Gospel Story Finder

One morning a tailor, a baker, and a shoemaker set out for the town fair, each thinking only of himself and what he will buy with his profits. When their donkey sits down in the middle of the road and refuses to carry them any farther, the three men are forced to work together. By so doing, they learn about themselves as well as about donkeys. You will find both humor and beauty in the illustrations of this simply-told fable.

My name is Mandy. I’m three years old. I have a blanket that I love. I call it my “Animal Blanky” because it has animals all over it. I cuddle with it in my daddy’s lap while he rocks me in the rocking chair. Sometimes we both fall asleep. My blanky is soft and warm, and it makes me feel happy.
I like to have my blanky near me all the time. Sometimes I bring it to the dinner table. Mommy asks me to put it away until we finish eating.
When I go to bed at night, I cuddle with my blanky while Mommy tells me a story from the Book of Mormon. Once I left my blanky at my cousin’s house, and I was sad when I went to bed.
It’s hard for me to share my blanky. I have a little sister who’s two. Her name is Rachel. One night she got out of bed to go snuggle with Mommy. It was dark in the hallway, and she tripped over a stool. It made a loud bang, and she started to cry.
It woke me up. Mommy woke up too. She ran into the hallway and picked Rachel up. Rachel was crying and crying. Mommy took her into the living room and rocked her in the chair. She just kept crying, even when Mommy sang her a song.
I knew how to help her feel better. I climbed out of bed and took my blanky with me. I put it on Rachel and said, “You can use my blanky.” Then I sat down on the couch.
After a while Rachel stopped crying, and Mommy sang some quiet Primary songs. Then she put us both back into bed and spread my blanky over me.
Mommy told me that she was pleased with me and that Heavenly Father was too. She said she knew that it was hard for me to share my blanket, and that I had given Rachel a gift of love. That made me feel warm and happy too.
[illustrations] Illustrated by Susan Curtis

At some time in life almost everyone yearns to travel to a faraway country and meet people of another culture, another language, and another way of life.
For the following Latter-day Saint youths this dream became a reality when they spent several months studying in Europe. Here is a report on what this experience meant to them:
Lee Vanhille, 23, from Palo Alto, California: “The impression I had of Spain before I left home was the standard one—flamenco dancers and castanets—but that is a very small part of Spain. There are wide, open flatlands, mountains, beaches, castles, cathedrals—everything, including bagpipes in the north.
“I enjoyed the young people in Spain better than those anywhere else we traveled. I found them very open and willing to talk. They were nice, clean-cut kids.
“I really enjoyed the experience of studying Spanish literature and then seeing what I was reading about. It’s like seeing poetry come to life.”
Jana Christensen, 19, from Alpine, Utah: “I was in southern Spain and it was very hot, but the beaches were beautiful. And, oh, the Mediterranean! Spain is such a beautiful country!
“The people were the most loving I’ve ever met in my whole life. For instance, I was waiting for the bus one night, in a pouring rain, and I didn’t have a coat on. It was miserable! An older lady was standing at the bus stop, and we began conversing in Spanish. When the bus came, we talked all the way to my stop. To get up and leave her was the hardest thing to do. It was just as if I had known her forever. I said, ‘Adiós. Buena suerta.’ (Goodbye. Good luck.) She reached up, hugged me, and kissed me on both cheeks. After I got off the bus and glanced back, she was still waving good-bye.
“One thing that amazed me about Spanish girls was that whenever they’d be in the mood to do something exciting, they’d go upstairs in the dorms and turn on the record player full blast—that great Spanish music—and they’d get up and dance. They would give it everything they had, really dancing up a storm. They’d do flamenco; they’d clap; they’d sing. Pretty soon I’d go join them, and then we’d all be singing. It was so much fun. I left a lot of copies of the Libro de Mormon around for them when I left.
“The Saints there are great! It was really strengthening to hear the Spanish people bear their testimonies at their branch.
“For me this was a trip of firsts. It was my first time on an airplane, first time on a train, first time in a taxi, first time out of the country, first time in a subway—everything was a first. I appreciated learning more about other people. I am a lot more accepting and tolerant of others than I was. I feel more love for others.”
Tamera Nielsen, 20, from Salt Lake City: “Austria is one of the most beautiful countries in all the world. It fills your heart to go there. The youth of the Church there are very dedicated to the Lord—some of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met. The Austrian people have such enthusiasm for the gospel!
“The country is very green, and the Austrian Alps are really inspiring. The people often take what they call a spaziergang, a kind of nature-appreciation walk.
“Austrian young people like to go to movies. A date is really different in Austria; the young couple meet someplace downtown instead of the boy calling for the girl at her home. I’ve learned a lot about people and about tolerance, and I’ve learned that the Church is truly worldwide.”
Stephen Driggs, 22, from Phoenix, Arizona: “I went on a mission to Germany, so I had a good language background.
“I stayed in Salzburg, where we have an active branch. For an Austrian branch, it has a lot of young people. It’s a very young and growing branch, very enthusiastic.
“The country is terrific! Austria has great culture—things like operas, concerts, and an overwhelming sense of history. It’s a fantastic place to study history because of the things you can see, the buildings you can visit, and the monuments—people and places that were influential in making history.
“While there, I stayed in a private home. Family life is more formal than in the United States. The relationship between parent and child is quite formal. Dinner is always at a particular time, and they usually have cake and coffee in the afternoon. The family are always together for dinner. They served me a lot of coffee substitutes.”
Mark Stoddard, 22, from Auburn, California: “My main intent in traveling was to help myself improve in the French language. I went to Grenoble.
“My father’s in the U.S. Air Force, so I’ve lived in Germany for three years, in England for three years, and a little while in Taiwan and Australia, but I found Grenoble to be an interesting city, bigger than I thought it would be. I thought it would be a small village but it’s not. There are mountains completely encircling it, and it’s situated right in the middle of the whole valley. There are apartments after apartments—thousands of apartments.
“I found that the French people behaved much differently toward me than they had when I visited there before. Now I was learning the language. When you won’t try to speak their language, they won’t spend much time with you. If you make an attempt, they are extremely hospitable. I went into a patisserie one day—that’s a place where they sell beautiful, delicious pastries. They bent over backwards trying to help me with the language, just because I was trying.
“In my travels I have found that when you find other members of the Church, it doesn’t matter whether you are French, Italian, German, Australian, or whatever, there is no difference except that we speak different languages. I kept thinking of Ephesians, where it says that the reason we have the Church is to bring us to a unity of the faith. The French people are great. I really grew to appreciate them.”
Judy Harrison, 21, from Ogden, Utah: “I went to Grenoble because I’m a French major and I wanted to learn the language. My family and I lived in Japan from 1960 to 1962.
“Lots of people have said that the French really don’t have a distinct culture. As I traveled through Europe, I would see the Austrians with their dirndls, the Germans with their dirndls and lodens, and the Spaniards with their ponchos—they all seemed to have a definite symbol for their country. It took me quite a while to find the symbol of the French. There just aren’t any people like the French. They are small, dark, slender, excitable—a truly unusual people. Anyway, I finally decided it was the French personality that was France’s symbol.
“Meeting the people and showing them friendship brings them alive. I found that out well when one lady in Marseilles took time to help me. I was buying santons (dolls used in nativity scenes), and she took time to set out all of her dolls, taking them from the window, lining them up, and explaining the history behind each one of them. I was really impressed.
“I attended the comife de patronage (school for foreign students). The teacher was a dynamic French woman, Madame Bonneville. I loved to watch her talk; she used her hands so expressively.
“Before I went to France, I wasn’t up on current affairs. I went to school and to church and enjoyed life the way it was, and I didn’t know what was happening in other countries. But I soon found out that in France you can’t do that. You’ve got to face problems and find out what’s happening and see what you can do. I’ve suddenly been confronted with many problems that I have always ignored before. It’s changed my whole outlook on life.
“I’ve learned something else. Americans tend to be a little overconfident and to go around speaking English all the time, expecting others to understand them. But most Europeans speak two or three languages. How many of us can do that?”

Huddled together on the freezing ground, Mary Elizabeth and her family camped on the banks of the Missouri River and waited to be ferried over to freedom. While they waited, the Saints found out that among all the families, they did not have enough money to ferry everyone.
“Some families will have to stay behind,” one of the men said.
“Whoever stays behind will be killed!” a woman cried.
“Maybe the ferryman will let us pay in fish,” one of the men suggested.
A few of the men went to the shore and set up fishing lines. The rest of the Saints prayed in the cold rain for help from the Lord. The lines stayed out all night and into the next morning.
When the men checked the fishing lines, they rejoiced to see they had caught some small fish and one very large catfish. Mary Elizabeth watched while the men cleaned the fish. When they cut open the catfish, everyone fell silent. To her amazement, Mary Elizabeth saw three bright silver half-dollars inside the fish, just the amount needed for all the Saints to cross the river to safety. Mary Elizabeth joined the other Saints in a prayer of gratitude for the Lord’s protection.

The fruits of faith and hope are beautiful to behold. While in Hawaii recently, I met with a vice premier of the People’s Republic of China who had requested a visit to the Polynesian Cultural Center. The vice premier was accompanied by his wife and by the Chinese ambassador to the USA. More than twenty other dignitaries were also in their party. Because Elder Loren C. Dunn and I were already in Hawaii for meetings with Church leaders, we were asked to go to the Center and extend an official welcome to the Chinese delegation on behalf of the First Presidency and General Authorities. As these influential visitors toured the center and the adjoining BYU—Hawaii collegiate campus, they were impressed. The vice premier noted the sisterly and brotherly blending of some sixty different nationalities and thirty different languages. He even noticed that Samoans sang with Fijians, that Tongans danced with Tahitians, and so on. The spirit of unity among the Latter-day Saint youth was easily evident to all of us.

Finally he asked the question “How do you promote such unity among your young people?” I answered his question later, when I presented a copy of the Book of Mormon to him, describing it as the precious document promoting that unity—and joy.

In the early 17th century, Sweden’s king, Gustav II Adolf, commissioned a warship that would be christened the Vasa. The ship represented a substantial outlay of resources, particularly the oak from which the vessel would be built. Gustav Adolf closely oversaw the construction process, attempting to ensure that the Vasa would fully realize his expectations.
After construction began, Gustav Adolf ordered the Vasa to be made longer. Because the width supports had already been built from precious oak, the king directed the builders to increase the ship’s length without increasing its width. Although the shipwrights knew that doing so would compromise the Vasa’s seaworthiness, they were hesitant to tell the king something they knew he did not want to hear. They complied. Gustav Adolf also insisted that this ship have not simply the customary single deck of guns but cannons on three decks, with the heaviest cannons on the upper deck. Again, against their better judgment, the shipwrights complied.
On August 10, 1628, the Vasa began its maiden voyage. After the Vasa left the harbor, a strong wind entered its sails, and the ship began to tip. Before long, “she heeled right over and water gushed in through the gun ports until she slowly went to the bottom under sail, pennants and all.”1 The Vasa’s maiden voyage was about 4,200 feet (1,280 m).
Gustav Adolf’s desire for an extravagant status symbol ruined the design of what would have been a magnificent sailing vessel, the mightiest warship of its time. The shipbuilders’ reluctance to speak up—their fear of the king’s displeasure—deprived the king of their knowledge and insight. All involved lost sight of the goals of the enterprise: to protect Sweden and to promote its interests abroad. A ship that attempts to defy the laws of physics is simply a boat that won’t float.

I heard President Grant on several occasions before I met him. As teenage boys, my brother and I came to this Tabernacle at conference when there was room for anybody who wished to come. As boys are wont to do, we sat in the balcony at the very far end of the building. To me it was always impressive when this tall man stood to speak. Some kind of electricity passed through my boyish frame. His voice rang out in testimony of the Book of Mormon. When he said it was true, I knew it was true. He spoke with great power on the Word of Wisdom and, without hesitation, promised blessings to the people if they would observe it. I have often thought of the human misery, the pain that has resulted from the smoking of cigarettes, the poverty that has resulted from the drinking of liquor which might have been avoided had his prophetic counsel been followed.
He spoke on the law of tithing. I can still hear his great testimony of this principle. He spoke of the fast offering and said, as I remember him from my boyhood days, that if all the world would observe this simple principle, which came as a revelation from God, the needs of the poor over the earth would be met without taxing the people for welfare purposes.
He warned against the enslavement of personal debt. The world at that time was on a reckless pursuit of riches. Then came Black Thursday of November 1929. I was nineteen years of age, a student at the university. I saw the economy crumble. I saw men whom I knew lose everything as their creditors moved against them. I saw much of the trauma and the stress of the times. I thought then, and I have thought since, how so many people might have been saved pain and misery, suffering, embarrassment, and trouble had they listened to the counsel of a prophet concerning personal debt.

Latter-day Saints too have suffered from violent mobs. For instance, on October 30, 1838, a collection of Latter-day Saint families was attacked at Hawn’s Mill in Missouri by an unauthorized militia. In this massacre, many of the Latter-day Saint men headed to the blacksmith shop to mount a defense. However, the militia members could easily fire into the building because there were large gaps in the walls. Eventually, the militia members entered the structure. They found three innocent young boys—Sardius Smith, Alma Smith, and Charles Merrick—whom they shot. Two were killed.

My bishop extended a call to me the Sunday after my ordination in the Aaronic Priesthood as a Sunday School teacher. I was also called as a seminary teacher, and I enrolled in an Institute of Religion class. While I taught the Old Testament in seminary, I studied the Book of Mormon in the institute class. This connection to the scriptures changed my life as that was the beginning of a lifelong love for the standard works of the Church and other writings that I have accumulated over the years a large library of Church literatures and scriptures. I even went on to teach institute classes for years even as a stake president.

By 1946, schools in Dortmund had reopened. But young Enzio’s remaining high school years began a period of sincere questioning and deep confusion for him. Before the war, his teachers had extolled Hitler’s doctrines as the cure for Germany’s ills; now they disavowed ever having taught them. What could this mean? Did adults not know right from wrong? As his disillusionment deepened, he became scornful and bitter and filled with the melancholy of a searcher.

Missionary couples provide stability with their friendshipping and leadership skills in areas where the Church is in its infancy. I learned this firsthand while serving as a mission president in England. I assigned a couple who had been serving in the visitors’ center to work in a small, struggling unit. They were somewhat fearful of having to leave the “safe haven” of the visitors’ center. But with faith they went to work. Within six months, a unit which had 15 to 20 people coming to sacrament meeting had over 100 attending because of this couple’s fellowshipping, working with the priesthood. To this day, they and their children refer to that time as the greatest experience of their lives.

Once she convinced me to attend a fireside with her. Elder Paul H. Dunn was the speaker, and although I don’t remember what he said, I do remember Liz’s reaction to his talk. She cried.
“Hey, Liz,” I asked. “What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” She wiped her tears and smiled at me. “It’s just the wonderful spirit I felt as Elder Dunn spoke to us.” Her response puzzled me. I couldn’t understand why anyone would cry when nothing was wrong.
The Arizona Temple was the only other Mormon place she ever had me visit. If I asked her what she wanted to do for a night out, she’d always reply, “Let’s go visit the temple. I love it there.”
I gave in, and we went there a few times. Usually we just walked through the grounds and admired the gorgeous landscaping, but after our third visit she talked me into touring the inside of the visitors’ center.
Inside, we saw several films and met many very friendly people. After the films and introductions, we went on a guided tour of the center. At the conclusion of the tour, our guide bore his testimony of the things we had seen that night. Liz cried.
After that experience, the temple was one of her favorite topics. “Chris, isn’t the temple a beautiful place? That’s where I’ll get married someday. I’ve promised myself that.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting married there either,” I said. “It’s really no different than a cathedral.”
“It is different. When two people are married in the temple, they’re married forever.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve always believed that true love lasts forever.”
Liz grew very serious. “You don’t understand. Only active members of the Church are allowed in the temple. You wouldn’t be allowed to enter.” She explained again that when her time came, she would be married in the temple. No other place was acceptable for her.
“But what if you really love a guy who’s not LDS?” I asked. “If you really love someone, it shouldn’t matter where you get married. All that matters is that you’re together and you’re in love.”
“If two people really love each other,” she answered shaking her head, “they’d never settle for anything less than an eternal relationship.” She paused and looked me in the eye. “I never would.”
As we neared the end of our senior year, we had many arguments about temple marriage. Liz maintained that she’d never marry outside of the temple. I argued that, in true love, the ceremony was not important. Love was eternal regardless of the type of marriage.
The more we discussed it, the more she talked about the temple and how special it was. I was confounded. It was obvious that we were falling in love, yet Liz wouldn’t budge on her temple marriage hang-up. I felt positive that if our love matured, she would eventually give in and agree to be married anywhere. I was wrong.
One afternoon at school, Liz met me at our locker. Her eyes were tearfully red, and her voice was taut with emotion. “Chris, I’ve decided that we can’t see each other anymore. We can’t go out again—ever.”
Her words stunned me. “What do you mean? Look, I don’t care what your parents think …”
She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. “It’s not my parents. It’s me. I can’t allow myself to date you. I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
“Liz, you’re just upset. Why don’t we just talk this out like we’ve always done? You’ll feel better in a little while.”
She backed away from me. “No, I’ve made up my mind,” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to see you again!” She pressed a shiny black paperback into my hands and ran down the hall.
We stopped seeing each other. Liz started going out with LDS guys, and I moped around campus. I thought about the many discussions we’d had. What was it that made her so stubborn about a temple marriage? Why wouldn’t she compromise? What made her so special?
Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

My mother and I received our patriarchal blessings together. I was 20, and Mother was 49. I will never forget that day—how the patriarch placed his hands on Mother’s head and told her how often her life had been spared through bouts of rheumatic fever, heart disease, and many other illnesses. He recounted her life, enumerating the times she had blessed others. He told her of things the Lord had in store for her and offered guidance as to what she needed to do. I knew my mother’s life, and I listened as this patriarch, who was not acquainted with her, described her life. This experience was a witness to me that God lives, that He loves us, and that He knows us individually. I felt the Lord’s love for my mother—and for me—on that memorable day.

Moving forward takes practice, advises Lazare of Georgia, a convert in the country bordering Russia and Europe. Learning to trust LDS friends was his first step, after which he agreed to accept a priesthood blessing. “Then I could move forward with the missionary discussions,” he explains. As Lazare’s faith in Jesus Christ increased, “I took the big step of baptism even though I wasn’t 100 percent certain. But the Lord gave me courage with each phase, and I am so grateful now that I did it.”

They were twins, but they really didn’t look alike. Josy was taller than Kelsey. She had bright blue eyes, bouncy hair, and dimples that danced on her cheeks whenever she giggled. Kelsey, on the other hand, had a long golden ponytail that went swish, swish when she walked. Kelsey loved to tease. Her deep brown eyes would sparkle when she told a joke.
The people in Littleton loved them. Mr. Brooks, at the supermarket, said it was because of their smiles. “No,” Mrs. Applebee said. “It’s because they always say hello to everyone.” Little Max liked them because they played games. Jim, the delivery boy, said the girls were just plain fun to be around. Whatever it was, everyone agreed that the twins made people happy. Everyone, that is, except Sister Crane and Sister Goodwin.
“What are we going to do about them?” Sister Crane said. “I try to teach a new song in Primary, and they sing too loudly. Kelsey sings off-key, which makes Josy laugh. Soon the whole Primary is laughing. They need to learn to sing quietly.”
“What are we going to do about them?” Sister Goodwin asked. “I try to tell a story about Jesus. At first the girls listen, but then Kelsey finds something funny in the story, and Josy starts to laugh. Soon the whole class is laughing. They need to learn to listen.”
“The girls were twirling down the hallway last Sunday.”
“They don’t always sit on the bench.”
“Sometimes they take their shoes off in class.”
“They giggle in the middle of the quiet song.”
“We need to tell their parents.”
“No, we need to send them to their parents.”
“Break them up. Don’t let them be in the same class.”
Sister Turner, the Primary President, listened quietly. The twins weren’t bad children. They were just a little disruptively happy. “I think that maybe I should have a talk with Josy and Kelsey. Maybe I can make a difference.”
The next day, Sister Turner backed her bright yellow van out of her driveway. She chugged down the street, over the bridge, and across the park to the twins’ house. Josy came running out of the house. “Hi, Sister Turner,” she called. “Look at our new puppy!”
Just then Kelsey came out of the house, chasing a black and white puppy. Kelsey giggled as the puppy darted back and forth just out of her reach. Josy joined in chasing the puppy around in circles. Round and round they went, until the girls gave up and dropped to their knees on the grass. The little puppy pranced up to them and sat on Josy’s lap.
Sister Turner started to laugh. Suddenly she had an idea. “Girls, would you like to go to the zoo with me to see the new butterfly house?” Josy giggled. Kelsey grinned. They loved the zoo. After getting permission from their mother, they were on their way in Sister Turner’s bright yellow van.
A butterfly fluttered by Josy’s face as she opened the door of the butterfly house. “Wow,” she giggled as clouds of colorful butterflies flew over her head. She grabbed at a pink one, but it flitted away. “Let’s catch one,” Kelsey yelled, running to the other side of the room. Yellow, blue, pink, and white butterflies flew gracefully over her head.
Some of the butterflies landed on tree branches. Josy cupped her hands and crept up behind a black and orange butterfly. It flew quickly away. Kelsey turned round and round surveying the room. The beautiful butterflies were everywhere. They hovered over the pond, covered the trees like blossoms, and even dotted the path. Laughing and giggling, the twins chased the butterflies everywhere. But the beautiful insects always stayed just out of reach.
Finally Josy and Kelsey became tired and sat on a bench by Sister Turner to rest. “I guess you just can’t catch a butterfly,” Kelsey said.
“You can, if you know how,” Sister Turner replied. Josy and Kelsey looked at Sister Turner with interest. Sister Turner smiled. “Girls, do you know what reverent means?”
“Sure,” Josy answered. “It means fold your arms and don’t talk.”
Sister Turner chuckled. “Well, being quiet is part of it, but that’s not really reverence. Reverence is a feeling. It’s hard to explain, but maybe I can show you. Do you want me to?”
Kelsey grinned. She didn’t know what this had to do with butterflies, but Sister Turner knew just about everything.
“You need to sit very still and be quiet,” Sister Turner continued. “That’s the part about reverence that you already know. But if you’ll do that part, I think you’ll be surprised by the rest.” She took each girls’ hands and dipped them in the pool of water. For several minutes they just sat there with their hands cupped in front of them.
Kelsey listened. It was very quiet in the butterfly house. All you could hear was the drip, drip of the water tap.
Josy watched as the butterflies flew in the trees and hovered over the pool. They were very close. Slowly, slowly a butterfly fluttered toward her, dipped down, and landed on the palm of her hand. Josy started to giggle, but Sister Turner shook her head. Josy sat very still, watching the butterfly sip at the water on her fingers.
Sister Turner took Kelsey’s hand and placed it next to a butterfly on a nearby flower. The butterfly gracefully walked onto her hand to drink the water. A warm glow filled the girls. They had tried hard to catch a butterfly, and now, just by being quiet, each was holding one in her hand.
As the girls held their butterflies, Sister Turner whispered softly, “Reverence is a lot like these butterflies. You don’t catch a butterfly. You let it come to you. You don’t catch a reverent feeling, either. It just comes to you when you are quiet. It’s the warm feeling you are feeling right now. You can also feel it when you think about Jesus Christ or anything else wonderful. When you are in Primary next Sunday, think about how quiet you had to be to have these butterflies in your hands. Then think about Jesus, and see if you get that same reverent feeling.”
The next Sunday the twins hurried to Primary. Sister Turner greeted them at the door. She smiled and pinned a small paper butterfly on each of their dresses. “Now remember, girls, don’t scare your butterflies.”
Josy smiled. Kelsey grinned. Reverently they walked to their chairs and sat down. It was quiet in the Primary room. Kelsey listened to the soft music Sister Crane was playing. Josy closed her eyes and thought about Jesus. Slowly the girls felt a warm feeling come to them.
“Look at the twins,” Sister Goodwin whispered. “They are being reverent. What did you do?”
Sister Turner smiled. “It was easy,” she whispered back. “I just showed them how to catch a butterfly.”

When Leah woke up that morning, she looked out the window. She smiled because everything was covered with snow. She dressed for school quickly and rushed down to the warm kitchen. “Mom,” she said happily, “did you look outside?”
Her mother smiled and nodded. “Yes, I did, honey. Isn’t the snow pretty?”
“When I get home from school, can I play in it?” Leah asked hopefully.
“Yes, you may. But you’d better hurry and eat your pancakes now, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Mom!” Tim called from the basement. “Where are our winter boots?”
“Under the stairs,” Mother called back. “In the tall cabinet.”
Leah’s older sister, Carol, wrapped a scarf around her neck. “I found my boots. See you later, Mom,” she said as she gave Mother a kiss. Then she patted Leah’s head and added, “Have a good day, Pumpkin.”
Soon Tim left for school too.
“I wish I could stay home and play in the snow,” Leah said.
“That would be nice,” Mother agreed, “but today is a school day.”
Leah nodded and popped the last piece of pancake into her mouth. “That was good! Thank you.”
Mother smiled. “Thank you, honey, for enjoying it. Now hurry and get ready.”
Leah went to the closet and took out her coat and hat. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat. Then she went downstairs to the tall cabinet beneath the stairs. She opened the door and looked for her boots. There they were, white and clean, waiting to tramp in the snow. Leah liked them a lot. She sat down and pointed the toe of her shoe into the opening of one of the boots. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her boot over her shoe.
“Mom,” she finally called up the stairs, “I can’t get my boots on.”
Mother went down the stairs. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Don’t tell me they no longer fit.” Mother knelt in front of Leah and put a boot beside Leah’s shoe. “They look like they might barely fit.” Mother tugged and pushed, but the boots would not go over Leah’s shoes. “Well,” Mother said as she looked in the cupboard. “Let me see … Yes, here’s a pair of Carol’s old boots. Let’s see if they fit.”
Leah tried on one of the boots, and it slipped on without any trouble. “They fit, with room left over.” Leah giggled.
Mother laughed too. “Not too much room, though. I’m glad you can get into them. They’ll keep your shoes nice and dry.”
All the way to school Leah watched the tracks the boots made. The bottoms made squiggily lines like snow tires. Leah was glad that her sister’s boots fit her.
When recess came, Miss Higgins asked, “How many of you would like to go outside and play in the snow?”
Everyone raised his hand and cheered.
“All right,” Miss Higgins said with a smile. “Bundle up and out we go.”
Leah pulled on her boots easily, and soon she was outside playing. Then Leah saw Melanie standing alone near the school building where the snow barely covered the ground. She wasn’t playing with the others because she wasn’t wearing boots.
When recess was over, everyone lined up at the door, waiting to go back inside. “Quietly now, class,” Miss Higgins said. “Shake the snow from your boots and walk quietly past the other classrooms.”
Leah looked at Melanie’s shoes. They looked like they were sopping wet, and Leah knew that Melanie’s socks were wet too. Leah looked at the footprint Melanie’s shoes made in the snow, then made a boot print beside it. Melanie’s shoe print was quite a bit smaller than the print from Carol’s old boot! Leah smiled to herself as she followed the line into the school.
After school Leah looked for Melanie.
“Melanie?” she called. “Do you want to walk in my boot tracks as far as my house?”
Melanie shivered and smiled. “Thanks, Leah,” she said happily.
“Don’t you have any boots?” Leah asked over her shoulder.
“My parents will probably get me some when they can.”
Leah nodded. “I have some white boots at home … I can’t wear them anymore. I think they’d fit you!”
Melanie hesitated. “Maybe your mother wouldn’t like me taking your boots.”
“She wouldn’t care,” Leah told her classmate. “I’m the youngest in the family, so I know she wouldn’t mind.”
Melanie smiled and shivered again. “Well, if she says that I can have them, that’d be great!” Melanie said, hurrying on as Leah turned up the walk to her house.
“Mom,” Leah called, “I’m home!”
Mother turned from the sewing machine and gave Leah a welcome-home hug. “How was school, honey?”
“We played in the snow at recess time and pasted pictures in our books this afternoon. It was fun.”
“That’s good,” Mother said.
“Mom,” Leah said quietly. “Melanie Harper doesn’t have any boots. Can I give her my old white ones? I think they’ll fit her.”
Leah’s mother looked at her for a long minute, then gave her a second hug. “Honey, it’s more than OK. It’s a very caring thing to do, and I’m proud of you. I know how much you liked your white boots.”
“Melanie will like them too. Do you think Heavenly Father would be happy if I give them to her?”
“Honey,” her mother replied, “Heavenly Father is always pleased when we help each other.”

I can still picture them. Those unforgettable, incredibly quiet Sundays spent outside in a neighborhood filled primarily with Latter-day Saints—and I wasn’t one of them.
I used to imagine a tumbleweed rolling slowly down my street as they did in old Western films, indicating that no one was around. I knew where my neighbors were (at church), I understood why my friends couldn’t play on Sundays, and I knew why only my family would be outside doing yard work on a blistering Sunday afternoon. At least, I thought I knew. Little did I realize that seminary and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would give me true insight and change my life for the better.
Fast-forward a few years from those childhood days: I was baptized when I was 11 years old. I’m not sure if an 11-year-old can choose to be baptized for the wrong reasons, but I believe I did. I didn’t fully understand the role of the Holy Ghost, and all I remember about my baptism was thinking, “I will finally be like my friends.”
To my dismay, I was still nothing like them. I assumed that once I was a member of the Church, my family would automatically attend church with me. When I realized my family was not going to attend church, I wondered if my friends knew how lucky they were. They would talk about how they didn’t like going to church or how they seemed to dread saying family prayers. I wanted so badly to tell them they shouldn’t be wishing away something so precious. I knew they had something special.
Yet I also didn’t fully embrace all that the gospel and the Church had to offer, even though I was baptized.
Then one day when I was a freshman in high school, something happened that changed everything: I ran into Brother Esplin.
“Excuse me,” he said as I tried to walk past him.
“Yes?” I replied.
“I’m Devin Esplin, Melissa Esplin’s husband. My wife talks about your volleyball potential all the time, and I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”
I stood there silently until a lightbulb finally went off in my head.
“Oh! Right, I love Coach Esplin!”
“Me too!” he said. “Anyway, I’m the seminary teacher here, and I was wondering if you would like to transfer into my class.”
“Well, I would, but I can’t,” I replied. “But I promise that next year I will!”
“I sure hope you do. It will be a great experience.”
“I will! I promise,” I said as I walked away. As I walked back to class, I couldn’t hide the smile on my face. This was my opportunity to find out for myself what the Church had to offer. This time I was going to learn about the Church for the right reasons. I was given a second chance, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.
My sophomore year was incredible. I was so excited to go to seminary and learn! The first few weeks were pretty crazy. I felt like a little child—I had a lot to learn. People would use words like repentance and the Atonement, and I felt ashamed because I had no idea what those terms meant. Mercifully, my class helped me learn and never made me feel like an outsider.
As the year progressed, I found myself craving more knowledge. I was amazed by the things that my peers would discuss. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who suffered trials. I was saddened that I had made it so far in life without focusing on the Savior and the gospel. As I began to understand what being a Latter-day Saint is all about, I knew I never wanted to give it up.
My junior year was the major turning point of my life. Because of seminary, I read the Book of Mormon for the first time. As I studied daily, my testimony grew, and I grew closer to my Heavenly Father. I learned that I can strengthen my testimony every day. I understood that I’m never alone.
Seminary is a blessing that has altered the course of my life forever. Every day, I now think about how grateful I am that I have my Savior to get me through trials and temptations.

A few years ago, on the day of my parents’ anniversary, my mom was diagnosed with a stage 4 pancreatic cancer. The results of her CT scan showed that her cancer was life-threatening and her body was deteriorating. It was in that moment that I knew my mom wouldn’t live much longer.
I was not ready for that. I foresaw what life would be without my mom. Everything was dark, gloomy, and sad. There was no more joy or laughter—and no warm hugs from my mom that would comfort me. There didn’t seem to be life at all.
Months passed by and my mom’s body continued to weaken. But what amazed me the most was her desire to go to church, participate in our daily family scripture study, give lessons in our family home evenings, and even laugh with us.
One day, I asked her, “Haven’t you questioned Heavenly Father? Haven’t you wondered why you have to have cancer?” My mom smiled and shared her testimony about the plan of salvation. She told me that I needed to understand the plan of salvation to feel the genuine happiness that it gives. She said if I understood where we come from, what our purpose in this life is, and where we are going, I would understand that we will always be together, that I would never really lose her. She encouraged me to continue preparing for a mission and to share the gospel of Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation with others so that they could receive the blessings of comfort and happiness as well.
I realized that my mom was right. Why would I fear losing her here on earth if I knew that as long as I kept my covenants and completed the will of the Father that I would see her in the next life? I felt peaceful.
A little while later, my mom passed away. During my mom’s wake—a celebration of her life we held before her burial—even though it was hard and I was sad, everything seemed peaceful, and I could still feel my mom’s presence. Even the people around me seemed to be uplifted. I knew that I was feeling the true blessing of understanding God’s divine plan.
Later, when it was time to take my mom to the cemetery, a young boy came up to me and asked me why I wasn’t crying. I remembered how I thought of my mom’s death before and how I had only seen a lot of sadness and grief. I smiled and knelt down to his level. I told him, “I know that I will see my mom again if I continue to follow God’s commandments.” The boy smiled too, and I knew that he felt the same peace I was feeling.
My mom was gone, but the darkness, gloom, and sadness I thought would fill my life weren’t present. I said goodbye to her and told her that we would see each other in the next life. I felt comforted despite our loss. It was a blessing that came from understanding the plan of salvation.

In the October 2012 general conference, President Boyd K. Packer related an incident that explains this very well. On one occasion he was assigned to a stake conference in Western Samoa. As part of the conference the group had to travel from Savai’i to Mulifanua on Upolu Island. They had originally planned to go by plane, but weather conditions prevented that, so they set out on a forty-foot boat. What they did not know is that they were headed into the center of a ferocious tropical storm. After many hours they crossed the rough seas and arrived at the harbor at Mulifanua. President Packer explained what happened next:
We arrived in the harbor at Mulifanua. There was one narrow passage we were to go through along the reef. A light on the hill above the beach and a second lower light marked the narrow passage. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, the boat would be lined up properly to pass through the dangerous rocks that lined the passage.
But that night there was only one light. Two elders were waiting on the landing to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After watching for hours for signs of our boat, the elders tired and fell asleep, neglecting to turn on the second light, the lower light. As a result, the passage through the reef was not clear.
The captain maneuvered the boat as best he could toward the one upper light on shore while a crewman held [a] flashlight over the bow, searching for rocks ahead. We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage.
After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the passage [without the second light]. All we could do was try to reach the harbor at Apia 40 miles (64 km) away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements.25
The group eventually made their way to safety, but it was a harrowing experience. President Packer observed, “I do not know who had been waiting for us at the beach at Mulifanua. . . . But it is true that without that lower light, we all might have been lost.”26

Elder Marvin J. Ashton: “A new convert to the Church recently shared this story. ‘I was in and out of enforced confinement most of my teen years. It wasn’t so bad being there because the food was pretty good, and we were treated all right. But it did get boring, so when anyone had any reading material, funny books, magazines, or anything, we would trade our food for a chance to borrow those items. One day I saw a fellow with a nice, thick book. I knew it would take a long time to read, so I offered him my pork chops, my potatoes, and all my main course food items for a week. He accepted my offer and loaned me the book. As I read it, I knew I was reading something very special and very true. The book for which I had sacrificed my food was titled the Book of Mormon. When I had a chance, I found the missionaries, changed my habits, and am now finding a new way of life. I love that book for which I traded my food” (General Conference, April 1981).