Gospel Story Finder

“Marcus, it’s time!”
When Marcus hear his father call, he sprinted to the kitchen. Lined up on the counter were five of his father’s famous pumpkin pies, ready to go into the oven.
Marcus knew his job. Rolling out the leftover pie crust dough into a huge circle, he picked up the maple-leaf-shape cookie cutter and cut out a large leaf from the dough for the center of each pie.
He’d no sooner finished than he heard, “Marcus, I need you.” In the dining room, he found his mother putting one more plate on a table. “Cousin Molly’s coming. That makes seventeen. I think that’s the last plate in the house,” she laughed. “Nothing matches, but what colorful tables!”
“How come we’re having so many people?” Marcus asked.
“Because,” Mother answered, “that’s what Thanksgiving is all about—being thankful for everything, especially for people we care about. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”
Marcus nodded. Tomorrow will be fun, he thought.
“I need you to go down to the basement and see if that old chair is still being stored down there. If it is, ask Mr. Swenson if we may borrow it.”
The apartment-house basement was a gloomy place. When Marcus got off the elevator, he was glad to see the superintendent there, sweeping out the furnace room. “Hi, Mr. Swenson. Do you know if that old chair is still around?”
“Hello there, Marcus.” Mr. Swenson gave Marcus a grown-up handshake, as he always did. “Let me look around.”
“Are you having company for Thanksgiving, too?” Marcus asked.
“No, not this year.”
From the way Mr. Swenson said it, Marcus had a feeling that it wasn’t just this year that Mr. Swenson wasn’t having company for Thanksgiving. “Well, that’s good,” Marcus said, “because I want to invite you to our Thanksgiving dinner. You and your chair!”
“Well, thank you, Marcus! I’d love to come. What time should I be there?”
“Come at four o’clock tomorrow—but I’ll take the chair with me now.”
When Marcus told his mother that he’d invited Mr. Swenson, she said, “That was a terrific idea, Marcus. Oh, but we still need one more chair.”
“There was only the one chair downstairs, but I think I know where I can get another one.”
“Great!”
Marcus dashed out the door and up the street to school. Good! he thought, seeing his teacher’s car. She’s still here. He ran to his classroom. “Hi, Miss Fields. May I please borrow a folding chair?”
“Surely. You know where we keep them—help yourself.”
“Thanks. How come you’re still here?”
“Well, since I decided not to make the long drive home for Thanksgiving this year, I thought that I might as well finish grading these papers.”
“Oh.” Marcus thought that grading papers would be a terrible way to spend the holiday. “Uh, Miss Fields,” he said, “my family would like you to have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”
“Why, thank you, Marcus. That sounds like fun, but I have a small problem—here’s a picture of him.”
“Oh, he’s no problem, Miss Fields—just bring him with you,” Marcus said with a grin.
“What time should we come?”
“Come at four o’clock,” Marcus said. “I’ll take two chairs from here and borrow that picture to show my mom, if that’s all right.”
Marcus told his mother about Miss Fields. She laughed and said she would call Aunt Etta and ask her to bring some plates.
“Just how many more are we going to need, Marcus?” Mother joked.
“Just two,” Marcus said. “But maybe you should ask her to bring a saucer too.”
“A saucer?”
“Well,” he said, pulling Miss Field’s picture from his pocket, “I had to invite Miss Field’s cat, Chubbikins, too. Remember what you said, Mom, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”

When I was 17, people started asking me whether I was going to serve a mission. I hadn’t decided yet, so I always put them off.
But as my 21st birthday approached, I started thinking about it. I read my patriarchal blessing, talked to my parents, and prayed.
The desire never came; I never felt I needed to serve. I thought about the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), who said that while sister missionaries are welcome, they “are not under obligation to go on missions.”2 I was also reminded of the Lord’s words in the Doctrine and Covenants: “If ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (4:3).
That scripture helped me decide not to serve a mission. When I told the Lord in prayer of my decision, I felt peace and a confirmation that there were ways I could be a missionary without full-time service. I have since found I can share my testimony in many ways—through a conversation about the Lord’s tender mercies, while visiting teaching, or in doing family history and temple work. I am dedicating myself to missionary work by striving to live the gospel and follow the inspiration of the Spirit.
Amy Simon

For the longest time in my life, I felt as if I was all alone. At first, loneliness was a new feeling for me, because I come from a family of five, so as a kid, I always enjoyed the crowd and noise around me at home. I knew I wasn’t alone.
Sadly enough, in my teenage years, my parents split up. After that, I really started to feel alone. I tried to figure out what to do, going out of my comfort zone to make friends at school. I was hoping I could enjoy the familiarity of lots of people at school, like I used to at home. But even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt alone. This feeling lessened a few years later when I found the Church.
One day the sister missionaries knocked on my door and my mother answered. I remember her telling them, “Well, I am not interested, but my daughter would be. Wait, I will get her.”
When I started to talk to them, I could feel the Spirit telling me to listen. After a few months of listening and learning, I knew that this was what I had been looking for. Even though it didn’t feel like it to begin with, my decision to be baptized helped me to come not only closer to the Lord and but also closer to ending my ongoing battle against loneliness.
When I decided that I wanted to be baptized, my family wasn’t really excited about it. Although my mother and one of my brothers attended my baptism, other family members rejected me because we no longer shared the same religion.
In the beginning, this was quite hard, and I felt more alone than ever. But after a while, one of my cousins decided to become a devout Hindu, which was also different from what the rest of our family practiced. He respected my choice to join the Church because he had made a similar one. Because of his example of love towards me, some of my other family members stopped shunning me.
At school, I realized that I didn’t really fit in anymore. And at work, people looked at me in an odd way when I told them I had gotten baptized. I did not feel ashamed—my decision wasn’t wrong, and I knew that from the bottom of my heart—but my friends didn’t understand my lifestyle changes, and most of them decided to stop being friends with me.
Through all these difficult experiences, I kept praying, and I could feel the comfort I was promised by the Spirit in a priesthood blessing I had received. One day I dared to ask the question, in prayer, “Why do I feel so alone?” And I received an answer or, rather, a promise—that I would make new friends, friends who would understand me.
And I did! I made new friends, some who aren’t members of the Church but who still respect and love me. I also made friends in the Church who have become like family to me.
Being an introvert and having to talk to people wasn’t the easiest thing for me. Most of the time I let people approach me, but in high school there weren’t a lot of people who wanted to talk to me. So I was happy that I remembered this old trick I had learned—I smiled. The more someone smiles, the more approachable that person will become. I realized the more I smiled at people, the more they would start talking to me and the easier it became for me to become friends with them.
A better answer to my prayer was President Thomas S. Monson’s (1927–2018) talk “Dare to Stand Alone” (Liahona, Nov. 2011, 60–67). Over time, this talk has taught me one very essential thing about loneliness: you never stand alone when you stand with the Lord.
There are still days when it is hard for me to stand with Him. The fear of other people mocking me and my beliefs is hard. There have been people telling me that any religion is nonsense and that I am being led like a dumb sheep. After finding out about my religion, some people have treated me as if I had a terrible infectious disease. All of these experiences made me feel a little insecure and lonely. It is a daily battle, but it’s one I win every day, over and over again, with the help and full support of the Lord.
On a daily basis, I try to follow the Spirit. Whenever I listen to the Spirit and talk with people, inspiration from the Spirit enables me to serve others. It gives me an opportunity to remember that I am not alone. Most importantly, listening to the Spirit always gives me the chance to share my testimony. I have realized that sharing my belief this way helps me to be less scared and more understood by others. Before I realized it, I was not alone—talking to whomever I was talking to at that moment—I was standing with the Spirit. With the Spirit on your side, you can never be alone.
Throughout many years and moments of feeling lonely, the Lord has told me repeatedly that I am His beloved daughter and that He loves me. How can I ever feel alone if I have my Father standing with me? How can I feel alone if He is just one simple prayer away?
In my daily battle against loneliness, I call on my Heavenly Father not just to stand by me but to help me always stand by Him. I know that He has never left me to battle anything alone and has always stood by me, loving me.

Rhoeta M., age 15, from Idaho, USA, discovered that she needed good friends as she was investigating the Church. “When I began attending sacrament meeting, classes, and Young Women, I was instantly greeted by many friendly faces and a caring community. I was included in all the activities, and the new friends I made encouraged me to follow God’s plan. They helped me set and accomplish my spiritual goals.” After learning more from the missionaries and connecting with her friends at church, Rhoeta made the decision to be baptized. “I am so grateful to have found such good people,” she says, “and I’m blessed to have had such an excellent transition into the Church!”

“I came home from a school concert and my house was on fire,” said a Laurel from Dingle, Idaho.
“The dogs barking woke us, and the house was full of smoke,” said another Dingle resident.
And still another, “When I went into the kitchen, flames were shooting out of the wall plug.”
The sight of flames devouring the homes of their neighbors became an all-too-familiar sight to the 200 residents of this southeastern Idaho community last winter. Despite the efforts of the volunteer fire department from the nearby town of Montpelier, three homes in Dingle burned to the ground within a few months.
The town members of Dingle were there with clothing, blankets, and food to help the victims, and right in the middle were the Young Women from the Dingle Ward, Montpelier Idaho Stake. Under the leadership of the Laurels, the girls tied a quilt for one family, held a surprise kitchen shower for another family, and gave the proceeds from a baked food sale to the third family. They also raised money to send to a former Dingle resident whose home burned in Utah.
In addition, they were always ready to help with any cleaning up and clearing out they were asked to do.
“You realize how much you need one another at a time like this,” softly spoke one of the fire victims. “Everybody’s been so good to us; I’ve decided that from now on I’m going to sacrifice more of my time and do more things for other people.”
The Young Women in Dingle have discovered the feelings of fulfillment that can come from doing just that. And while they hope they won’t have occasion to help in the same way again, they’ll be there if needed.

I met William on the first day of my third year of teaching English in the adult high school program at our local community college. He was small, dark-eyed, with tight blond curls, rather unattractive, unwashed, and, as I soon came to discover, almost totally illiterate. It was the early ’70s, when long hair was popular among the young and drugs were beginning to be a major problem. I thought, Here’s another victim of the drug culture, and my heart sank.
After making my introductory remarks, I asked the class, as I always do on the first day of school, to write about themselves. Looking from student to student, I noticed that William worked very hard on his paragraph, grasping the pencil in a stranglehold, licking the point every few minutes. William’s face was close to the paper, his brows knit close together.
The rest of the class completed the assignment rather quickly and grew restless. I let them leave. It took William 40 minutes to print a few lines, and when he at last handed it to me, I could not read it. He stood at my desk staring at me while I looked at the paper.
“You want I should read it for you?” he said.
“Yes.”
“My name is William, and I live off a government pension in my car in an empty garage. I’m 19 years old, and since I was 11 I been a drinker. Now I’ve decided to be a learner.”
I had never before taught a student who could hardly read and write. I had no idea how to handle the problem.
“You’ve misspelled every word,” I said.
William looked dismayed. “I can learn,” he said.
“All right. I’ll print them correctly, and when you come to class tomorrow, plan to write them for me.”
“A spell test,” he said, as though it were some magical word.
I looked away from him. “Look, William …” I meant to tell him that the class would be impossible, that his skills were so poor he would fall behind immediately, and that there was no hope for him to catch up. I meant to tell him he could not possibly succeed. But instead I said, “Your basic skills are somewhat limited. How hard are you willing to work?”
He stared at me.
“We’ll be studying difficult writers—like Shakespeare and Twain.”
“Who?”
“William Shakespeare. Mark Twain.”
“Oh,” he said. And after a pause he added, “I can learn.”
“It won’t be easy for you,” I said, “but if you work hard …”
I didn’t expect to see him ever again, but the following day William was the first one in the room. He took a front-row seat, and as I taught, his eyes followed me intently, his brows knit into the same shaggy line, his mouth slightly open as he listened. After class ended, he stood by my desk staring at me for a long time.
“What is it?” I asked, irritated.
“I’m ready to spell,” he said.
And he was. He had memorized all the words, and as I called them out to him he wrote them quickly.
He stood watching as I marked his paper, putting a check by each correct word and then an A+ and a large I AM SO PROUD OF YOU at the top of the page. For the first time, I saw William smile. He took the test, folded it carefully, and put it into his shirt pocket.
“Now,” he said, “I’d like to pick up some on my reading. You got anything I can borrow?”
“I don’t think I have anything appropriate,” I said. Opening the desk drawer I began to look through the papers and books.
“What about that?” he said, pointing to a copy of Huckleberry Finn.
My hand hesitated, and then I shook my head. “It would be too hard for you.”
“I’ve done hard things all my life,” he said.
I pulled Ellie the Elephant Learns to Fly, one of my daughter’s books, from my desk drawer.
“That’s for little kids,” he said.
“It’s for new readers,” I said, handing it to him.
“I want that other one.”
Ignoring his comment, I opened the child’s book and began to read aloud, resting a finger under each word while he stood beside me watching and listening.
“Let me do it now.” He read hesitantly and with great difficulty. “See, if somebody shows me, I can learn. If I had that other book, I could work at it. I’m not stupid.”
I gave him Huckleberry Finn.
Each day I sent William home to the garage with a list of words clutched in one hand and one of my daughter’s books tucked under his arm. Every morning he came back with the material mastered. A few weeks later he returned the Twain text. “I read it,” he said, and the look of pride on his face brought tears to my eyes.
That week I gave him a bag containing a bar of soap, a washcloth, a towel, and deodorant. “This is an important part of education, too,” I said.
He looked in the bag and then at me, stunned. But the next day William was clean. And he was reading and writing with greater confidence. He had progressed so much that he insisted on taking his turn at reading poems from our literature text aloud. And every day he stayed after class for an hour to talk with me. Actually, he asked question after question, and I tried to answer them.
His enthusiasm for learning was contagious, and soon three other students began to stay, too. There was Suzy, who later trained as a registered nurse; Jody, who went on to earn a doctorate in biology; and George, who planned to become a physician but died in a motorcycle accident that spring.
George’s death upset the class deeply, and we spent that day talking about the transient quality of life, trying to answer the eternal questions—where did we come from, what are we doing here, and what happens to us when we die? I taught the class that knowledge is power, that the glory of God is intelligence, and that all we take with us from this world to the next is our relationships with others and the knowledge we gain in this life.
“There are two ways most people learn,” I told them. “One way is by experience—and life doesn’t last long enough for us to get all our knowledge that way. The other is to read.” I encouraged them to spread their wings and learn while they were young and filled with energy and enthusiasm.
One day William came into class with a list of quotations he’d copied from the library, and he shared them with us. He particularly loved “Knowledge is the wings wherewith we fly.”
“Watch me fly, teacher.” He spread his arms and flapped them, bringing laughter from the students and me.
William (this genius—the only true genius I ever taught) was my student for two years of English. When he graduated, I sat in the audience and watched with pride, tears brimming my eyes. He enrolled in the community college program and continued his education. On occasion he stopped by my office during the week, sharing with me the excitement of his new world. Each Friday afternoon he borrowed one of my books, which he quickly read and returned. On one occasion, he asked to read my Book of Mormon. I gave him a copy and a week later learned that he had called the missionary number left with my testimony on a front page. At his baptism, I gave him the Pearl of Great Price.
Last spring I received a card from William. He was teaching Spanish and American literature at a large university. “We’re reading Huckleberry Finn,” he wrote, “and I’ve never been happier. I seem to have a gift for languages.” He continued, “Remember years back when you had to teach me English? For all you did for me, I thank you, teacher. Thank you for lending me your wings while I was growing my own.”

There is an old story of a waiter who asked a customer if he had enjoyed the meal. The man said that everything was fine, but it would have been better if they had given him more than two slices of bread.
The next day, when the man came to eat again, the waiter gave him four pieces of bread. The man said he still wished he had more. So the next day, the waiter gave him eight pieces! But the man still wasn’t satisfied.
Finally, on the fourth day, the waiter was really determined to make the man happy. So he took a nine-foot-long (3-m) loaf of bread, cut it in half, and with a smile, served it to the customer. Instead of being grateful, the man looked up and said, “The food was good, as always. But I see you’re back to giving me only two slices of bread.”

Heber C. Kimball was ordained an Apostle in 1835 by the Prophet Joseph Smith, who considered him a man of great integrity. Two years later, while sitting in the Kirtland Temple, the Prophet Joseph whispered to Elder Kimball that the Lord wanted him to go on a mission to England. He would be the first Church missionary sent to a foreign country, a thought that was overwhelming to Elder Kimball.

“The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear. … I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me,” he said. But despite the inadequacy he felt, Elder Kimball accepted the call and went to England. “The moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed.” (See History of the Church, 2:489, footnote.)
Elder Kimball had the faith of Nephi. He knew that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).

Marcia was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her mother make a cake. “Thanksgiving isn’t going to be any fun this year,” she said. “I wish we could go back to New York and be with Grandmother and Granddad. Why did we have to move to Denver, anyway?”
“It’s hard for all of us to be away from the family at holiday time,” said Marcia’s mother, wiping flour from her hands. “I guess we’re all a little homesick. But Daddy’s job is here now, and Denver is our new home.”
“Last Thanksgiving there were seventeen relatives around Grandmother’s table. What fun we had!” said Marcia. “This year there will be only the three of us at our table. It just isn’t fair.” As Marcia went into the living room, she heard her mother sigh. Marcia knew that her mother wanted to be with the family at Thanksgiving too.
This is terrible, thought Marcia. We’re all so gloomy. Lots of families are apart on holidays. Then, sighing herself, she resolved, We’ll just have to make the best of it.
However, things weren’t much better the next day at school when Marcia’s teacher asked each student what his family was going to do on the Thanksgiving holiday. Marcia only half listened to the wonderful plans the other children were telling about. She felt worse than ever. What would she say when it was her turn?
As Marcia tried to decide what to say, she began to get interested in what Sally was saying. Sally’s family was going to have a picnic in the mountains for its Thanksgiving dinner. That surely was different from any Thanksgiving that Marcia knew about.
Next it was John’s turn. His family was going skiing. Then Jeff told about his family’s plans to go to a hospital and entertain the patients. Amy’s family was going to help serve at a church dinner.
Marcia was amazed. She’d thought that the only thing you did on Thanksgiving was go to your grandmother’s house and have a big dinner. Suddenly Marcia saw that Thanksgiving could be a wonderful new experience!
When the teacher called on Marcia, Marcia stood up very slowly. “We haven’t made any plans yet,” she said, “but all of you have given me a lot of good ideas!”
Later, when the school bus dropped her off, Marcia ran the rest of the way home. “Mom,” she called as she burst through the kitchen door, “I have the most wonderful ideas for Thanksgiving! Just wait until you hear!” Marcia told her mother about all the different Thanksgiving plans that she’d heard about at school.
When Marcia finished, Mother said, “Those are all wonderful things to do for Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe we could think of something special to do on Thanksgiving day, too,” Marcia went on excitedly. “Since it’s a day of giving, maybe we could entertain at a hospital, like Jeff, or serve at a church dinner, like Amy.”
“You mean not have a Thanksgiving dinner?” asked Mother.
“Oh, no!” said Marcia. “I still want to have Thanksgiving dinner.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Maybe we could share our dinner with some people who are away from their families like we are.”
“But we don’t know anyone here yet,” said Mother.
“I do!” Marcia told her. “I mean, one of the boys in my class was telling about his grandmother in a nursing home. He said that lots of older people in the nursing home are far away from their families and that they are very lonesome. Couldn’t we invite some of the people from the nursing home to have Thanksgiving dinner with us at our house?”
Mother didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she slowly nodded her head. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Marcia. And I’m sure your daddy will think so too. We could have a big dinner just like Grandmother always has. It would be a happy time.” Mother grinned at Marcia. “Well, come on,” she said. “We haven’t a minute to lose. There are a hundred things to do to get ready. First, we’ll call Daddy and the nursing home; then we’ll plan the dinner; then we’ll get out the good dishes. Then we’ll—” she stopped and gave Marcia a hug.
Marcia hadn’t seen her mother so happy since they’d left New York. As a matter of fact, thought Marcia, I don’t know when I’ve been so happy myself. Thanksgiving is going to be more fun than ever this year!

His first months in the Scottish conference, where he was assigned, were not easy, as they are not for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. A Scottish woman had said, when I gave her a tract, ‘Better gae to your home, ya canna have any o’oor lassies!’
“I did not want any of their lassies. I had left a sweet one at home. But it made me discouraged to think of the ill will which they had towards the Mormons. What misconceived notions they had of our purpose among them!
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel that antipathy and prejudice gave me the blues.
“I was with Peter G. Johnston, one of the truest friends in all the world. He was from Idaho, an experienced, wealthy man, a lover of all things beautiful. I was fortunate to have his companionship. …
“As we were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’
“Then I thought what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing; we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it, for we had just finished studying the ‘Lady of the Lake’ at the university. However, that was not missionary work.
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

Jean-Olivier Smatti, a youth leader in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said: “This week was a miracle. We had 86 young men and women including 15 who are investigating our Church. We had passport problems and even a tornado, but we know that our stay on Lifou was an incredible tool for missionary work. The locals were impressed by our youth, and they were so pleased to meet them.”

Lisa stood in the doorway of Grandpa’s bedroom. She wanted to talk to him, but he was sound asleep. There was so much to say and so little time. Grandpa couldn’t even get out of bed now.
“I’ll be thankful if I get to see another crocus,” he had said. Those words brought back vividly all the hurt and pain she had felt when Keekee, her pet hamster, died.
Now it is Grandpa’s turn to go, Lisa thought sadly. All the pain of parting came back again. Once more she looked over the garden. Every year she and Grandpa had planted bulbs along both sides of the walkway but now Grandpa was too ill. She remembered how one by one she had handed Grandpa the crocus bulbs and watched him place them into freshly dug holes. Then he covered them gently, almost with a prayer.
Lisa went back to Grandpa’s room. He seemed to still be asleep but then he opened his eyes. “Is that you, Lisa?” he asked.
“Yes, Grandpa, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want?”
“Just sit and talk to me,” he said, taking her hand.
“The garden misses you, Grandpa. We don’t want you to go.”
“It will only be for a little while. In Heavenly Father’s time it will only be like a winter away. Plants sleep during the winter and wake up in the spring. So it is with people. We are parted for a while and come together again in a world where there is no more separation.”
Grandpa’s hand became limp and he fell asleep.
Lisa went out into the garden again.
“Grandpa loves you,” she spoke to the lilac tree and the rosebushes as though they could understand. “If you could give him a flower, it would make him so happy.” But only the silence and the cold wind answered her. Every day after that, Lisa carefully examined each plant, but there wasn’t even a sign of a swollen node.
Mother had asked Lisa to help in preparing the house for company who would want to visit with Grandpa. “Friends and relatives will come to see Grandpa often,” she said, “and you must keep the porch and steps clean.”
Many people did come to see Grandpa, and each day he seemed to sleep a little longer. Sometimes he didn’t know Lisa was there beside him. One day as she was sweeping the porch, the pain of losing Grandpa seemed to grow so big within Lisa that she thought it would burst. She began to cry. The broom slipped from her hand and fell beside the steps. As she stooped to pick it up, something caught her eye. It was half-hidden under the porch and behind the steps. She got on her knees and could hardly believe what she saw. In a sheltered place, well-protected from the wind and cold, was a purple crocus poking up from the dark earth. Although it was still winter, a flower had been born.
Lisa rushed to Grandpa’s bedroom where he lay sleeping. “Please wake up, Grandpa, and see what I found!” she cried. But Grandpa didn’t stir. Lisa waited and waited. She was about to leave the room when Grandpa opened his eyes.
“Look, Grandpa. Look what I have for you!” Lisa said softly.
“A crocus,” he whispered. “How wonderful!” He took the flower and held it to his face. “Where did you find it, Lisa? We took up all the bulbs last fall.”
“I guess we missed this one. It was in the corner by the steps.”
Grandpa smiled. “Lisa, did I ever tell you the story about the tree that began to sprout leaves in the winter? At the time, people called it a miracle. It brought new hope to many who needed it. Later it was discovered that a steam pipe near the tree had a leak and the warmth made the tree think it was spring—time to wake up and time to show its leaves. People talked about it for months afterward. Many felt it was a message from God, telling them that they should never despair.”
Lisa sat quietly thinking about the miracle tree. She looked down at Grandpa, who had fallen asleep again, the crocus still in his hand. Lisa stood beside the bed for a long time. Slowly some of the pain she felt began to ease. Grandpa’s going away didn’t hurt quite as much now. She knew that one day they would be together again.
“I love you, Grandpa,” she whispered, recalling his words, All else can fade away but love is forever.

Not long ago while sitting on the stand during the closing session of a youth conference, just as the young priest conducting the meeting stood to bring the meeting to a close, Kathy, sitting next to me, jumped up and unhesitatingly slipped in front of the young man, took her place at the pulpit, faced the audience, raised both hands in front of her with outstretched fingers, and said, “I’ll bet you’ve all been wondering why I’ve been wearing this ugly green nail polish.” A soft ripple could be heard across the audience, and I realized I was not alone in my curiosity.
“Well,” she said, “it’s like this: I knew my responsibilities as one of the leaders of this conference were big. I knew I had some real challenges ahead, and I didn’t want to be sorry after the chance was gone that I didn’t do what I really wanted to do.
“You see, I needed something that would remind me of what I really wanted to do and help me through the things I didn’t want to do. So I thought of a plan. And it worked! You see,” she went on, “I wanted something that would remind me of what I really wanted to make myself do. I knew my fingernails would always be right there.”
After further details, and bearing a strong testimony of the joy that comes when you do what you should, she took her seat. From this insight I was reminded of the message of the Apostle Paul as he was counseling the Corinthians:
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things” (1 Cor. 13:11).
Kathy had helped us all understand the importance of reminders, but it was the combined voices of young people singing the closing song, resounding like a sacred sermon, that brought forth new appreciation for sacred reminders. They sang:
I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine;
That he should extend his great love unto such as I,
Sufficient to own, to redeem, and to justify.
(“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, no. 80)

At 4:30 A.M. my alarm went off as usual. I reached over and shut it off as I do every morning. I sat up in the dark and asked myself why I do this to myself every morning. After I was done complaining about how stupid early-morning seminary was, I got up and got ready to go.
Just like every day, I arrived five minutes late and sat in a seat in the back row farthest from the teacher. It seemed that lately my testimony had been going down the tubes. Things had not been going right. My grades had been suffering. I thought that if I were living right then everything else in my life should be good too.
As I sat in the back, not listening to the lesson, I began to wonder if the Church was really true. The thought scared me. I was worried that the things I had been taught all my life were wrong. It made me afraid. Right there in class, I started praying mentally to my Father in Heaven for help. I was asking him for help in finding out if the Church was true or not.
By this time, I had totally tuned out of the lesson being taught. Finally seminary was over. My brother and I were getting in my car when I noticed a piece of paper on the windshield. I took it and saw that it was from another church down the street. At first I thought it was an advertisement. I opened the paper and in big bold letters at the top it said, “In Which Shall We Believe?” I began reading it. It was a list of scriptures and quotations from the Book of Mormon and other Church books and leaders that seemed to contradict each other.
We took the paper home to my parents. We went straight to them and told them we got this anti-Mormon flier on our windshield. They read through it. We talked for a few minutes about one of the statements, which Mom helped answer for me. Then my parents put the paper on the desk. We had to leave for school.
A couple of days later, I took the other church’s flier and started reading through it. I started looking up each quotation in the scriptures and in other books. The paper was wrong. I found that the statements did not contradict each other. The people who had prepared the flier had only taken part of the scripture or part of a quotation. This made me remember what one of my Primary teachers had told me. She said, “Read the scriptures as a whole and not a part.”
I knelt down beside my bed and prayed. I asked Heavenly Father if the Church was true and if what I was reading in the Book of Mormon was correct. I said amen and stayed on my knees for a few minutes and listened. When I got up, I was totally energetic. I felt so good and so happy. I knew by how I felt that it was true. That was my answer.
Since that time I have studied the scriptures more. In a funny way I was grateful to those people who had been trying to tear down the Church. I even wrote a letter to the other church thanking them for the flier. I told them they had really helped me a lot with my testimony. Because of them, I was motivated to find out for myself. I found out it was true.

Haruki, it is time for bed. Did you say your prayer yet?
No, not yet.
We will kneel with you.
Haruki knelt down and started to pray.
Thank Thee for my family, my house, my friends, and my toys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Haruki, that was a good prayer, but you forgot to start by saying, “Heavenly Father.”
Why do I have to say that?
When we pray, we are talking to Heavenly Father. He loves us.
When we pray to Him, we can thank Him for everything He gives us. We can also ask Him for things we need.
Heavenly Father loves me?
Yes, He does. How does that make you feel?
I want to say my prayer again!
Heavenly Father, thank Thee …

During my second Christmas as a full-time missionary, my companion and I were visiting a recently baptized member and her family. After a great Christmas dinner, we shared with them a Christmas message.
We asked the family to draw pictures of things that reminded them of the season, such as stars, presents, nativities, and Christmas trees. We then read some scriptures, including 2 Nephi 19:6: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called, Wonderful, Counselor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” We sang “Once in Royal David’s City” (Hymns, no. 205), watched a movie about the Nativity, and bore testimony of Jesus Christ.
It was a Christmas in simple circumstances, away from our families and the usual Christmas celebrations, but as we bore testimony of the Savior, I felt a deeper love and appreciation for Him and His birth than I had known before. I realized it would be my last Christmas in full-time missionary service to my Heavenly Father, but I understood that His Spirit could testify to me of His Son wherever I was.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
The grass is thirsty, Mom! It’s all yellow.
I know. It hasn’t rained in a long time.
Ready? We don’t want to be late for church!
Next week is fast Sunday. Please fast and pray for rain.
I want to pray for rain!
Missy prayed for rain every day.
The next Sunday …
I’m ready for church!
Why do you have your umbrella?
I think it will rain.
It doesn’t look like it.
But I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers.
That’s called faith!
Sometimes answers don’t come right away. Now we need to wait and trust God.
Days later …
It’s raining! Heavenly Father answered my prayers.

I closed one chapter in my life when I became a widow in October 2010. At that time, I worked as an educator in southern France. An accident at work limited my mobility, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t quickly regain my health and strength. I had enjoyed a rewarding professional life for 11 years. I loved my work. I had many friends. But I could no longer meet the requirements of my job.
I must admit that, after more than 33 years of practicing the Word of Wisdom, I wondered why I was unable to “run and not be weary” or “walk and not faint” (see Doctrine and Covenants 89:20). Finally, I had to retire earlier than expected, closing another chapter in my life.
I was living with my daughter when she received notice that her work was transferring her to the Paris area. I decided I should go with her and open a new chapter in my life in a new place.
Shortly after arriving, we were both called to work in the Paris France Temple. My call to serve in the temple confirmed to me that I was in the right place at the right time because the Lord had brought me here. I have found much joy serving on a regular basis in the house of the Lord, and it’s fantastic to share moments in the temple with my daughter. It fills my heart with joy!
Today, I see the great blessing that was at first hidden behind an affliction. Being reduced in my mobility, unable to practice my profession, and having to retire early was difficult. But I know that our Lord Jesus Christ carried me. He has helped me to slow down and find the rest, hope, and peace that are now such a large part of my life.
Every time I walk through the doors of the temple, I feel the Holy Spirit. In difficult times with so much pressure from the world upon us, it is wonderful to know that the Lord has given us holy places where everything is orderly and beautiful. I feel immense gratitude for this new chapter of temple service in my life. It is magnificent!

Rachel is already in the Beehive class in Young Women. But her birthday is in January, so she is still in Primary for class time.
She used to feel sad that she didn’t get to go to Sunday School with the girls who were a few months older. One reason she feels better about it now is that her Primary class is studying the Doctrine and Covenants. “It’s really interesting, and that helps keep me from thinking about not being in Sunday School,” Rachel says.
Rachel is also happy that she can still be in Primary class with her friend Marissa. “If I had moved on completely, she would have been left in a class with no other girls,” Rachel says.

On the 22nd of February 2024 Chloe and Mandy Pritchard, twins, were set apart as full-time service missionaries by President Haji, Stake President of the Preston England Stake.
They now join their sister, Sister Jessica Pritchard, who was set apart as a service missionary in December 2023. All three sisters serve in the England Manchester Mission as full-time service missionaries.
After a series of visits to the Preston England Temple, Sister Jessica Pritchard felt very strongly that she should serve a mission. Sister Chloe Pritchard had spent a lot of time helping and serving with the sister missionaries and felt a great desire to serve. When Sister Mandy Pritchard discovered the opportunity to serve a service mission she also desired to apply. Their mother went on to say, “I knew that they wanted to serve a mission, but I never expected them all to serve at the same time.”
The three sisters are from the South Ribble Ward in the Preston England Stake. One of their assignments serving together is at the Blackburn Food Bank, where Service Mission Leaders Elder and Sister Hoar began serving a year ago whilst on a mission. In the last 12 months the Blackburn Foodbank has provided over 192,500 meals to people in Blackburn. 78,777 of these meals were provided for children.
Sister Jessica Pritchard does graphic design and works on the food bank’s social media, whilst the other two sisters are serving with food distribution.
Sister Chloe Pritchard is also helping a local charity, visiting lonely housebound people in the community. Sister Mandy Pritchard is looking at serving with a local charity for the homeless.
Sister Chloe Pritchard says, “Serving with my sisters feels great! It’s a lot of fun serving together, and even funnier is hearing ‘Sister Pritchard,’ when you don’t know which Sister Pritchard they are referring to.”
They also volunteer together at Turbary Woods, Owl and Birds of Prey Sanctuary in Preston.
The two recently called sisters represent the ninth and tenth service missionaries serving from home in the England Manchester Mission.
The three sisters serve in an historic area for the Church in Great Britain, living only a few minutes from the Preston England Temple and attending church in the Preston Chapel.
A brick in the wall of the entrance of the Preston Chapel commemorates the original Vauxhall Chapel, where the first LDS meetings were held on 23rd July 1837, alongside a plaque commemorating the first baptisms on the 30th of July 1837.
Truly these three Pritchard Sisters continue the great history of Preston, England and the continued gathering of Israel through missionary service in Great Britain.