stop her from making her land a piece of heaven. She continued to sow the earth and was determined to nourish and nurture the seeds which she planted. Her labors are now coming to fruition. She finds joy in her work. She continues to be a good example to me of someone who is grateful for everything around her.

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

During the second discussion, the missionaries challenged my mother and me to be baptized. Our reactions were very different. After reading a good portion of the Book of Mormon, I had fasted and prayed and received a confirmation of the truth of what the missionaries were teaching. My mother, however, did not have the slightest intention of being baptized.
When the missionaries left, my mother presented me with a difficult choice. If I chose to be baptized, I would have to live somewhere else. For me there was no question. I knew what was right; I left my mother’s home that night.
The following day the missionaries, the branch president, and I went to my mother’s home to try to resolve the problem. During the discussion that followed, I accepted my mother’s request to wait a month before being baptized—but I did so only out of respect for her and to prove to her that my desires were sincere.
During that month the missionaries continued teaching us. Nothing changed for my mother, and it became clear that she wanted me to again delay my baptism. But I could not wait, and on 15 February 1985—the best day of my life until then—I was baptized.
My mother was angry at my decision, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I met with my branch president, and as we prayed together, I felt inspired to ask my father’s brother to let me live with his family.
My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.

Then their bishop was inspired with an idea that would help the Tuckers—as well as many others in the Three Forks Ward, Bozeman Montana Stake—achieve the dream of an eternal family. A few years ago Bishop Aaron Baczuk was in a meeting for bishops and new converts in the stake. The Area Seventy who was presiding asked a new member, “Have you been to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead?” He had.
Bishop Baczuk had never considered taking unendowed adults to the temple. The following week he made an appointment with the Billings Montana Temple for adults in his ward to perform baptisms for the dead. The visit to the temple was a success, and in the months that followed, elders and high priests in the ward accompanied more unendowed adults to the temple. “It proved to be a very spiritual experience for them, compounding their desire and commitment to receive their endowments,” says Bishop Baczuk.
To prepare, adult members work with the bishop to become worthy to attend the temple. Then they take the temple-preparation class. Their interest in the class really peaks after they perform baptisms for the dead. They find that talking about the temple in class is one thing, but actually feeling the Lord’s Spirit in the temple is another.
“Having the option to take someone to the temple who may not be prepared for additional covenants but can still have an experience participating in ordinances is huge,” says Bishop Baczuk. “I think it fits with the sentiment the Church is trying to convey in its temple-preparation booklet: ‘Come to the temple!’”1

When we are told “no” by the Lord, the Holy Ghost can soften that “no.” Elder Boyd K. Packer tells of an incident where he was “invited to speak to a group at Harvard University.” He says:
Both faculty members and students were to be present. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that the meeting would end in a harmony of views. As I prayed that this might result, there came to me the strong impression that this petition would not be granted. I determined that, however preposterous talk about angels and golden plates and restoration might be to my audience, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.
It was as the Spirit foretold. Some in the group shook their heads in amazement, even cynical amusement, that anyone could believe such things. But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it, as they pleased. [Boyd K. Packer, Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1991), 88; emphasis in original]

How blessed we are to be led by a living prophet! Growing up during the Great Depression, President Thomas S. Monson learned how to serve others. Often his mother asked him to deliver food to needy neighbors, and she would give homeless men odd jobs in exchange for home-cooked meals. Later as a young bishop, he was taught by President J. Reuben Clark, “Be kind to the widow and look after the poor” (see Thomas S. Monson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1986, 79; or Ensign, May 1986, 62). President Monson looked after 84 widows and cared for them until they passed away. Through the years, his service to members and neighbors throughout the world has become the hallmark of his ministry. We are grateful to have his example. Thank you, President Monson.

Merrell: Well, I gained a feeling of self-worth and determination to do my best. For example, while still in elementary school, I worked long hours in the hayfields, cutting and raking, and sometimes I would run into difficulties that would cut into my productivity. But no matter how many or how few rows I had cut, when my father came out to see my work in the evening, he would say, “Boy, Merrell, you got a lot accomplished! Did you get all that done while I was gone?” I was convinced I was the fastest cutter in the valley! I don’t know if I really was or not, but my father always made me feel that way.

I recall one of my favorite family home evening activities. Dad would invite one of his children to take “The Test.” He would give the child a series of instructions like, “First, go into the kitchen and open and close the fridge. Then run into my bedroom and grab a pair of socks from my dresser. Then come back to me, jump up and down three times, and say, ‘Dad, I did it!’”

I loved it when it was my turn. I wanted to get every step just right, and I cherished the moment when I could say, “Dad, I did it!” This activity helped build my confidence and made it easier for a restless boy to pay attention when Mom or Dad taught a gospel principle.

“On our first day of seminary my junior year, the teacher challenged us to become friends with someone new by the end of the semester.

“I like a challenge, so I chose someone who was as different from me as I could.

“I was shy, had the same friends since elementary school, and loved seminary.

“Kevin sang the songs at the top of his lungs and told Brother Howell he would come every day if he promised to give him an F on his report card. (His friends didn’t think seminary was cool.)

“I decided to walk with Kevin to and from seminary every day. Just across the parking lot. It seemed easy. He always walked alone. As soon as we got to the school building, we both went our separate ways.

“It didn’t take long to realize Kevin didn’t have a lot of friends. In fact, over the next few months I realized he only had two. He ate lunch with them, walked the halls with them. And sluffed class with them. But not seminary.

“One day, Kevin and his two friends walked up to me at my locker. Kevin told me he was on a scavenger hunt and needed one of my shoes. I was wearing sandals. It was against the rules to go barefoot in school. But Kevin wasn’t a rule-keeping kind of kid. I debated it for a minute and then reached down to take off my sandal. Then I told him I had to have that shoe back by the end of second period, no matter what.

“I will never forget what happened next. It’s been over three decades, and I still remember as if it were yesterday.

“‘That’s OK,’ he said, ‘I don’t really need your shoe.’ Then he turned around to those two friends and said the words I will never forget: ‘I told you there was one person in this school who believed in me.’”

It was almost bedtime. Amy and Mom were rocking together in the big brown chair. Amy was tired, but she didn’t feel like sleeping. She wanted to know more about the new baby that was coming to live at her house.
Amy knew that the baby growing inside Mom would be born soon. “Let’s talk about the baby,” Amy said.
Mom smiled and hugged Amy. “Before the baby started growing inside me,” Mom explained, “it had only a spirit body, and it lived with Heavenly Father. When it is born, that spirit body will be inside the baby’s earthly body. The baby will be very small when it is born, and we won’t be able to see its spirit body, but it’s there just like ours that we can’t see.”
Mom hugged Amy again. “And you will soon be its big sister!”
Amy showed her hand to Mom. “My hands will be bigger than our new baby’s hands.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “You are much bigger than our new baby will be. And did you know that babies don’t have pretty white teeth like you have?”
Amy’s tongue felt her strong teeth. “How do babies eat without teeth?” she asked.
“For a while, babies don’t need any teeth. At first they only drink milk.”
“I like milk, too,” Amy said. “Can the baby eat cheese and apples?”
“When the baby grows bigger, cheese and apples will be good for it,” Mom said, “but not until the baby’s teeth grow in its mouth.”
“Can the baby play with me?”
“At first the baby will be too small to play,” Mom answered. “But babies like to look at pretty toys and at people’s faces.”
“Then I can show the baby my blocks,” Amy said. “And I can talk to our baby and sing songs to it.” Amy thought for a minute. “Mom, will our baby be a boy or a girl?”
“We won’t know until the baby is born,” Mom replied.
“Can the baby talk to me?”
“Our baby won’t know how to talk when it is very tiny,” Mom said. “At first, it will only cry and make other sounds. It will cry when it’s hungry. It might cry when its diaper is wet. And sometimes it may cry when it just wants a hug.”
“Mom,” Amy said, “when our new baby cries, I’ll help it to feel better. Do babies cry when they’re tired?”
“Sometimes they do.”
“But big girls like me can talk,” Amy said. “So we don’t need to cry.” Amy stretched and yawned. “Big girls can say ‘I’m tired’ and just go to bed.”
“That’s right, Amy.”
“Mom,” Amy said, “I’m tired.”
So Mom and Amy went to Amy’s bedroom. After she had knelt and said her prayers, Amy climbed into bed. She felt cozy on her soft pillow and under her warm blanket.
Mom kissed her good night. “I love you, Amy.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” Amy said. “And I will love our new baby.”

Just as a little child starts to develop a sense of identity as he or she repeatedly hears a name, I believe our names are important to our identity always. As a young mother I returned to take a class from the university I had previously attended and found naturally that things were very much changed from the time when I had begun my studies. I didn’t know anyone. One day one of my past professors came into the room, noticed me, and said, “Janette Callister, how nice to see you.” She turned to my current professor and said she remembered me as a good student. I still remember the good feeling I had that somebody really knew me and remembered me for good.

When I was 10 years old, two American missionaries came to my home and taught us the gospel of Jesus Christ. As good Lutherans, we knew God's creations and our dependence on Him. I now realize that what we had seemed like the wintry days of rare sunlight after I heard the glorious account about Joseph Smith and the First Vision. My brother was 12 years old at the time. We concluded that if a young farm boy in America could kneel and ask God, so could we. We knew that we lacked wisdom, especially about the plan of salvation. We missed our father, who had died saving another man's life, and were awestruck by the concept that we could be with him again. The message Elders Call and Hassell shared with us changed our life from good to great and brought an endless summer day into our home.

I read the Book of Mormon and prayed to know if what the missionaries said was true. It was a simple child's prayer, but it felt like someone turned the lights on in my heart. I knew that I had a Heavenly Father, who heard my prayers and loved me.

A different type of reverence encircled us with the challenge to be baptized. The words: "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12), had a familiar sound.

So did the words of Nephi:And he saith unto the children of men; Follow thou me. Wherefore, my...brethren, can we follow Jesus save we shall be willing to keep the commandments of the Father? And the Father saith: Repent ye, repent, and be baptized in the name of my Beloved Son. And also the voice of the Son came unto me, saying: He that is baptized in my name, to him will the Father give the Holy Ghost, like unto me: wherefore, follow me and do the things ye have seen me do. (2 Nephi 31:10-12)

My mother, brother and I turned our face and feet to the Light of the World, even Jesus Christ, entered into the waters of baptism, made a covenant with Him, and followed the path the Savior marked for all. If you are wandering in darkness or dim light, and if you lack wisdom, no matter what your age is, I invite you to listen to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to read the Book of Mormon. I know that God will answer your sincere prayers and will bring light and joy to your life.