Gospel Story Finder

“We had one lesson at least every two months on preparing to go on a mission,” Elder Kolb said. “On the blackboard we’d list all the things you needed to do to get ready—preparing yourself physically, spiritually, and financially. I felt like my spiritual and physical preparations were okay, but not my financial. So at 15 I got a job planting trees, and I had that job for five years. I’ll be able to pay for my whole mission myself.”

Daniel Larsen, 18, of the Cascade Park Ward, Vancouver Washington Stake, returned to visit Gresham, Oregon, the area he’d served in. Nina Low, a woman he’d met while he was a minimissionary, was getting baptized and wanted him to be there. “It’s the fifth baptism I’ve been involved in because of my minimission,” he said.

“The work to be done in any given area of the mission field is almost beyond comprehension,” he continued. “But when members get involved, give referrals, and open up their homes for teaching appointments, it helps the full-time missionaries a great deal. Not only that, it also establishes friendships between members and investigators, friendships that will continue after the missionaries are gone.
Dan said his short-term mission set to rest many of his misconceptions about full-time missionary service.

“At first I was quite shy,” he continued. “But you meet so many people. And with each one it gets easier to talk and develop conversations. I thought I’d never be able to teach people about the gospel. But I found out missionaries can teach people if they make themselves ready to teach.”

What really sticks in Dan’s memory is how devoted the missionaries were. “You see a lot more this way than you do on ‘splits.’ There, you’re just with the elders for a few hours. Here, you’re doing what they do, 24 hours a day, without worrying about going home in a little while.”

Dan wasn’t the only one to be involved in baptisms during a minimission. Brian Wallen, 16, a priest in the Castle Rock Ward, Longview Washington Stake, served in Beaverton, Oregon, for three weeks, witnessing two baptisms and performing one.

“The missionaries had been teaching Mike, 15, and Joe, 16, for a while before I got there. They’re football players, and they were always talking about weight lifting. I’ve lifted weights, too, and since we’re in the same age group, we had a lot in common. When we talked about the gospel, they seemed to accept my ideas and my testimony. They were baptized the second week I was there.
“And then I got to baptize Amy Beth Valence. She’s nine years old. It made me feel great to use my priesthood. I didn’t expect to baptize anyone during a three-week mission!”

Michael Oja, 18, of the Astoria (Oregon) Ward, Longview Washington Stake, met Mission President John A. Larsen following a fireside.

“Son,” President Larsen said, “I think you’d make a great minimissionary.”

By mid-July, Mike was in Oregon City, working with the missionaries assigned to the Cambodian branch. “With the help of a translator, the missionaries taught them lessons on the plan of salvation. I met a lot of wonderful converts and helped share the gospel with their families and friends.

“It’s not like an eight-hour job, where you go home when your time’s up. Sometimes it’s a real long day. But after a while, you start to see that you’re helping people. Their lives start to change, and you get to see it happen.”

Mike learned something about his wardrobe, too. “I hadn’t thought much about it before, but if I’m going on a mission, I ought to be buying clothing now that I can use then. I’m saving up for suits and white shirts.”

The day before he was to return home, Mike was interviewed again by President Larsen.

“One of the neat things about going on a minimission is that you get to know the mission president. You can tell he’s with you all the way,” Mike said.

President Larsen, who is himself a man of considerable stature, says the idea behind minimissions is simple.

“Our goal is to give every young member a chance to become acquainted with what it really means to be a missionary,” he said. “We have seen that young men who associate directly with missionary work before they turn 19 have an excellent chance of serving a full-time mission when they do turn 19. We are also trying to involve all of the youth, not just the young men, in sharing the gospel wherever and whenever they can.”

The youth of the Rockwood Ward of the Gresham Oregon Stake demonstrated that sort of involvement by organizing a different type of missionary activity within the boundaries of their own ward—a missionary weekend.

“They weren’t called to a teaching mission,” said stake mission leader Greg Meacham. “That’s the full-time missionaries’ job. But they were asked to help the missionaries by finding people who seemed genuinely interested in the gospel.”

A group of about 20 young men and women arrived at the stake center at 6:30 P.M. on a Friday night. They were assigned to a “partner” rather than a companion, to a “mission home” (a member’s house where they would spend the night), and to one of the “zones” the ward had been divided into, where they would concentrate their efforts the next day.

All participants were given a list of “mission rules,” which included instructions like “Never leave your partner. Do not accept car rides without prior approval. Avoid shopping malls and stores. Avoid all contention and compromising situations,” and many other regulations.

A training session Friday night included a description of missionary life and suggestions about how to be courteous when calling at someone’s home. It was followed by a “partner study session” prior to lights out at 10:30.

Saturday morning began with “partner scripture study” and prayers, followed by breakfast. Then, with permission from President Larsen, full-time missionaries from nearby areas joined the youth to go door to door, talking about the Church with neighbors who might not have otherwise heard about it. The missionaries usually took two or more teenagers with them, especially when the teenagers were young or inexperienced. Only full-time missionaries were allowed to do any teaching, and they decided whether or not to accept an invitation to enter someone’s home.

“We had one of the older sister missionaries with us, and she was able to answer a lot of questions for people,” said Cathy Spencer, 14. “Even though she’s a grandmother, she was as excited as we were.”

“We handed out copies of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder,” said Susan Spencer, 17.

“We wanted to get everyone in the community talking about it,” her friend Amy Lyles, 18, added. “In one day, my partner and I found ten families who accepted a book and said they would read it. I was surprised at how many people listened to what we had to say.”

Aaron Miller, 13, the deacons quorum president, and Jay Fabian, 13, his first counselor, also participated in the weekend activity.

Aaron found out quickly that the missionaries were in earnest. “They wouldn’t let you goof around at all. They made you go to every door, even if it looked like no one was home.”

Jay said, “At first it was hard. But then once you got started, it got better. I felt real good when somebody took a book and said they’d read it.” With the help of one full-time missionary, the two young men distributed 11 books.

Doug Miller, the ward mission leader, felt the youth missionary weekend was a bona fide success. “The local missionaries increased their investigator pool threefold. One sister has since been baptized, and an inactive brother reactivated as a result of what the young people did that day.”

“The missionary weekend idea started with the Second Ward. Then this ward did it, and now we’re thinking of implementing it on a stake basis,” Brother Meacham said.

Of course, in addition to minimissions and missionary weekends, the youth of the Oregon Portland Mission contribute to sharing the gospel in more traditional ways.

Kim Clark, 19, and her sister Christy Ann, 17, of the North Bend Ward, Coos Bay Oregon Stake, have helped bring 18 of their friends into the Church in the past two years.

“Dennis and Lorry were friends of ours,” Christy said. “Kim knew Lorry from work and I knew Dennis from school. I was talking about our youth temple trip to Seattle, and Dennis said, ‘What’s that?’

“I told him about temple work, baptisms for the dead, and being sealed to your family. He said, ‘I want to be baptized so I can go to the temple.’”

Christy called the missionaries that night.

Meanwhile, at work, Kim was talking with Lorry.

“I said, ‘Do you go to Church?’ and that started us talking,” Kim explained. “Since I’m the stake Young Adult rep, it was easy to invite her to a Young Adult conference, then to church. I introduced her to the missionaries, and soon both Dennis and Lorry were having the missionary discussions.” Within two weeks, both were baptized.

Another time, Kim and Christy’s 13-year-old cousin and her parents dropped in unannounced from Los Angeles.

“They invited us out to dinner and we talked about the Church,” Christy said. “Our cousin seemed really interested, and her parents said it was okay for her to listen to the missionaries.”

Kim told about a home evening during which the missionaries taught about Christ, baptism, and temple work. “She was excited about her family being sealed together,” Kim said.

Now the cousin is being baptized. “And she’s working on her parents too,” Christy said.

“It doesn’t just have to be adults who are responsible for getting their families sealed,” Kim said. “Share the gospel with children and teenagers, and their parents may get interested too.”

Back in Gresham, where her family lives now, Sean O’Connor’s 19-year-old sister, Erin, remembered the example young Latter-day Saints set for her when, at 15, she had just moved to The Dalles, Oregon, from Oklahoma.

“They were all so friendly,” she said. “I kept wondering how these people could care so much about somebody they didn’t even know. But what impressed me the most was how close they were to their families.

“I guess there’s a lot you can say about studying hard and having the Spirit, and working, and everything else. All those things are vital. But for me, the number one ingredient in missionary work is example. It’s the way you live. There’s just no substitute for that.”

Youth missionary service is provided in a number of different ways in the Oregon Portland Mission. But one thing is sure—every young member has the opportunity to do something. And whether the service provided is through everyday example, through missionary weekends, or through a minimission, the joy of sharing the gospel is always at a maximum.

“A Book of Mormon with your picture and testimony inside keeps sharing even after you leave.”
—Cathy Spencer, 14Gresham, Oregon

“They seemed to accept my testimony. They were baptized the second week I was there.”
—Brian Wallen, 16Castle Rock, Washington

“The number one ingredient in missionary work is example. There’s just no substitute for that.”
—Erin O’Connor, 19Gresham, Oregon

“Share the gospel with teenagers, and parents see the example and get interested too.”
—Kim, 19, and Christy Clark, 17Coos Bay, Oregon

At a recent school dance, I found out that a young man in my class liked me. After I talked to him about it, he asked me to “date” him. I told him no and said that my parents wouldn’t let me. I didn’t mention anything about the Church.
Later in the week, he e-mailed me and again asked me to “date” him. He told me that lots of kids at our school had strict parents who wouldn’t let them date. He then told me that even though they weren’t allowed to have boyfriends or girlfriends, they made the decision to do so anyway.
I explained that I was a Latter-day Saint and would not date until I was 16 and would not steady date. I felt bad because he was very nice, and I really did like him. However, I felt good about my choice and knew I had made the right decision.
I know that waiting until you are 16 to date is very important, and I’m glad that with the gospel, making hard choices is easier.

In Uruguay on a rainy spring day in 1948, Omar’s mother offered her umbrella to two Latter-day Saint sister missionaries waiting for the bus. As a result, the missionaries started visiting the Canals family, and Omar’s older sister was later baptized. Born in 1948, Omar was the first baby blessed in the Uruguay Mission, which had opened in 1947. Omar and his parents were baptized when he was nine. A few years after Omar married his sweetheart, they immigrated to the United States. Already a broadcaster, Omar was hired by the Church in 1973 and became a Spanish interpreter for general conference.

My friend of many years spent his life as a rancher, doing the hard work of raising cattle and sheep in the rugged Rocky Mountains. He once shared with me the challenges and hazards associated with raising sheep. He described that in early spring, when snow on the expansive mountain range had mostly melted, he placed the family herd of approximately 2,000 sheep in the mountains for the summer. There, he watched over the sheep until late fall, when they were moved from the summer range to a winter range in the desert. He described how tending a large flock of sheep was difficult, requiring early days and late nights—waking well before sunrise and finishing long after dark. He could not possibly do it alone.

Others helped tend the flock, including a mix of experienced ranch hands assisted by younger hands who were benefiting from the wisdom of their companions. He also relied on two old horses, two colts in training, two old sheepdogs, and two or three sheepdog pups. Over the course of the summer, my friend and his sheep faced wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, drought, and just about every other hardship one can imagine. Some years they had to haul water all summer just to keep the sheep alive. Then, every year in late fall, when winter weather threatened and the sheep were taken off the mountain and counted, there were usually more than 200 that were lost.

The flock of 2,000 sheep placed in the mountains in early spring was reduced to less than 1,800. Most of the missing sheep were not lost to sickness or natural death but to predators such as mountain lions or coyotes. These predators usually found the lambs that had strayed from the safety of the flock, withdrawing themselves from the protection of their shepherd. Would you consider for a moment what I have just described in a spiritual context? Who is the shepherd? Who is the flock? Who are those who assist the shepherd?

The Lord Jesus Christ Himself said, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, … and I lay down my life for the sheep.”7
The prophet Nephi likewise taught that Jesus “shall feed his sheep, and in him they shall find pasture.”8 I find abiding peace in knowing that “the Lord is my shepherd”9 and that each of us is known by Him and under His care. When we confront life’s wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, and drought, the Lord—our Shepherd—will minister to us. He will restore our souls.

In the same way that my friend tended his sheep with the assistance of young and old ranch hands, horses, and sheepdogs, the Lord also requires assistance in the challenging labor of caring for the sheep in His flock.

As children of a loving Heavenly Father and as sheep in His flock, we enjoy the blessing of being individually ministered to by Jesus Christ. Simultaneously, we have a responsibility to provide ministering assistance to others around us as shepherds ourselves. We heed the words of the Lord to “serve me and go forth in my name, and … gather together my sheep.”10
Who is a shepherd? Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom of God is a shepherd. No calling is required. From the moment we emerge from the waters of baptism, we are commissioned to this work. We reach out in love to others because it is what our Savior commanded us to do. Alma emphasized: “For what shepherd … having many sheep doth not watch over them, that the wolves enter not and devour his flock? … Doth he not drive him out?”11 Whenever our neighbors are in distress temporally or spiritually, we run to their aid. We bear one another’s burdens that they may be light. We mourn with those who mourn. We comfort those who stand in need of comfort.12 The Lord lovingly expects this of us. And the day will come when we will be held accountable for the care we take in ministering to His flock.13

My shepherd friend shared another important element in the watchcare of sheep on the range. He described that lost sheep were particularly vulnerable to the dangers of predators. In fact, up to 15 percent of his and his team’s total time was devoted to finding lost sheep. The sooner they found lost sheep, before the sheep drifted too far from the flock, the less likely the sheep were to be harmed. Recovering lost sheep required much patience and discipline.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.”14 This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

In the New Testament, we find a parable and instruction from the Savior that provide further insight pertaining to our responsibility as shepherds, ministering sisters and brothers, of lost sheep:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
“And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”15
As we summarize the lesson taught in the parable, we find this valuable counsel:
We are to identify the lost sheep.
We search after them until they are found.
When they are found, we may have to lay them on our shoulders to bring them home.
We surround them with friends upon their return.
Brothers and sisters, our greatest challenges and our greatest rewards may come as we minister to lost sheep. The members of the Church in the Book of Mormon “watch[ed] over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness.”16 We can follow their examples and remember that ministering is to be “led by the Spirit, … flexible, and … customized to the needs of each member.” It is also critical that we “seek to help individuals and families prepare for their next ordinance, keep [their] covenants … , and become self-reliant.”17
Every soul is precious to our Heavenly Father. His personal invitation to minister is of greatest value and importance to Him, for it is His work and glory. It is quite literally the work of eternity. Each one of His children has immeasurable potential in His sight. He loves you with a love you cannot even begin to comprehend. Like the devoted sheepdog, the Lord will stay on the mountain to protect you through the wind, rainstorms, snow, and more.
President Russell M. Nelson taught us last conference: “Our message to the world [and, may I add, “to our ministering flock”] is simple and sincere: we invite all of God’s children on both sides of the veil to come unto their Savior, receive the blessings of the holy temple, have enduring joy, and qualify for eternal life.”18
May we raise our sights to this prophetic vision so we can shepherd souls to the temple and ultimately to our Savior, Jesus Christ. He does not expect us to perform miracles. He asks only that we bring our brothers and sisters unto Him, for He has the power to redeem souls. As we do so, we can and will secure this promise: “And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.”19 Of this I testify—and of Jesus Christ as our Savior and our Redeemer—in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I started teaching at BYU-Idaho about seven years ago, I would occasionally play basketball at the I-Center with students. And, looking like a student myself back then, I more than once had a conversation that went something like this in between games when students would discover that I was a faculty member:

Student: “Whoa, I thought you were a student. What classes do you teach?”
Me: “Parenting (and other classes). You should take the class.”
Student: [awkward pause] “Yeah, maybe I’ll worry about that when I have kids.”
Me: “So you’re saying that you are willing to spend thousands of dollars and at least four years of your life learning to become the best _____ (fill in the blank) you can be, but when it comes to the most important work you’ll ever do and the purpose of your creation, you're just going to wing it?”
Student: “Well…that’s not totally what I meant.”
Me: “Well, that’s what it totally sounds like, dude!”

Brethren, the time to start preparing for fatherhood was yesterday. But since that is not an option, how about today? Why not begin by seeing most everything you do in your life now as fatherhood preparation? This focus will give more purpose into the important things you are already doing such as your educational, professional, romantic, and other pursuits. A fatherhood focus will also provide both the wisdom and the strength to eliminate those things in your life that are unnecessary, distracting, or self-centered.

Now, from the life of another brave believer. On December 27, 2013, Alicia Schroeder joyfully welcomed her dear friends Sean and Sharla Chilcote, who unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep. Sean, who was also Alicia’s bishop, handed her his cell phone and solemnly said, “Alicia, we love you. You need to take this call.”

Alicia’s husband, Mario, was on the phone. He was in a remote area with some of their children on a long-anticipated snowmobile trip. There had been a terrible accident. Mario was seriously injured, and their 10-year-old son, Kaleb, was gone. When Mario tearfully told Alicia of Kaleb’s death, she was overcome with a shock and horror few of us will ever know. It dropped her. Paralyzed with unspeakable anguish, Alicia could neither move nor speak.

Bishop and Sister Chilcote quickly lifted her up and held her. They wept and deeply grieved together for some time. Then Bishop Chilcote offered to give Alicia a blessing.

What happened next is incomprehensible without some understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the immediate goodness of God. Bishop Chilcote gently placed his hands on Alicia’s head and, with quivering voice, began to speak. Alicia heard two things as though spoken by God Himself. First, she heard her name, Alicia Susan Schroeder. Then she heard the bishop invoke the authority of Almighty God. In that instant—at the mere utterance of her name and God’s power—Alicia was filled with an indescribable peace, love, comfort, and somehow joy. And it has continued with her.

Now, of course, Alicia, Mario, and their family still mourn for and miss Kaleb. It is hard! Whenever I speak with her, Alicia’s eyes well up with tears as she tells how much she loves and misses her little boy. And her eyes remain moist as she tells how the Great Deliverer has sustained her through every bit of her ordeal, beginning with His immediate goodness during her deepest despair and continuing now with the bright hope of a sweet reunion that is “not many days hence.”

The young women in the Salt Lake Eagle Gate Stake’s 18th North Ward have a unique way of doing work for the dead. Many of them have done the conventional things lots of teenagers do: finding names, doing baptisms at the nearby Salt Lake Temple, and keeping records of their own lives to pass on to future generations. But this activity has been a little different.
The Salt Lake City Cemetery is within walking distance of the girls’ homes, and they have spent many hours there, working to revive the memory of a woman who seems to have been nearly forgotten. The headstone at the grave was never very large, and after more than a hundred years of cold winter storms and summer heat waves, it was crumbling, the name completely worn off.
The girls took some time to learn about the woman buried there. Her name was Sarah Melissa Granger Kimball. She was a Relief Society president for 41 years in a ward near the girls’ homes and worked tirelessly as a wife, mother, and educator.
The girls decided that a woman who had contributed so much to the lives of women who were the early settlers of Utah deserved a little more recognition than the tired old headstone afforded her.
So they got to work. First, they listed the work that needed to be done and divided it into individual assignments. Crissy Renda was the group’s researcher. Rebecca Priggemeyer documented the group’s progress on film. The other girls helped in various aspects of selecting a new monument to mark the grave, and they each participated in keeping a journal about their feelings and insights during the project.
“I used to think of Relief Society as something for people old or boring,” says Elizabeth Clark. “But learning about Sarah, I realized that she was energetic and really dedicated to making women’s lives better. The way I feel about Relief Society has really changed.”
It isn’t every day the Relief Society general presidency, the general board, and a representative of the Young Women presidency show up to a Young Women activity. But this was no ordinary activity.
When the time came to place the headstone, the Young Women wanted to do something special. They had spent countless hours researching Sarah’s life, and they wanted to pay tribute to Sarah for what they had learned from her.
“I am so grateful for everything that Sarah has done for the women of the Church,” Crissy says. “By researching her life, I have come to feel a closeness to her.”
Many of Sarah’s accomplishments are listed on the back of the monument the Young Women erected. At age 15, Sarah was invited to be educated with the School of the Prophets. She founded the Ladies Society of Nauvoo. She helped build the first Relief Society hall and Relief Society granary. She served as the first president of the Utah Women’s Suffrage Association, where she was a strong voice in the campaign to give women the right to vote. She also served in the general Relief Society presidency for 12 years.
As these young women did this unique work for the dead, they discovered that their work was a fulfillment of prophecy. Sarah was promised by Joseph Smith that because of her devotion she would be remembered from generation to generation.* As the young women uncovered stories about Sarah, they learned of her dedication to the Church. They believe the stories of her dedication will shape their lives and keep the memory of Sarah alive.

I know some of you worry about being misjudged, ridiculed, and even harassed if you stand up for Heavenly Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Church. I understand your concerns.

I served in the British Mission after the end of World War II as a young missionary. At that time Mormons were “a hiss and a byword” (3 Nephi 16:9), and missionaries were laughed at and ridiculed. People even threw things at us, and some would spit at us. However, we did not retreat, but we continued to bear our testimonies and share the gospel. Like Abinadi, we did not shrink; like Paul, we did not shrink; and like the Savior, we did not shrink. At the time we could not have imagined the impact of our labors. We had 14 districts and no stakes. Today, 46 stakes of Zion are found in the British Isles.

After his mother died, Gordon B. Hinckley felt responsible for his younger brother and sisters and helped them in many ways. He worked hard and saved money for his schooling. When it was time for his sister Ramona to graduate, he realized how important it would be to her to have a new dress for that special time. Thinking more about her needs than his own, he used some of his hard-earned money to buy her a beautiful new dress.

One year we went through almost two boxes of film before Dad was satisfied. Thirty-four times we had to stand up straight, say “cheese,” or “pizza” and then smile. When we got the photos back, someone looked awful in 26 of them, five were out of focus, and in three others, Dad didn’t quite get into the picture in time and all you could see was his back. We went with one of the out-of-focus shots that year, which sort of symbolizes the whole family photo ritual.

“Kids, I’m leaving now,” Mom called from downstairs. “David is in charge.”
“Bye, Mom,” I yelled. I was trying to finish my math homework so I could watch my favorite TV show. We weren’t allowed to watch TV until our homework was done. I solved the last problem, then snapped the book shut. “Finished!”
I strolled into the family room, settled into the couch, and clicked on the TV.
Suddenly, my older brother David barreled into the room. He grabbed the remote control and pushed me off the couch.
“Ow!” I cried as I hit the floor with a thud. “Hey, I was here first!”
“Yeah, but Mom left me in charge. And I say we’re going to watch my favorite show.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a new book I want to read, anyway.” I walked back to my room. Pulling the book off a shelf, I sat in my special reading chair.
“Heather, go get me something to eat,” David called.
“I’m busy,” I called back, turning a page.
“So am I. This is the best part of the show. Go get me something to eat.”
“Why should I?” I asked. “You can do it yourself.”
“If you don’t I’ll take your book and hide it.”
I sighed. If I got him a snack, maybe he’d stop bothering me. “David is such a bully,” I thought as I grabbed some chips. “Why can’t I have a nice older brother?”
At dinner, I noticed the red plate by my seat at the table, which meant I had done something special. “Why do I have the red plate?” I asked.
“Your teacher called me today,” Mom said. “Your reading and writing skills are very good, and your teacher wants to challenge you more. So, during your class’s English section, you will go to the fourth-grade class.”
I couldn’t believe it! They were moving me up two whole grades!
“That’s my girl. So smart,” Dad said.
David didn’t say anything. He was quiet during dinner. Was he mad at me?
The next day, I was nervous as I made my way to the fourth-grade class. My teacher had given me directions and a note, then sent me off. As I made my way to the upper elementary classrooms, I felt like I was entering enemy territory. Our playgrounds didn’t even mix—first through third grade were on one side, and fourth through sixth on the other. I was sure that at any moment someone was going to shout: “Stop! You don’t belong here!”
But the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Randall, helped me feel better with her smiling face. She introduced me to the class and pointed me to an empty desk.
I listened carefully to the lesson, and tried not to stand out. When Mrs. Randall dismissed me, I hurried back to the safety of the second grade.
After school, I waited for the bus with the other kids.
“Hey. Hey, you!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw two girls coming toward me. I recognized them from Mrs. Randall’s class.
“Hi, little second grader,” the taller girl said. “My name is Janna, and this is Kylie. So how’d you like class today?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, it was … fine,” I stammered.
Janna made a face. “You must think you’re so smart being in our class. Smarter than us, even.”
I looked down at my feet. “I don’t think that.”
“Good! Because you’re not smart. You’re a freak!”
“Yeah.” Kylie laughed. “And a geek.”
Janna stepped closer. “I don’t like you,” she said, “and I don’t like you in our class.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned to find my brother David standing beside me.
Janna stepped back. “This little nerd thinks she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s not a nerd. She’s my sister.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “And she hasn’t done anything to you. If you keep being mean to her, I’m going to hear about it.”
Janna looked at my brother. He was taller and wider than she was. “What grade are you in?” she asked.
“Sixth.”
“Oh,” she said. She and Kylie took a few more steps back. “Well, OK. We’ll leave her alone.”
David turned me around and guided me to the bus. Then he went to join his friends.
I got on the bus and sat down, feeling a little dazed. I couldn’t believe it. David had stood up for me! I knew then that even though we didn’t always get along, David was my brother and he loved me. I suddenly felt very grateful for him.
At dinner that night, David seemed surprised when he noticed the red plate at his seat. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I put it there,” I said. “It’s for being a great older brother.”
David laughed as I told our parents what had happened. I made David sound like a superhero.
“We’re proud of you for helping your sister,” Dad said.
David smiled. “It’s good to be a hero,” he said.
I grinned at him. “It’s even better to have one as an older brother.”

When the show first premiered, ten-year-old Karin Anderson (an art lover from way back) attended with her family and was enchanted by the beauty of the selections. Two years later she was cast as a little boy in orange suspenders, gray pants, and a beanie in a Winslow Homer painting called Snap the Whip.

Since that time Karin has continued to participate in the yearly event, and has been serving as an assistant director for the past two years.

“I loved being in the pageant,” said Karin, now a Laurel in the Alpine First Ward, Alpine Utah Stake. Her smiles came spontaneously as she recalled opening night when she had posed as one of several small boys in front of a schoolhouse. “When the lights went out and the music came on and the curtain lifted, it was one of the biggest thrills of my life! The next year I tried out for the program again and didn’t make it, but I really wanted to be involved anyway. I started going down to help in the preparations and have been doing it ever since.”

This truth is illustrated in the experience of two young missionaries serving in Europe, in an area where there were few convert baptisms. I suppose it would have been understandable for them to think that what they did wouldn’t make much of a difference.

But these two missionaries had faith, and they were committed. They had the attitude that if no one listened to their message, it would not be because they had not given their best effort.

One day they had the feeling to approach the residents of a well-kept four-story apartment building. They started on the first floor and knocked on each door, presenting their saving message of Jesus Christ and the Restoration of His Church.

No one on the first floor would listen to them.

How easy it would have been to say, “We tried. Let’s stop right here. Let’s go and try another building.”

But these two missionaries had faith and they were willing to work, and so they knocked on every door on the second floor.

Again, no one would listen.

The third floor was the same. And so was the fourth—that is, until they knocked on the last door of the fourth floor.

When that door opened, a young girl smiled at them and asked them to wait while she spoke with her mother.

Her mother was only 36 years old, had recently lost her husband, and was in no mood to talk with Mormon missionaries. So she told her daughter to send them away.

But the daughter pleaded with her. These young men were so nice, she said. And it would take only a few minutes.

So, reluctantly, the mother agreed. The missionaries delivered their message and handed a book to the mother to read—the Book of Mormon.

After they left, the mother decided she would read at least a few pages.

She finished the entire book within a few days.

Not long after, this wonderful single-parent family entered the waters of baptism.

When the small family attended their local branch in Frankfurt, Germany, a young deacon noticed the beauty of one of the daughters and thought to himself, “These missionaries are doing a great job!”

That young deacon’s name was Dieter Uchtdorf. And the charming young woman—the one who had pleaded with her mother to listen to the missionaries—has the beautiful name of Harriet. She is loved by all who meet her as she accompanies me in my travels. She has blessed the lives of many people through her love for the gospel and her sparkling personality. She truly is the sunshine of my life.

How often have I lifted my heart in gratitude for the two missionaries who did not stop at the first floor! How often my heart reaches out in appreciation for their faith and work. How often have I given thanks that they kept going—even to the fourth floor, last door.

In our search for enduring faith, in our quest to connect with God and His purposes, let us remember the Lord’s promise: “Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”

Will we give up after knocking on a door or two? A floor or two?

Or will we keep seeking until we have reached the fourth floor, last door?

God “rewards those who earnestly seek him,” but that reward is not usually behind the first door. So we need to keep knocking. Sisters, don’t give up. Seek God with all your heart. Exercise faith. Walk in righteousness.

I promise that if you will do this—even until the fourth floor, last door—you will receive the answers you seek.

On a bright Sunday in April 1975 in the war-torn country of Vietnam, Nguyen Van The (pronounced “Tay”), president of the Saigon Branch, entered the local meetinghouse. Right away, members of the branch surrounded him, their faces full of frustration and hope. “President The! President The!” they cried out. “What news do you have?”
“I will tell you everything I know after sacrament meeting,” he said. He urged everyone in the crowd to remain calm. “All of your questions will be answered.”
For decades, Vietnam had been a divided land. Conflict had erupted shortly after World War II. American forces had fought alongside the South Vietnamese against the communist rule of North Vietnam for nearly a decade, but the high casualties led to America’s withdrawal from the war. Now the North Vietnamese forces were closing in on the southern capital of Saigon.
As President The entered the chapel and took a seat at the front of the room, he could hear the rumble of artillery fire. The war that had brought so many Vietnamese Saints to the restored gospel was now tearing the branch apart.
After the meeting, President The informed the Saints that the United States embassy was willing to evacuate Church members. The branch members insisted that President The’s family evacuate immediately so he could give his full attention to evacuating everyone else.
His wife, Lien, and their three children, along with her mother and sisters, flew out of Saigon a few hours later.
The following day, President The and a fellow Saint, Tran Van Nghia, hopped onto a motorbike to seek help from the International Red Cross. But they soon met a tank with a large gun that was rolling rapidly toward them.
Nghia swerved off the road, and he and President The clambered into a ditch to hide. The tank rumbled by them.
Saigon was now in North Vietnamese hands.
One week later, in May 1975, Le My Lien stepped off a crowded bus at a military camp near San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. In front of her was a sprawling city of tents set up to shelter 18,000 refugees from Vietnam.
Lien had no money and spoke little English. And she had her three children to care for while awaiting news of her husband in Vietnam.
On their first night at the camp, Lien did her best to make her children comfortable. The camp had provided her with no blankets and only one cot. Her sons, Vu and Huy, crammed onto the cot while the baby slept in a hammock Lien fashioned out of a sheet and rubber bands.
There was nowhere for Lien to lie down, so she slept sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning against a tentpole. The nights were cold, and her health worsened. Soon she was diagnosed with tuberculosis.
She prayed continually that her husband would remain strong, believing that if she could survive her ordeal, then he could survive his. She had heard nothing from him since her flight out of Saigon.
As Lien rocked her crying baby each morning, she cried too. “Please,” she begged the Lord, “let me get through just this day.”
In 1976, President The was imprisoned in Thành Ông N?m. He was desperate for news of his wife and children, but all he knew about his family’s whereabouts came from a telegram from the president of the Hong Kong Mission: “Lien and family fine. With Church.”
Now, more than a year later, The wondered when he would be free again.
Life in the prison camp was degrading. The and his fellow captives were housed in rat-infested barracks. They slept on beds made of steel slabs. Meager and spoiled food, along with the unsanitary conditions in camp, left the men vulnerable to sicknesses like dysentery and beriberi.
Reeducation on the new government’s principles involved backbreaking labor and political indoctrination. Anyone who broke camp rules could expect a brutal beating or solitary confinement.
The had survived so far by lying low and clinging to his faith. For a time, he contemplated escaping from the camp. But he felt the Lord restrain him. “Be patient,” the Spirit whispered. “All will be well in the due time of the Lord.”
Sometime later, The learned that his sister, Ba, would be allowed to visit him in the camp. If he could slip her a letter to his family, she could send it to them.
On the day of Ba’s visit, The waited in line as guards conducted full-body searches of the prisoners ahead of him. He had hidden the message behind the cloth band on the inside of his hat. He had then placed a small notebook and pen into the hat. With any luck, the notebook would distract the guards.
They examined the pen and notebook, then let him pass.
Soon, The saw his sister and pressed the letter into her hands. He wept as Ba gave him some food and money. He trusted that she would get his letter to Lien.
Six months later, Ba returned to the camp with a letter. Inside was a photograph of Lien and the children. He realized that he could wait no longer.
He had to find a way out of the camp and into the arms of his family.
Nguyen Van The and his wife, Le My Lien, with their son in 1973. She and their three children found refuge in the United States, but The was forced to attend a prison camp. Later, he said, “I was able to survive the ‘reeducation’ camp because … I had faith in Jesus Christ.”
As part of its mission to care for families, LDS Social Services had arranged with Church members in the United States to care for about 550 Vietnamese refugees, most of whom were not members of the Church. Lien and her family were sponsored by Philip Flammer, a professor at Brigham Young University, and his wife, Mildred. They helped the family relocate from California to Provo, Utah.
At first, Lien struggled to find work. Philip took her to a thrift store to apply for a janitorial position. But during the interview, the manager tore her high school diploma in half and told her, “This does not apply here.”
She soon found temporary work picking cherries at a nearby orchard. She then found work as a seamstress and added to her income by baking wedding cakes. With help from Philip, she also earned money by typing reports for BYU students.
Amid her family’s hardships, Lien remained faithful to the Lord. She taught her children about the power of prayer, knowing it could carry them through their ordeals.
Then, in late 1977, Lien learned that her husband was in a refugee camp in Malaysia. He had managed to leave Vietnam on an old fishing boat after finally being released from Thành Ông N?m. Now he was ready to reunite with his family. All he needed was a sponsor.
Lien began working even more hours to save enough money to bring The to the United States.
In January 1978, Le My Lien sat nervously in a car headed for the Salt Lake City International Airport. She was on her way to meet her husband for the first time in nearly three years.
After arriving at the airport, Lien joined other friends and Church members who had come to welcome The.
Before long, Lien saw The descending an escalator. He looked pale and had a lost look in his eyes. But at the sight of Lien, he called out to her. Emotion welled in Lien’s chest.
She pulled The into a hug. “Thank God in heaven,” she whispered, “you are home at last!”

Look at fasting as a blessing, not a forced and dreaded chore. I used to focus on my hunger pains on fast Sunday until my mom told me to fast with a purpose. She said every time you have a hunger pain, think of what you’re fasting for and say a silent prayer. I tried that the next fast Sunday, and it really helped! I didn’t feel hungry, and I saw the effects of my fast when I received the help I had fasted for. I gained a testimony of fasting that day, and ever since, fast Sunday has always been a blessing to me.
Janae S., 15, California, USA

Several years ago I wrote a story about my sister and submitted it to you. It was published in the April 1984 issue under the title “Lifeline.” It told of my little sister’s trials during the time she lived with my father (a Baptist minister) in southern Georgia. The story described the heartache she felt at being cut off from the Church she loves and the help she received when her home teachers listened to the promptings of the Spirit and came to visit her.
My sister (Jean Swilley) remained true to the gospel and passed through the refiner’s fire. She moved to Chicago in July of 1984 to live with my mother. Jean became active in her ward, and before long her bubbly spirit was charming the members in Illinois just as it once had in Mississippi. My Mom could not help but be influenced by the strength of Jean’s testimony, and she began her journey back into the fold of the Church. Both she and her new husband are now strong, active members of their ward. They are very happy even though they miss my sister very much.
Jean left Chicago last week to enter the MTC. Though she always insisted she had no desire to go on a mission, she obeyed her Father’s call and is now a very excited sister earnestly studying her discussions in Swedish. Though I am sure Jean will face many a refiner’s fire in Sweden, I know that she will come through them clinging to the lifeline her Father tossed to her many years ago. We thought you might like to know. Thanks again for printing Jean’s story.
Elizabeth (Swilley) SheridanIrmo, South Carolina

“How I will ever have a normal date with a family like mine around is one of life’s greatest mysteries.” That’s what I told my friend Becky.
First of all my mom sings. I don’t mean in church and stuff. I’ll be in my room with Becky and we’ll be concentrating on Ivanhoe because of a test the next day and we’ll hear my mom walking through the hallway singing something like, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” really loud.
It’s not so bad when Becky is here; she’s used to it. But what if a guy were to come to my front door and hear some crazy lady screeching “Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy,” another of my mom’s special numbers?
Fortunately, my brother George has been in France on a mission. He’s four years older than me and he still calls me “Mushbottom,” which is what he made up when I was a baby with soggy diapers. Really embarrassing! I can just imagine what a date would think with George greeting him and then calling up the stairs, “Hey, Mushbottom! Your date is here!” I’d rather shave my head.
Actually it doesn’t make that much difference that George is out of the country. My dad is here. He would make my date sit in the living room, and then he’d put on some opera. Then my dad would probably start directing the opera—vigorously. It’s embarrassing enough without witnesses.
And my younger brother would come in and stare at my date and then comment on the size or shape of his nose. I know he will; he does it to strangers at the supermarket. And my sister, the one I have to share a room with, she’d walk right up to my date and say, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?” The two of us used to do that to George and then run back to our room and giggle, after we blocked the door with a chair.
My name is Jenna. I was named after my two grandmas. Jenny, my dad’s mom, works as a clown volunteer at the hospital and drives there in full-clown dress. Another blotch on my reputation. And Anna. She has so many cats that they call her the “cat woman.” Fortunately, she lives in another neighborhood. Unfortunately, our city shrank the day they put a story about her in the local paper. She takes in homeless cats and names them after us. A cat named Jenna posed for the largest picture on the page.
When I met Shane at the stake dance and he asked if he could take me to the next one, I told him I had to help decorate but I could meet him there, for reasons that ought to be clear by now. It would be better if he could get to know the real me first.
And because the real me tries to be as honest as possible I had to volunteer myself with Becky and Katelyn to help with the decorations. When the dance committee said they hadn’t planned on decorating, we had to spend our baby-sitting money on some stupid crepe paper bells.
The dance was great in spite of the decorations, and there were no embarrassing moments to speak of. At least not until Shane took me home. I tried to get him to drop me off at the corner, but he wouldn’t do it. “No, I need to be sure you get home safely,” he said. What a guy.
When he pulled into my driveway I got really worried. Grandma Jenny’s car was there. Sometimes she stopped off, in her clown getup, and stretched out on the sofa to listen to opera. She could come out the door any moment.
“Uh …” I stammered. “I better go!” I jumped out of the car and ran inside, locked the front door, and turned off the porch light.
In spite of the fiasco he asked me out again. When I told him I’d meet him, again, he asked about my family. I told him only the appropriate things: that my brother was in France but that he’d be home soon; my dad teaches English at the college; my mom is stake music chairman; and that there were two younger siblings. “Your family sounds nice,” he said.
I said, “You have no idea.”
“I know,” he said. “You never let me near them.”
“Uh … well, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet them one of these days,” I said, sounding pleasant but feeling dread. I was sure he would meet them one day soon since my brother would be home in just a few days. Then it would be good-bye Shane.
On the Saturday we’d planned George’s welcome-home celebration I was in the front yard because I had just come back from helping my little brother find his tortoise, Houdini. George was on his way out the door to play basketball.
George motioned for me to sit on the porch. He was so nice to me that I couldn’t stop talking. Funny, he hadn’t ever listened to me like that before his mission. I told him all about Shane and about how I was afraid he’d lose interest if he met the family. I thought he’d tell me I was wrong to think that. But he didn’t. He agreed that it was a crazy family. “But,” he said, “crazy in a good way.” I couldn’t think of how being related to a clown, a cat woman, an opera fanatic, and a nightclub diva could be “a good way.” And George? He had the power to wipe me off the face of the earth with one nickname.
“What’s with the frown,” George asked. I told him that I was afraid he’d call me that awful nickname in front of Shane and life, as I knew it, would come to a devastating halt.
“Listen,” he said, “if this Shane guy were to split just because of a nickname, or because your grandmother wears a clown outfit …”
“A clown outfit with a bushy purple wig and huge pink nose.”
“Yeah, with purple hair and that awesome nose, and it’s all for cheering up sick kids! If that turns him off then what kind of a person would Shane be? I know he wouldn’t be good enough for you.”
Good enough for me? I’d never thought of it that way.
“Either he likes you or he doesn’t. If he likes you, he’ll like your family. And if he’s just sticking around because you’re beautiful, then better to get rid of him now instead of later when it would hurt more.”
Beautiful? My brother had never talked to me like this before.
“Gotta go.” George got up and gave me a wink before he jogged down the street.
Later, while I made my bed I talked to Katelyn on the phone. “Am I like my family?” I hoped she’d say, “No, not at all.” But she didn’t say anything at first. Then she said, “In some ways you are, and in some ways you aren’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Katelyn took a deep breath. “It’s like this. If you had a different family you’d be completely different too. I mean, I think you’re so funny, and it’s because you have funny family stories to tell. And, well, you’re a good baby-sitter because you’ve taken care of your little brother and, like you say yourself, ‘If I can take care of him I can take care of any kid!’ It’s hard to figure out how to say what I mean. But sometimes it seems like you might do something great or unusual someday because you see a grandma everyday, going to the hospital.”
That was a revelation.
I looked at my clock radio, only two more hours until the party for George. The phone rang.
“Hello?” It was Shane. “I’m coming over for the celebration.”
“You’re what?”
“George invited me. Hey, he’s a good basketball player. Your ward beat us because of him.”
“Uh …” my normally extensive vocabulary seemed to have short-circuited. When I hung up I felt a renewed surge of verbal ability, “George!” What made me think he’d changed? I’d trusted him! “George!”
“George isn’t here!” my grandmother-the-clown answered. “He’s gone to the humane shelter to pick up Grandma Anna.”
I went back to my room to fume alone. That George!
A car pulled into the driveway. George and Grandma Anna got out. The cat woman was carrying a tiny kitten. I saw George glance toward my window. It never occurred to me that he’d worry about making me mad. He actually looked concerned. I sat on the bed. I wanted to think about what George said about Shane liking me—and my family.
I heard my mom singing in the kitchen. I wrapped my quilt around my shoulders and leaned toward the open window. Grandma Anna had made the quilt; it has cats on it. I wondered who’d arrive first, my dad or Shane. I felt a chill of anticipation. It was the same feeling I’d get when I was about to give a talk or act in a play. I’d always tell myself that I’d done all I could already and if people didn’t like me, then tough toenails. I looked out at the stars, humming along with my mother’s song.
George yelled from the driveway below, “Mushbottom!” I looked down at him. He was cradling the kitten. “I thought we could name the kitten Mushbottom. Then I could promise never to call you that again.”
I thought it must be his way of apologizing for inviting Shane to the celebration. I had to admit he was right about one thing. How could I ever have a real date if I kept hiding such an important part of the real me? George smiled and climbed the steps to the front porch. I saw headlights coming up the street so I put the quilt back and combed my hair, which happens to be curly just like Grandma Jenny’s.
Shane came up the walk and George met him at the door. “Hi,” George said. “I’m Jenna’s brother.”
Shane grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Have you heard about Mushbottom?” George asked.
I groaned, but Shane laughed. He came inside and looked around. Mom was singing in the kitchen, Dad was conducting a record, my little brother was examining Shane’s nose, and my sister said, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?”
Shane laughed again. “Your family is great,” he said.
I looked at George. He winked at me. For the first time, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt proud.

When she first moved into Relief Society at home, Macie thought it was a challenge to fit in with the older women. Mallory’s home ward tried to ease the transition by periodically inviting the Laurels to Relief Society lessons and activities, so she had a taste of what it was like, but in the back of her mind she still had a fear that they were going to spend a lot of time sewing. However, both Mallory and Macie now understand the reasons for programs like home, family, and personal enrichment and are able to gear them toward the women their age.
“I have a greater appreciation for Relief Society now,” Macie says. “I don’t think it’s just an old ladies society anymore.”
And just as both girls turned to their mothers for words of advice and comfort in their new callings, Mallory says that with the right attitude, the younger women can learn from the older women. Then, that sisterhood she and Macie have come to embrace can be extended across the generations.

Observing and serving sometimes requires great effort. An inspired young woman named Alexandria noticed that her cousin Madison was unable to complete her own Personal Progress requirements because she suffered from severe autism. Alexandria rallied the young women in her ward, counseled with her leaders, and determined to do something for Maddy that she could not do herself. Each of the young women completed a portion of the Personal Progress activities and projects vicariously to enable Maddy to receive her own medallion.

These young women will progress well into roles of motherhood and Relief Society sisterhood because they are learning to first observe, then serve in charitable ways.