Gospel Story Finder

The last stop Father had to make was in Sweden. It was Midsummer’s Eve when Milo’s family arrived in the capital city of Stockholm. Everyone was in a holiday mood. People in gay costumes had gathered for the early festival.
“Why do they celebrate Midsummer’s Eve?” Milo asked Father.
“The people in Sweden celebrate the return of summer to their land about the middle of June each year,” Father replied.
Groups of young people were talking, laughing, and dancing. Their gay costumes were bright in the sunshine. Several boys invited Milo to join in their celebrating. He looked at Father who nodded and said, “That sounds fun, but don’t stay too long.”
“Meet us back at the inn for dinner,” called Mother.
Near the center of the green where groups were dancing there was a large pole with colored streamers hanging down from the top. The word Majstang (Maypole) was posted on a nearby tree. Soon all the dancers gathered around the pole to sing folk songs. It was a colorful sight and everyone was so happy that Milo could not help joining in with them even though he did not know many of the words.
After awhile everyone broke into small groups again and began winding the pole. In and out, over and under, went the colorful ribbons as the dancers swayed and dipped and danced to the singing.
Milo was sorry when it was over. Then he noticed how low the sun was and remembered he was to meet his parents at the inn for smorgasbord.
The smorgasbord was quite different from any Milo had eaten at home. The tables were piled high with smoked and pickled fish, tongue, sweetmeats, spiced fruits, relishes, cheeses, and various kinds of soda water.
“After dinner we’ll have to watch some of the young people start up the mountain. They climb to the top every year to welcome the sunrise,” Father explained.
Milo wished he could go with them but the family was leaving early the next morning to go home.
It had been an especially happy day for Milo. When his father and mother came in to say good-night to him, Milo tried to tell them about all the understandings he had gathered in the different countries they had visited.
“But now,” he said wistfully, “I guess all that will end when we go back home.”
“Oh no, Milo,” Father assured him. “As long as you have a sense of discovery and a desire to know more about other people, there will always be something to learn.”
Mother agreed. And then she added, “No matter where we live we can collect bits of knowledge and add to our understanding.”
Milo lay in bed thinking about the many things he had learned in the different Scandinavian countries. He would never forget his wonderful friends there.

A small river runs through the field near Cooper House, a farm a little more than four miles outside of Barnard Castle in northeast England. Normally the setting is quite tranquil, and it seemed like the perfect spot for our annual camp.
When we parked the cars, however, we realized that we would have some chores to do before we could enjoy our fun. Due to the location of the site, all the equipment had to be carried down a steep, dusty hill. Most of the 38 young men felt an inclination to slide rather than walk, but somehow everything and everyone arrived intact.
The next challenge was pitching our tents. Those who had brought their own tents were familiar with them and seemed to have no problems. But others, like our stake president, Craig Marshall, had borrowed tents. The owner of the tent had told President Marshall that it was a cinch to put up, but despite lots of head scratching and lightning suggestions from the great brains of the group, he had trouble getting the frame to fit together.
While President Marshall struggled, the rest of us put up the food tent (the most important camp item), collected firewood, constructed a rack for the canoes and paddles, and prepared cocoa and biscuits to eat around the fire in the true tradition of camp. Eventually even President Marshall got his tent erected, with some friendly help from the rest of the group.
The next morning some poor, unfortunate boys had to go to the girls’ camp seven miles away in Middleton Teesdale to collect the canoes. The girls were heading for home that day, and it was our turn for the boats. It may have been hard work shifting the canoes, but the volunteers were glad to accept the girls’ offer of fish and chips before returning to camp.
Back at Cooper House, young men clad in shorts or wet suits formed human chains out into the river, passing rocks and boulders to each other to build dams to create a section of fast-running water for the canoes. After slipping and splashing, most of us ended up soaked. Soon canoes and inner tubes were set to water, and we were all delighting in maneuvering ourselves along in the current.
After tea (that’s what we call our evening meal, even though Mormons don’t drink tea), we organized a game of T-mac (sort of like group hide-and-seek) with one team seeking and one team hiding. The game lasted until it was too dark to recognize anyone anymore, so once again we slipped back to the campfire, then to bed.
During the next few days there were special moments at camp like singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as a group, loud even though it was off-key. And we played a puzzle game which could not be done without all of us sharing our pieces. That taught us charity and selflessness. We also read our scriptures and retraced some of the journeys made by the ancient prophets.
Some of us went on a 30-mile hike that took two days. Some of us just stayed at Cooper House and floated in the stream. One day we made a raft from the inner tubes, but it had a tendency to throw its passengers. Another day we tried to use inner tubes, plastic bags, and ropes to walk across the river on top of the water. Paul Anderson of Billingham Ward walked the farthest. He had inner tubes tied to his hands and knees.
Brian Jones, the camp leader, spent time one day leading a rope course to prepare us for rock climbing and absailing (rappeling). Brian gained his knowledge from several expeditions in the Antarctic. Later on we tried our skills at a nearby quarry.
Thursday was one of those rainy English days when there is nothing you can do but play games or read in your tents. Hot meals and an opportunity to catch up on sleep were the only relief from the downpour. But during the afternoon, the two counselors in the stake presidency, Alex Stewart and Geoff Mawlam, arrived with some of their family members to join us overnight. It was President Stewart who persuaded some of the braver souls to go canoeing in the rain. It didn’t matter to him about the rain, since he capsized every time he went down the rapids anyway.
The first thing we wanted to do Friday was to dry out. The rain had stopped, but some of the sleeping bags and clothes were wet. We hung things out to dry. Then we built an obstacle course. The course consisted of various tasks—pushing the canoe trailer around some tyres (that’s the English spelling for tires); running the rapids on inner tubes; crossing over the river by rope and then wading back; climbing a rope; and monkey climbs (climbing over and through logs fashioned together like a jungle gym). Not surprisingly, most of us finished wet and dirty. Prizes were awarded for the fastest group time and the fastest individual time according to age.
Like any camp, we also had our cleanup time. The tents were dismantled, the dams broken down, the turf replaced where the fire had been. For our last meal, Brother John Dale, our chef de cuisine treated us to fish and chips from Barnard Castle.
We picked up our tents and equipment and climbed the hill for the last time. Looking back, the field seemed bare, except for yellowed patches of grass where the tents had been. All that we have now are the memories.

May I share with you a teaching experience that President Tanner had with one of his daughters and her girlfriend. President Tanner said,

Let me relate a little story that I have told all over the Church. My daughter and her girl friend were at our house, and they were going to a party; then two young men came and called for them. I sat and talked to them about different things, and just before they were ready to leave, I said, “Now have a good time, kids.” But just as they were going out of the door, I stepped over to my daughter and said, “Now, behave yourself.”
And she said, “Well, Dad, make up your mind.”
Then I said to those young people so they could all hear me, “Have a good time, kids, the best time you will ever have in your lives, but the kind of time that tomorrow, next week, a month from now or a year from now, ten years from now, you can look back on tonight and say, ‘I had a good time’ and have nothing to regret or to be sorry about.” And I think they went out and had a good time. [N. Eldon Tanner, Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God, p. 3]

Zenadine Blake, a 15-year-old from Saint Catherine, Jamaica, is the youngest of seven siblings. He learned valuable life lessons early on. One significant lesson is the importance of forgiveness.
His story begins when he was in preparatory school and faced bullying from a fellow student. The bullying was hurtful, and it left a lasting impact on him. However, things started to change when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. With school closures and the shift to online learning, Zenadine lost contact with the student who was bullying him. When the school began online classes, there was time allowed on Fridays for students to socialize with one another via the internet.
Zenadine noticed a difference in his nemesis. He had changed. He stopped the cruel behavior, and the two began to develop a friendship. Eventually, the student even apologized to Zenadine for the harm he had caused. Zenadine, despite the pain he had endured, chose to forgive him.
Life was not easy during the time of bullying. At one point, he found himself retreating to the internet to escape his feelings. But as time passed, he realized that this distraction wasn’t helping him heal. Instead of avoiding the problem, he chose to confront it by embracing forgiveness and positivity. Zenadine said, “If you’re scared to do everything, then you would just be living your life in fear.”
“Forgiveness takes time,” he shared. “It’s a process. I was sad at times, but I realized that nothing would change unless I changed. I started surrounding myself with positivity.”
Zenadine’s approach to dealing with negative emotions was rooted in his faith and strong sense of self. He studied the teachings from the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth, which helped him understand that forgiving others is not only for their benefit but also for his own well-being. “Once you fill your life with positivity, you stop thinking about negativity,” he said. “It doesn’t consume you anymore.”
When asked what helped him stay positive, Zenadine mentioned reading scriptures, praying, and spending time with supportive friends and family. These practices gave him the strength to face his challenges and remain humble.
Zenadine found inspiration in the scriptures, particularly in 1 Nephi 7, from the Book of Mormon. He recalled the moment when Nephi’s brothers, Laman and Lemuel, had tied him up and left him to die in the wilderness. Despite their cruelty, Nephi forgave them when they later apologized, showing that forgiveness is not about forgetting the hurt but about letting go of the anger and pain that comes with it.
“For me, this story teaches that forgiveness is powerful,” he explained. Even though Nephi’s brothers were wrong, he forgave them, which also helped Zenadine forgive. It reminded him that we all make mistakes, and it’s important to forgive, just as Nephi did.
“Never give up on people, even if they hurt you,” he said. “They can change.”
Through forgiveness, Zenadine not only healed his own heart but also built a stronger relationship with someone who had once caused him pain. His story is a reminder that kindness and understanding can lead to change, even in the most challenging circumstances.

While attending church as a missionary in the Hilongos Leyte Branch in the Philippines, I was surprised to discover that the speaker that day was a recently returned missionary. My companion and I were surprised because at that time we didn’t know of any family that had a missionary out. After the service, we quickly made arrangements to visit her later that day. When we arrived at her house, her family made a big show of marching out of the house and refused to talk to us. After they left, I looked at the returned missionary, who hours earlier had delivered a powerful testimony of Christ and who also suffered from a deformed leg that forced her to live on crutches and simply asked, “How do you handle all of this?” She smiled and opened her well-worn copy of the Book of Mormon to Jacob 6:5 and read, “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, I beseech of you in words of soberness that ye would repent, and come with full purpose of heart, and cleave unto God as he cleaveth unto you. And while his arm of mercy is extended towards you in the light of the day, harden not your hearts.” In this context, “cleave” means to “stick to” or “hold fast.” She explained that knowing God was cleaving unto her gave her strength to make it through her challenges. Her example and love of God has stayed with me ever since.

June pushed as Grandpa pulled the old red wagon up and down the long rows of vegetables. Grandpa stopped to inspect a knee-high, leafy green plant. “June, here are some nice big green peppers. Do you think that they are ready to pick?”
June stooped down to look, just as Grandpa had. “Yup.” She carefully picked one and held it up to Grandpa for final approval.
“Yup,” said Grandpa with a serious look. “Just right.”
June smiled and picked two more. She carefully placed them next to the corn in the wagon. The wagon was almost full, but there were still cucumbers, green beans, and squash to pick. June beamed as she looked at the beautiful fresh vegetables in the wagon. There were big red tomatoes, ears of yellow corn, orange carrots, leafy green lettuce, red radishes, and now big green peppers.
Grandpa and June had planted the big garden in the spring. First they got the soil ready. Next, June helped Grandpa plant seeds in little holes. Then they carefully covered them with dirt. After the seeds were covered, she helped Grandpa sprinkle the rich, dark soil with water. Up and down the long rows they had gone, digging, planting, and watering.
They had also planted small bedding plants. “If we plant these instead of seeds, we’ll get vegetables sooner,” Grandpa had explained. “I just can’t wait to pop a big ripe tomato into my mouth!” Grandpa loved tomatoes!
Together June and Grandpa watered their garden almost every day. Grandpa put on his big black irrigating boots, and June tugged on her little blue rubber puddle hoppers. It was fun walking up and down the long rows, getting their boots muddy while they made sure each plant got enough to drink.
Grandpa and June spent a lot of time weeding the long rows of vegetables too. “Weeds drink up all the water,” Grandpa explained. “Now, what is this I see?” he would ask. June would squat down next to Grandpa to have a look. “Does it look like the plants around it?” Grandpa would ask.
June would compare the green plant to those near it. “Nope.”
“Weed or vegetable?” Grandpa would ask next.
“Weed,” June would state firmly, and she would pull it out with a hard jerk.
“Yup,” Grandpa would say with a big smile, “you sure are a good gardener.”
As June looked up at Grandpa now, she said, “Wow, Grandpa, we sure have lots of vegetables!”
“Yup—with lots more to come!” He unloaded the last acorn squash from the wagon onto the back porch. He sat down and wiped his forehead with his big red handkerchief. June sat down next to Grandpa and wiped her forehead with her little red handkerchief.
“Well, June, do you think we can eat all those vegetables ourselves?”
“Nope,” said June. “We couldn’t eat that many in a hundred years.”
“You’re right,” replied Grandpa with a chuckle. “Well then, what do you think we should do with them all? I would hate to waste any of our hard work.”
June thought a moment. She was proud of the vegetables, and she didn’t want to waste any, either. “I know—let’s share them!”
“Now, that’s what I call a good idea. But who do you think would want some?”
June didn’t have to think very hard before she said, “Sister Rencher doesn’t have a garden since she can’t bend down to pull the weeds anymore. I bet she would like some.”
“Yup,” said Grandpa thoughtfully.
June’s mind was working fast. “Sister Rice works all day. She doesn’t have time for a garden.”
“Good thinking, June. The Sorensons next door don’t have room in their yard for a garden. I bet they would like some.”
“Can we give some vegetables to my Primary teacher, Sister Johnson?” asked June. “I know she would like them.”
“Yup,” said Grandpa. “Now how many people is that?”
June counted on her fingers: “Sister Rencher is one, Sister Rice is two, the Sorensons are three, and Sister Johnson makes four.”
Grandpa scratched his gray head and asked, “How can we get all these vegetables to all those people?”
June rested her head on her hand and thought for a moment. “I know! I know!” She jumped up and went into the house. Soon she was back, carrying four big brown grocery sacks. “We can put vegetables in each sack for each person!”
“That’s a great idea,” said Grandpa.
Together June and Grandpa thoughtfully chose vegetables for each person and carefully put them into the sacks. “How can we get the sacks of vegetables to the people?” asked Grandpa.
“Can we take them in our wagon?”
“Yup, I think that will work,” Grandpa said. “You always have such good ideas. Now whom should we visit first?”
June thought about this for a minute or two. “The Sorensons—they’re the closest.”
Later, June was holding Grandpa’s big hand as they pulled the empty wagon home. They had delivered all their vegetables. June’s small hand felt warm and secure inside Grandpa’s big one. She felt good inside. “Grandpa, it’s sure fun to plant a garden. It’s even more fun to weed and water it. But do you know what’s the most fun of all?”
“What?”
“Sharing the vegetables!”
“Yup,” said Grandpa with a big smile.

The Sunday before Christmas I woke up to the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. That’s how Mom gets us up on Sundays. From then on, the day went downhill. To begin with, my hairbrush was missing. I suspected my three-year-old brother, Jeffy, had taken it, and sure enough, I found it in his toy box. “Mom,” I complained, “I’m getting sick and tired of this little shrimp getting into my things!”
Mom was busy giving the baby a bath, and she acted as if she hadn’t even heard me. “Amy,” she said, “we’re going to need to change our plans for tonight’s family Christmas program. Daddy just called from church, and that new family, the Hansens, are still living in a motel. He’d like to invite them for dinner and to spend the evening with us. There’s nothing less like the Sabbath than the Silver Moon Motel.”
“But Mom, you can’t do that!” I wailed. “You know I’ve planned this for two months, and it’s just for our family. All the parts are taken.
“Besides,” I went on, getting louder and louder, “they have a bunch of little shrimps who’d probably tear the whole house apart.” Then I started to cry.
Mother wrapped the baby in a towel and turned to face me. “Amy, I had no idea that it meant this much to you. Please don’t be so upset. I’ll just tell Dad when we get to church, and he can tell the Hansens that it won’t work out.”
All during sacrament meeting I watched the three Hansen kids—two-, three-, and four-year-old boys—climbing all over the benches and squirming across their parents’ laps. Brother and Sister Hansen looked pretty tired by the time they’d taken each boy out about five times. It’s just as well, I thought to myself, I can’t even imagine what four little boys would do to my bedroom!
I felt relieved all the way to Primary. On the way down the hall, I noticed that it had started snowing outside. It was going to be a perfect family night.
When I got to class, Sister Martin, my Merrie Miss teacher, wanted to know what we thought it might have been like to be strangers in a strange town, like Mary and Joseph were when they went to Bethlehem. All of us had an answer to that question. Even Mandi Perkins, who hardly ever says anything, said, “I bet they felt lonely.”
Then Sister Martin asked us why we thought the innkeeper hadn’t let this poor, lonely couple stay at his house. We really had to think about that for a while. The innkeeper had always been one of the side characters in the Christmas story. But I’d never thought about him having feelings.
“Well,” I suggested, “he probably felt busy with all his other company.”
Jenny Peterson thought the innkeeper might have been thinking that this couple, who were soon going to have a baby, would be too much trouble. That’s when I started to feel a little uncomfortable.
“He probably had things planned the way he wanted them, and here came some people to mess up his plans,” my best friend, Rachel, added. Suddenly this wasn’t a Christmas story that happened two thousand years ago. This was something that was happening today.
Mandi Perkins added the final blow—“The innkeeper missed the whole thing, didn’t he? The two most important guests in the world came to his place, and he wouldn’t let them in.”
“Do you suppose, girls,” said Sister Martin, “that we ever act like the innkeeper? That maybe we become a little selfish and miss helping someone? Look with me in your Bibles at Matthew 25:40 [Matt. 25:40]: ‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
By that time my eyes were so filled with tears that the words seemed to be swimming across the page. Here were the Hansens without a place to live, and I was acting like the innkeeper, not wanting them to bother me. I knew how I would act if the Hansens were Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus, and I knew that Heavenly Father would want me to treat them the same way.
Luckily Sister Martin didn’t ask me to give the prayer, because I was having a hard time swallowing. Afterward I hurried out of the room as quickly as I could and headed down the hall to where I saw my parents. I heard my dad saying to the Hansens, “We’re awfully sorry, but our daughter—”
I didn’t even think. I rushed up and blurted out, “There’s room at the inn!” and then I blushed deep red.
Dad saw my red eyes and must have guessed what had happened, because he just continued: “As I was saying,”—he put his arm around me—“our daughter has planned a very special Christmas program for tonight, and I think she wants to warn you that you’ll be having a part in it!”

When I read the phrase from this poem “I hid my face and cried,” the hallowed halls of memory prompt me to share a tender, personal account with you.
Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I received notification that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary Watson a blessing, shook her hand, and said, “Good-bye,” but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone a prompting.
I approached the bedside of the other patient, gently tapped her shoulder, and carefully pulled back the sheet which had covered her face. Lo and behold! She too was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient in the hospital. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you would know I was here, but when you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed silently for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to intrude on your privacy.”
A blessing was given; a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It would be the last time I was to see Kathleen McKee in mortality—but not the last time I heard from her.
Upon her death, the hospital called with this message: “Bishop Monson, Kathleen McKee died tonight. She made arrangements that we were to notify you, should she pass away. She left for you a key to her basement apartment.”
Kathleen McKee had no immediate family. With my sweet wife accompanying me, I visited her humble apartment. I turned the key in the door, opened it, and switched on the light. There in her immaculate two-room apartment, I saw a small table with a note resting beneath an Alka-Seltzer bottle. The note, written in her own hand, said: “Bishop, my tithing is in this envelope, and the Alka-Seltzer bottle contains coins covering my fast offering. I am square with the Lord.” The receipts were written.
The sweetness of the night has not been forgotten. Tears of gratitude to God filled my very soul.

And they have some extra special memories of the crippled children from Mexico who spend some time in their home every spring.
The children, who speak no English, are flown up to the UCLA Medical Center for special treatment not available in their own country. While in Los Angeles they are cared for in the homes of local residents. Sister Phelps explained: “When Sheila was 4 1/2 months old, she contracted polio but was able to make an almost total recovery. We feel that helping these Mexican children is the least we can do in gratitude for the normal life Sheila has had. We wouldn’t turn down this opportunity if we were living in a tent.”

Accordingly, we can’t simply steer around difficult questions here. We have to wrestle right through them, and we must do it together. My marching orders came years ago in BYU’s new faculty orientation. When asked about dealing with difficult questions as a featured visitor in that setting, the late Elder Richard G. Scott warned us that avoiding them might actually harm faith down the road because we would have missed an opportunity to engage them here, together, within the household of faith. I have never forgotten that apostolic warning.

In my many years of teaching, I have seen students and faculty meet that challenge in memorable ways. Last year, when a colleague and I team-taught a course on Latter-day Saint political engagement, we joked the first day that we would rather casually combine the two topics one should never discuss in polite company! Our students marveled throughout the course that we refused to maneuver around tough questions. Each class period featured some fresh, daunting challenge, from violence to race to immigration to gender and sexual orientation. And we marveled back as our students navigated these issues with rigor and faith and, especially, that they chose to do it together, as difficult as it was for Saints from such varied backgrounds and perspectives. I wept as I read their course evaluations. To a person, they left the course more committed to the things that matter most, not less.

After years of working and serving, the Lord prompted me to do two major things: (1) to write reading materials to help my autistic sons learn to read (public schools did not accept them due to their challenges), and (2) to open a private school to help autistic children.
The idea was overwhelming, but I knew it needed to happen. I applied everything I learned in school to the Lord’s direction. It was a lot of work, but hard work was no stranger to us. Foundation Readers, books for individuals with autism, was created. It was an enormous success and has helped many individuals with reading disabilities.
What started as a project for my sons became a tool to help others with their learning challenges. It first began with my neighbors, and then the word spread. Other parents began asking me to help their children full-time instead of teaching in the public school system. I quit my job, and, as a family, we opened a school. Through this experience, our family has grown in compassion and stronger in faith. We feel more peace and embrace challenges with the scriptures rather than panic.
Of course, our sons are direct recipients of our service along with their peers. There are so many nonverbal children who are now growing in a learning environment of love and kindness.

Sarah gulped down the last bite of toast and took a last swallow of milk before she grabbed her books and ran out the door. If the kitchen clock was right, she’d be late for school again, and her good citizenship grade would fly right out the window.

Until recently Mom had always awakened her by shouting, “Sarah, if you don’t get up this minute, you’ll be late for school!” But since Mom had had to start working and had to leave for the office so early, Sarah had only herself to rely on. If she were to grade her own efforts at good citizenship so far, she’d give herself an F.

That’s what Mrs. Buskirk said she was going to give her, too, if she was late one more time. The teacher had already sent a citizenship report home, and Dad had lectured Sarah about her deportment. “Your mother has accepted the additional responsibility of a job,” Dad had told her firmly, “and there’s no excuse for you not to accept the responsibility of getting yourself to school on time.”

Sarah shoved her bike out of the garage and pedaled down the driveway, adjusting her book bag on her shoulders as she went. She tore down Highland Avenue and turned onto Main Street.

As she rode along, she wondered why the biggest grade school and the only junior high school in town were built next to one another right on the city’s busiest street. Even though there was a sidewalk and a wide shoulder on the road, riding a bike in the morning traffic wasn’t easy.

Sarah passed the bank and glanced at the big clock inside. Only seven minutes until the tardy bell rings, she thought. The lights will have to be with me the restof the way if I’m going to make it. If they weren’t, she’d better forget about being captain of the volleyball team for the year, because no one with citizenship grades below a C was eligible. And she knew what would happen at home—no movies and no television.

Volleyball was Sarah’s whole life. Her grades were sort of ho-hum, but she could play volleyball quite well. When she practiced her spikes on the court and knew that the other kids were watching, she wanted to throw her arms around the world and hug it. Oh, if she lost that feeling, she’d just die!

Pedalling harder, Sarah welcomed the cool morning air that stung her cheeks as she approached Washington Avenue. Nearing the intersection, she saw that the cars were backed up, waiting for the light to change. Come on lights. Be on my side, she agonized.

The lights changed, yet nothing happened. The cars weren’t moving. Oh, no! Now what? she wondered. What she didn’t need was an accident on this corner so that the cars would be backed up in every direction.

Sarah pulled to a stop as far into the intersection as she dared. Then she saw the problem: A little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, had wheeled her bike into the center of the crossing. When the lights had changed, she had stopped, probably wondering if she should continue or go back. Now several drivers honked, anxious for her to move out of the way. Sarah watched as the little girl looked uncertainly from the cars on Main Street to the cars on Washington Avenue. Then her lunch box slid from her grasp and fell to the pavement. The lid opened and an orange rolled over to the curb.

Sarah fidgeted. While all the drivers were busy watching the little girl, maybe she could try to make it across the street against the red light.

Cautiously she looked around for a policeman but found only the faces of angry motorists. They were frowning and tapping their steering wheels; some shouted out their windows.

If they’re so anxious to get going, Sarah wondered, why doesn’t somebody do something? Why doesn’t someone act responsible and help the kid across the street?

As Sarah watched, the little girl tried to reach her lunch box while still holding her bicycle upright. But her arms just weren’t long enough.

Why doesn’t somebody do something? Sarah thought again. Then she realized that she was somebody!

Sarah lifted her bike up onto the parkway grass and laid it down. After shrugging off her book bag, she hurried over to the little girl. As Sarah neared her, she could see tears rolling down the child’s cheeks.

Good-bye volleyball, Sarah thought as she picked up the books and lunch box and guided the little girl across the street. Who wants to be captain, anyway? There are other things in life. Maybe next year …

After Sarah put the little girl’s bike up on the sidewalk, she bent over to look at her. The younger child’s face was blotchy and covered with leftover tears. Sarah handed her a tissue. “I’ll get my bike, and we’ll ride the rest of the way together, OK?”

Inside, Sarah felt the same warm rush of emotions that she did when she served or spiked for the volleyball team.

The faith of children has always helped me to realize how close our Heavenly Father really is to us. Children’s prayers have also taught me that our Heavenly Father doesn’t expect each prayer to be long or for us to use big words. My granddaughter Lisa doesn’t pray very long, and she doesn’t use big words. But I know that her prayers are heard and answered because she loves her Heavenly Father and He loves her.
When I was six years old, my mother took me to the groundbreaking service for our new chapel in Santa Monica, California. As we arrived, Mother noticed that I had brought the small sand shovel that I usually took on our family outings to the beach. I had hoped that I could help by digging some ground at the chapel site. They let me use my shovel that first day, and my faith was increased because I helped to build a church for our Heavenly Father. My, how good I felt! The seeds of service and faith were planted in my heart. It is my wish to keep that same feeling of faith and desire to serve that I had as a six-year-old child.
Years later when my childhood dreams of a mission were realized, I was called far away to New Zealand. There I first met the Maori people who have brought so much into my life by their simplicity, sincerity, and great faith.
One of my first assignments was to a Maori village called Judea, where the missionaries were helping in the construction of a small chapel. At that time I was trying to learn the Maori language. Each day I prayed to our Heavenly Father for help. And then one day I was surprised to be surrounded by Primary children. My prayer for help with the new language had been heard, and our Heavenly Father had inspired the branch president to send these children to help me. They followed me everywhere I went for weeks, talking to me in Maori. Their first lesson I shall remember forever:
Hei tito tito te ngeru me te whiro
Te kau peke runga te marama
Ka kata te kuri ki tana mahi pai
Ka oma te rihi me to punu.
The words sounded beautiful, but they were meaningless to a new missionary. I thought I was learning an old Maori war chant. What a surprise to me when I found out the children were teaching me “Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. …”
How grateful I shall always be to those children of New Zealand for the wonderful blessing they brought to their new missionary.
In another part of New Zealand the missionaries always stopped for the night at a certain Maori home where they could be sure of a place to sleep, and they knew the Spirit of the Lord was always there. There were eleven children in this family, and each took his turn to say family prayer. They always sincerely prayed that they might one day be able to go to the temple to be sealed together by the power of the priesthood for time and all eternity. This family was so poor that it seemed impossible for them to save enough to buy tickets for Mother, Dad, and eleven children to travel all the way to the Hawaii Temple five thousand miles away. But their faith was great and the prayers of the entire family persisted. How could such a blessing ever come to pass?
Every New Zealand missionary was humbled beyond words when the announcement was made just a few years later by President David O. McKay that a new temple would be built in New Zealand—within fifty miles of the little Maori family who possibly could never have saved enough money to travel to Hawaii. God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. People with sufficient faith will never be denied the blessings of heaven.
Our family will not forget our little friend Becky, who invited us to hold our family home evening in her home. Even though her daddy was not a member of the Church, she wanted him to participate in a family home evening. Most of all, she wanted him to become a member of the Church.
Becky’s daddy said he would be glad to have us go to their home for family home evening. We had a beautiful time together. The spiritual lesson was followed by refreshments, some games, and family prayer. As we were saying goodnight, Becky looked up at me and asked, “Bishop Simpson, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” I answered, “anything you say.”
“Will you please baptize my daddy for me?”
That request, filled with the hope and faith of a child, sank deeply into the heart of her daddy, and it was just a few weeks later that his baptism was performed.
No wonder Jesus said, “Except ye … become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).

“We explained at a fireside what we planned to do at the conference,” Jacie said. “We told them we were going to work and work hard, but we explained how they could help and how much good it would do for the farm.”

Evidently the appeal was convincing. “This is the biggest turnout we’ve ever had for a youth conference,” Jacie said. And Gary, who served on the steering committee with her, noted that more than 500 attended an activity originally planned for 300. “At first we were afraid people would be turned off by the idea of working, but it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever.”

A few years ago, one of my student leaders in the sports program at BYU-Idaho interviewed me for a paper he was writing for one of his classes. He had a few questions that related to sports and the gospel. “What was your biggest failure or disappointment playing sports?” I told him that I didn’t like the word “failure,” but an experience that shaped my life was when I was 14 years old and a freshman in high school.

My high school was the defending back-to-back baseball state champions. We were ranked #1 in the state and ranked in the top 10 in the nation. In a state elimination game, we were down one run late in the game. With two outs, I was on first base and was the potential tying run. My coach gave me the steal sign. As the pitcher came to his wind up, I took off toward second base. The batter hit the pitched ball—a line drive that flew right by my head into right field for a base hit. I rounded second base and went to third base as fast as I could.

As I got close to third, I could hear, “Home, home!” That’s where I needed to go was “home”. I rounded third base and headed to home plate. To my horror, as I looked over my left shoulder, I saw the first basemen catching the relay throw from the right fielder. I knew I wasn’t going to make it home, so I tried to stop and get back to third base. In my haste, I slipped and fell. I got up as quick as I could and dove back to third base. A sense of relief came over me for a split second. Then, “You’re out!” echoed across the baseball field. I had made a crucial, baserunning mistake in a game in which we lost by one run. I felt like I cost my team, the seniors, my coaches, and the school a state championship.

“That must have been pretty rough,” he said. He then asked me “What was your greatest success?” It was the same game. “I don’t understand,” he said to me. “I thought you would say when you won a state championship or talk about a game-winning touchdown, basket, or hit.” Those are all good memories but let me explain what happened to me after that game.

I was lost, devastated, depressed, and wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep playing baseball or sports all together. At the time, it was one of the worst feelings I had ever experienced up until that point in my life. The best way to describe it was I felt a dark, heavy, crushing feeling all over my body and it was hard to breath. No matter what I did or thought, I couldn’t get it to go away.

A few days later at seminary, we had a lesson on the Atonement. Up until that point in my life, the Savior’s Atonement only meant that I could repent of my sins. I didn’t understand the enabling power of the Savior’s Atonement.

That night with new knowledge—and a little faith—I studied the Atonement in the scriptures. I then knelt and prayed like I had never prayed before. I pleaded with the Lord for help, strength, and the will to keep going. I pleaded for the Savior’s atoning sacrifice to lift me.

After many hours of prayer and scripture study, something miraculous happened to me. I didn’t see God the Father, Jesus Christ, or have angels visit me, but I did have a thought come into my head: “Get up, get up. I will carry your burdens, for my atoning sacrifice is for everyone that will believe in me.” That thought came into my mind and pierced my very soul. I immediately got up off my knees and I felt the burden—that dark, heavy feeling—being lifted off me. Make no mistake, I still felt pain, I still was extremely disappointed. But for the first time since that game, I felt like I could breathe and I knew I was going to be okay.

In sports, life, and the gospel, I have experienced many disappointments—“failures”—and successes since that day. Some of the successes have been exhilarating and some of the disappointments—“failures”—have been a lot more devastating than that game. That experience though has helped me get through all of them. That is when I gained a true testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

As the sun rose the following morning, so did Bien’s hopes. Rescue workers pried him from the rubble and carried him to safety. His relieved family was notified. Bien was rushed to a hospital. Doctors immediately amputated his right arm. “I woke up, looked at my right side and cried out, ‘What’s happening here?’ I thought I was dreaming.” Shock turned to sorrow. “I felt so lonely because I might not be able to do what I used to do.”
After three bedridden months, Bien went home. Nearly all of his 50 classmates had perished. It seemed the same thing happened to Bien’s will to live. How could he, a right-handed person, manage with just his left hand?
While tutoring his nephews one day, Bien felt prompted to practice writing the alphabet. At first it was pure frustration. “My mind knew the shapes, but my hand had difficulty following.” However, practice makes perfect; less than a year after that fateful day, Bien was not only writing with ease but also back to his oil-painting hobby. And he resumed college.

Illustration by Greg Newbold
A couple of months ago, I was talking to a friend about some struggles in my life. She was kind and listened to me, but after I told her everything, she asked me three questions: “Are you reading your scriptures daily?” I said no. “Are you praying daily?” I said no. She told me this was part of my problem and challenged me to read the Book of Mormon with an open heart and to pray about my questions before I read. I accepted her invitation to read and pray every day. Then she asked her third question.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I finally said, “I see a naïve, lost boy.” That’s what I thought I saw, but she said I was wrong.
Every day for the next few weeks, I thought about that question. It bothered me that she said I was wrong. About what? I realized that I could figure it out if I had regular scripture study with meaningful prayer. It took me a while to establish a schedule where I was reading and praying on most days of the week, but I did.
A few weeks later, some thoughts came to me while I was mowing the lawn. They taught me about the real person I see in the mirror:
I see a young man who decided to come to this earth to face the fiercest evils and the darkest nights. I see a son of God, a child of Heavenly Father. I see a disciple of Jesus Christ, who will always help His followers. I see a young man with family and friends who will stand beside him.
I may feel lost and confused sometimes, but I don’t have to live life alone. Satan may try his hardest to succeed, but in the end he will fail. And in the end, I can see myself walking up to Heavenly Father and hearing Him say, “You have served me well, my son. Welcome home.”
When I had these thoughts, I immediately pulled out my phone and recorded what I’d felt, because I thought I’d forget by the time I found a pencil and paper. For the rest of the day, I couldn’t help but smile.
I told my friend what I had found out, and she was happy I had found the answer. I now understand my relationship with Heavenly Father and know that I never have to be alone.

I have a friend who took a long time to get into her professional career. She went to college to get an education but married at the end of her first quarter and was expecting a baby by the end of the second quarter, so she dropped out of school to raise a family. At the time her fifth and last child was one year old, she started taking one class a semester. When her youngest child entered kindergarten, she found she could take a heavier load, and in a period of eight years she finished her bachelor’s degree. She then went on to complete a master’s degree, but even with a master’s degree it took her several years to get into her career. First she worked as a graduate assistant, and then she started teaching part-time. Eventually she was hired to teach full-time. She has had many letters from students who say, “This is the best course I’ve ever had.” My friend has discovered that her genius includes being a loving wife and mother and an excellent teacher.

Katie* was going roller-skating for her birthday party and was thinking about whom to invite. She wanted Jenny and Vicki to come—they were in her Primary class. She would invite Teresa, too, of course. She was Katie’s best friend.
As Katie waited for her Primary teacher to start the class, she noticed Alice walk in. Alice didn’t come to Primary very often. Her clothes looked worn, and her hair wasn’t combed. Katie thought that Alice’s words sounded funny when she talked and that Alice smelled strange. Alice hardly ever said anything at all. She mostly just sat there with her head down. Katie thought that Alice had probably never been invited to a birthday party.
Katie had been to Alice’s house once, when Mom was delivering something to Alice’s mother for Relief Society. Alice’s family was very large, and Katie wondered where they all slept, because they lived in a small trailer. When Mom had knocked on the door and one of the older children answered, Katie could see how dirty it was inside. Mom explained what she had and asked that it be given to Alice’s mother. The boy didn’t say anything. He just took it and shut the door. Katie was glad for her own clean home, even if she did have to share a room with her older sister, Tara.
Looking at Alice now, Katie remembered that visit, and she felt bad for the sad-faced girl sitting alone. She thought about Jesus and how He treated those who were poor, or sick, or didn’t fit in.
The next day when Mom asked if she was ready to work on birthday invitations, Katie announced that she would like to invite Alice.
Katie wondered what her friends might think and what Alice might wear. Most of all, Katie worried that Alice wouldn’t come. Katie talked to Mom and to Tara about her concerns, and they worked out a plan.
When it came time to deliver Alice’s invitation, Katie had butterflies in her stomach. Tara went to the door with her. A circle of little faces appeared, but no one spoke. “Is Alice here, please?” Katie asked.
One child left, and a few moments later, Alice was at the door. “Here.” Katie thrust the white envelope toward her. “This is for you. It’s an invitation to my birthday party.”
Alice didn’t say anything, but she looked surprised.
“It’s next Wednesday,” Katie said. “My mom and I will pick you up at eleven.” Katie and her sister said good-bye and got back in the car with big smiles on their faces.
On the way to Alice’s house Wednesday morning, Katie said a silent prayer that Alice would come. When she and Mom arrived, Alice’s whole family was outside. Katie felt awkward with all those children staring at her. She was relieved when Alice came toward her and silently followed Katie into the back seat.
At Katie’s house, Alice was welcomed by Tara.
“We have a while before the other girls arrive,” Katie told her. “Let’s go to Tara’s and my room.”
In the bedroom, Alice looked around, amazed. “Wow! Your room is really pretty!”
Tara opened the closet. “I think we are the same size,” she said to Alice. “I can lend you some pants and a shirt, if you’d like. Then you won’t have to roller-skate in a dress.” She pulled out a pair of blue pants and a matching top. “I think these will fit.”
“You can get dressed in there.” Katie pointed to the bathroom.
Alice looked into the bathroom and seemed ready to cry. “What’s wrong?” Tara asked.
Alice whispered, “Can I wash my hair, please?”
“Of course!” Katie told her kindly. “Would you like us to help you wash it in the sink?”
Tara and Katie helped Alice wash her hair. They helped her comb and style her hair, then left her alone to bathe and dress.
When Alice came out, there was a smile on her face. It was the first time Katie had ever seen her smile.
“Let’s eat,” the sisters said as they led Alice to the kitchen.
Alice didn’t say much during lunch, but she seemed to enjoy the food, and she ate everything on her plate.
After lunch, Tara took Alice aside and showed her the present she had gotten for Katie. “I have some paper we can wrap it in, and a marker to sign our names.”
“Oh!” Alice was excited. “I would love to give Katie a present.”
She and Tara wrapped the present and printed their names neatly on the outside.
Then the other party guests started to arrive. Katie had told her friends that Alice was going to be there. Each greeted Alice kindly, and soon she was talking with everyone. They opened presents and ate birthday cake. On the way to the roller rink, Katie didn’t get to sit by Alice—one of the other girls wanted to.
Katie and Teresa took Alice’s hands and helped her skate around the circular room. Alice giggled with delight. Katie had never heard Alice laugh before. Soon everyone was taking turns being Alice’s partner.
One of the girls came up to Katie and said, “I wish I had invited Alice to my birthday party.”
“There is always next year,” Katie said.
When the party was over, Mom took Alice home. Before getting out of the car, she grabbed Katie’s hand, squeezed hard, and said, “Thank you.”
As Katie rode home, she thought about her birthday presents. She liked them all, but her favorite one was the smile, laugh, and “Thank you” from Alice.

Your magazine is a real miracle in my home. Every time I bring a new Liahona (Russian) home, it disappears! The next day my father, who is not a member of the Church, says he has taken it to work and has read everything in it and liked it very much. Or my mother, also not a member, says she could not stop reading it all morning. She was particularly interested in the article “Japan: Growing Light in the East” in the March 2001 issue. I thank you for this miracle. It gives me strength to continue working with my family.
Mariya Konovalova, Kurgan Tsentralny Branch, Russia Yekaterinburg Mission