Gospel Story Finder

When Elder Don Ray Clarke was president of the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission, he transferred to mission headquarters an elder who made it clear he would have preferred to finish his mission in another area. Soon after, the elder met a woman looking for a daughter she hadn’t seen in 10 years. When she showed him a photo, this missionary recognized her daughter from a previous area. He played a key part in reuniting a mother and her child.
From this experience and others, “I’ve come to know that God cares deeply about people,” Elder Clarke says. He welcomes surprise transfers and new callings that allow him to help others. “I hope I can minister,” he says of his new calling, “and not just administer.”

One time as we talked about good nutrition, a sweet mother from the Philippines spoke to me. “You know, Sister, I don’t have enough money to buy all the things I’d like. So before I go to the market, I kneel and ask Heavenly Father to help me spend my few pesos wisely and buy the things that will be best for my family. As I bring home my food, I again ask him to help me prepare it properly. And then, Sister, when it is time for us to eat, we know we can ask Heavenly Father to bless our food—to help us be strong and healthy with what we have been able to buy and fix.” And I thought of how many times a blessing on the food had been for me but a signal to eat. …
There was the group of Relief Society women in Central Java who would each save a spoonful of rice in the morning before they began cooking for the day. They’d put that spoonful, each day, in a plastic bag; then on Saturday they would bring their bags with them to Relief Society. If anyone was ill or had not been attending church for some time, all the sisters would walk together following the meeting to visit her. And they would take some of the rice to share. I’ve learned much about service and consecration from such examples.
I was serving in Indonesia when the Book of Mormon was first translated and printed in that language. During that time I had an inkling of what it must have been like for Joseph Smith and others when they were finally able to give so many others the privilege of reading the book. One of my local companions, an Indonesian sister from the city of Solo, slept with her copy right beside her.
The chance to share the gospel sometimes came in unexpected ways. This happened once in Taiwan. Without any previous language training, I was struggling daily to learn Mandarin Chinese. Tracting provided the thrill of a lifetime—having someone answer the door when it was my turn to talk! How amazing it was to me those first few times that someone could actually understand some of my sounds!
Then one morning an American woman answered—totally unexpected. Her husband was in the Navy. We were caught off guard and were speechless. Finally she said, “Oh, you must be Mormon missionaries! Come on in—I used to be a Mormon.” And thus began a miracle.
Her husband wasn’t a member and she wasn’t active. A teenage son and daughter had been baptized but weren’t active at the time either. We had the privilege of switching from Mandarin to English and sharing the gospel with this great family. The father was eventually baptized, both children served missions, and now the father and mother are working in a temple. Who would have believed we would meet that wonderful American family in Tainan, Taiwan!
Through these and many other experiences, I have learned one of the great lessons of missionary work: I gained as much from others as they did from me. We all grew spiritually—we were teaching each other. I realized there is a need for all of us to be open to every chance to lift, help, teach, and strengthen one another … no matter where or when.

We just received here in Brazil the great September issue. The article on unusual dates reminded me of a real fun date I had once. It started when three friends and myself were crawling around a local mine near my hometown. We knew it was safe, and many people had visited it. The idea struck me as to how we could share all the fun we were having there. We finally came on the idea of having a restaurant in the mine for our dates. So one Saturday we arranged the event. Two of the fellows would be waiters one week, and the other two would bring dates. Then we’d reverse our roles. We spent the morning hauling up tables, chairs, silverware, china, radio, and other assorted equipment. This is easier said than done—the hike was two miles from the nearest road. All the equipment was put on pack boards on our backs. Then about 4 P.M., the dates came up (for what seemed to the girls to be a regular cave exploring trip). We spent the next several hours crawling around the mine, marveling at anything from small nuggets of gold to blind crickets. We all had a good time, and all precautions were taken—hard hats, ropes, three varieties of lights.
Then, on the way out of the mine, we were suddenly met by two waiters dressed in French-style clothes. We were led to a table complete with crystal and linen, candlelight and soft music. The menu was given—five different choices that were all the same but were written in five different languages. Appetizers, soup, salad, steaks, baked potatoes, dessert, and punch. The whole thing was cooked over an open fire outside the mine. The girls couldn’t believe it, and the rest of the hike down in the moonlight was a touch of fantasy also. The girls raved about it for weeks. The whole meal cost only $5 per couple.
Elder Gary E. LewisRio de Janeiro, Brazil

I especially remember feeling the love of Heavenly Father as a youth participating in the sacrament. In my ward there were only a few young men, so every Sunday I passed the sacrament. When I served as a teacher, every Sunday I prepared the bread and the water. At that time we used glass cups, which I had to wash one by one.
When I passed the sacrament, I could see the eyes of the people. Old people, young people, children—each had a special feeling while taking the bread and water. I could see that they felt the love of Heavenly Father personally. Those experiences with the sacrament marked my life forever. Every week I remember the Lord, who died for us. I remember that if we are worthy, we can be together as a family eternally.

I have a personal testimony of this principle. As a young man and during my mission, I had many opportunities for leadership and public speaking—in some cases speaking to groups of up to ten thousand people. For an eighteen-year-old, that was a big deal. Public speaking for me was easy and natural. After my mission I experienced a mental block, and I struggled to overcome a paralyzing fear of public speaking for more than fifteen years. I could not speak to more than two people at a time. The thought of giving a presentation in a classroom or speaking in a sacrament meeting was terrifying. I would sweat all the way down to my belt buckle.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, I had been experiencing what we now know as panic attacks and anxiety. This became a significant stumbling block not only in college but also professionally and in the Church. I shared this fear with my dear wife, Shelly. With her support and the help of God, I learned to overcome this fear by focusing on others and on the message that needed to be conveyed.

For forty-one years of marriage with my best friend, Shelly, I have found that if I am open and honest with her about my weaknesses and struggles and she with me, with the help of God we can help each other to overcome our weaknesses. As we work together in unity, we are stronger and closer in our marriage. We have no secrets from each other. And that is a great joy, my brothers and sisters.

I was baptized when I was 12, and for many years I was the only member of the Church in my family. That wasn’t always easy, but fortunately I was blessed with good leaders who helped me in my journey of learning the doctrines of the gospel and using those doctrines to strengthen and improve my life. Because of my decision to stay true to what I believed, I have seen great blessings come into my life and, much later, into the lives of family members as well.

An experience I had while working in the Hinckley Building one semester changed my life for the better. I came upon a woman whom I had seen many times walking the hallways, but never officially met. We exchanged greetings, and as soon as I introduced myself, she excitedly said, “Oh! You are a success story!” Those words took me by surprise. I thought to myself, “How could I be a success story? What is she talking about? Does she really know who I am?” All night her comment resonated in my heart and mind. I wanted to know what she meant by success story. I instantly started to think of all of the trials and failures I had experienced in my life. I had moments of embarrassment, moments of insecurity, hurt, anger, fear, and loneliness. Several scenarios crossed my mind before a powerful voice came to me and pricked my soul. It said, “You are a success story! You are a daughter of a king! You are here on earth for a purpose. Share your story!”
After that time, I began to dig deep from within and realize my divine potential and strengths. I learned to be vulnerable and not be ashamed of who I am and the challenges I have faced in my life. As I started to share my experiences, I found my identity and direction. I am proud of the refinement in my life that has sculpted who I am today. I’m not afraid to say, I have survived heartache from a divorce; I have survived physical pain from ailments and surgeries; I have survived emotional pain of losing loved ones. I have overcome spiritual pain by clinging to the gospel.

All my life I was taught that there was no God. Little did I know how that would change when I applied to be a high school exchange student in the United States, representing the Czech Republic. When I filled out the application, one question was “What is your religious preference?” I knew most Americans were Christian, so that was what I wrote down. But I was a nonbeliever.
With anticipation, I awaited the outcome of my application. Where would I live?
I was assigned to the Grant and Jewel Hodson family, Latter-day Saints in Utah. Where is Utah? Mormons? Who are they? I looked up Utah in books, and I looked up Mormons too. The books said terrible things about the Church and especially about Joseph Smith. I spent my last night at home crying. I was terrified.
My mother assured me that everything would be all right, and if I didn’t like the family or Utah, I could come home or be assigned to another family.
When I arrived in Utah, Emily, one of the daughters, came to pick me up. She was 16 years old, wearing normal, casual clothes, and she was so nice. I thought, “Wow! This might not be that bad after all!” The whole family was warm and welcoming to me.
I experienced quite a cultural adjustment. I saw that my host family prayed before every meal and before they went to bed. They didn’t drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. They lived moral lives. Everything was totally opposite of how the teenagers I had known lived.
And it seemed that almost everybody I met was a member of the LDS Church. I was impressed that when these people spoke about their church, they would say, “I know,” not, “I believe.” Never before had I heard such conviction in religious statements. If these people could know, I reasoned, there must be a way for me to know too. I was the sort of person who had to know, because if I accepted the teachings of the Church, I would have to make changes in my lifestyle and in my future plans.
With a strong desire to know for myself about the truthfulness of the Church, I watched the example of my host family. They didn’t proselytize, but the way they lived made me want to know what was behind their actions. I had never seen such faith.
I heard a Church leader say, “People will want to know Christ because they know you.” I wanted to know Christ because I knew the Hodsons. They were a great example to me of the way a family should live.
I began praying. I prayed for three weeks and nothing happened. I was a little discouraged. I thought that maybe I was not worthy to feel God’s love.
That same week I decided to join the Hodsons’ traditional family testimony meeting on the first Sunday of the month. The mother, Jewel, asked me if I would like to say anything. I said, “Sure.” But I thought, “What am I going to say?”
Since everybody had expressed appreciation, I thought I could at least express my appreciation to the Hodsons for all they had done for me. They had been so patient with me. They treated me as their own daughter and had never pushed me into anything. I would express my true gratitude.
I was the last to speak. I stood up and started saying how grateful I was for their kindness and patience and also for their desire to teach me about God. All of a sudden, a strong, overwhelming feeling came over me. The language barrier was gone; I had no problem speaking English. I was fluent for the first time! I had never felt anything like this before. I spoke as I was inspired. It was such a warm, beautiful feeling. I was quietly being taught, “You know what you are saying is true. You know I exist. You know.”
And I did know! With tears in my eyes, I sat down. I thought, “What was that?” Answering as though she had heard my question, my host mother quietly spoke, “What you are feeling is the Spirit.” All I could think was “Wow! It is true!”
With my parents’ permission, I asked my host father to baptize me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a happy day for me. I felt so clean and fresh! In addition to my host family, I was surrounded by many members from my ward who came to support me. I appreciated that so much.
When I returned to the Czech Republic from Utah, I was the only member of the Church not just in my town, Chrastava (population 8,000), but also in Liberec (population 120,000), a city about six miles (10 km) from Chrastava. I worked as a hotel receptionist and taught English in a private high school. I was desperately seeking to find my new place at home. I was close to giving up. Nevertheless, I continued to kneel every night and pray for a miracle that would bring me out of my despair. I also tried really hard to stay away from my old habits and friends.
Finally my prayers were answered. The missionaries came to Liberec, where I was teaching. (I later learned that Brother Hodson had contacted the mission president for the Czech Republic and told him about me. Now there is a growing branch of about 40 Latter-day Saints in my hometown.)
I have since attended Brigham Young University—Idaho and finished my fine arts degree at BYU–Hawaii. One of the highlights of being at BYU–Hawaii was playing on the volleyball team. On that special campus, my testimony grew.
I have now returned to my home in the Czech Republic. I want to spread the gospel message. At first, my father and mother thought I was totally crazy to have made such a conversion. Now they support me completely, and they are grateful for my education.
Maybe I can also have an influence as a teacher in the arts. The people here need the gospel, and they need the arts. I wish they knew what I know. I want to teach them the true plan of happiness. I know Heavenly Father wants my people to have the gospel and all the really good things in life. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and will help me to do my best, even though I have imperfections. I continue to desire to be guided by Him always.

“Are you going to paint this Saturday?” has been the familiar question among many college youth in Las Vegas, where they have painted the inside and outside of a church built by the Afro-Methodist Episcopal Church whose members were having trouble getting the building finished. The congregation lacked funds. The Student Association of Las Vegas Region pitched in and raised $4,000, in addition to painting the building. Under the direction of priesthood leader James Seastrand, president of the Las Vegas North Stake, and Reverend Charles Wyatt, the project got under way. It was a great time of togetherness, with the Relief Society and the ladies of the Afro-Methodist congregation providing lunch each workday. Funds were raised through dances, bake sales, car washes, and concerts. “The unity among the students and with people of another race was something wonderful to behold,” said Shauna Rollins, vice-chairman of one M Men-Gleaner Council in the area.

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.

It was Christmas Day. Judith hummed as she walked to the church building. She and her siblings were going to their branch’s Christmas party.
Her sister, Esther, smiled. “Is that ‘Angels We Have Heard on High?’”
“Yes! It’s my favorite. I hope we sing it today.” Judith grinned.
“I love that song!” Désiré, her brother, added. He loudly sang, “Gl-o-o-o-ria!”
They all laughed. Judith couldn’t wait to celebrate with their branch. Not many people in Mali celebrated Christmas. In this part of Africa, most people didn’t know much about Jesus. To them, Christmas was just an ordinary day.
The streets were full of people. Vendors sold light green melons. People young and old carried jugs of water on their heads. A young boy led a donkey pulling a cart. Judith looked up at the tall, narrow tower of a mosque. It was a beautiful building where many of their Muslim neighbors worshipped.
Judith, Esther, and Désiré used to go to Papa’s church. But last summer, they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now the three of them walked to church together every week. Judith loved learning about Jesus in Primary.
At last they got to the party. Most of the families in the branch were already there. A projector was showing Christmas videos on the chapel wall. Judith watched Joseph lead Mary through Bethlehem on a donkey. The busy, dusty streets reminded her of Mali!
After the video ended, a taxi pulled up. Sister Valerie, the Relief Society president, got out.
“I’ve brought the food!” she called.
Everyone helped bring dishes up to the balcony. It was a feast! Potato salad, carrots, green beans, bright yellow rice, fried chicken … it was all delicious!
“Thank you so much, Sister Valerie!” Judith said.
Then the youngest children each got a ball, doll, or toy car. There weren’t enough gifts for Judith to get one, but she didn’t mind. She loved seeing the little kids smile.
The party ended with singing. Judith smiled when they sang “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
The whole branch sang together. It was so beautiful. Jesus really was born all those years ago! Judith was so grateful that she, Désiré, and Esther knew about Him. And she was so happy to celebrate His birth.

In Canada, it’s quite a feat to receive the Queen’s Venturer award—it’s one of Scouting’s highest honors in the country. Recently Harvey Calfrobe, a member of the Blood tribe in the Province of Alberta, earned that award.
Harvey had some unique challenges. At four he was diagnosed with leukemia, and he spent most of his younger years fighting it. A severe learning disability also made things even tougher. Now Harvey’s leukemia is in remission, and he excels in a vocational school. He loves to ski, swim, bowl, and, of course, scout.
Harvey was baptized three years ago and is now a priest in the Calgary Eighth Ward, Calgary Alberta West Stake.
In a speech given at the Scouting awards ceremony, Harvey said, “I am proud to be in the Venturer program. It produces winners, and we are winners.”

This story took place in the USA.
Mary twirled and admired her white dress in the mirror. It was the same dress her mom wore at her baptism. Great-Grandma Marluce had fixed it to fit Mary. Now Mary could wear it at her own baptism!
“You are beautiful!” Mom took Mary’s hand and spun her around again.
Mary giggled. “Can I keep it on all day?”
“Let’s save it to wear for your baptism so it stays nice and clean, OK?” Mom said.
“OK.” Mary would be baptized when she turned eight, and she had been preparing for a while now. She had been going to Primary, reading scriptures, and even going to her friends’ baptisms. But her birthday still seemed so far away!
Mary cuddled up with Mom on the sofa. “Mommy, how old were you when you were baptized?”
“I was 16.”
“Wow! Why did you wait so long?”
Mom wrapped Mary in a tight hug. “Because I didn’t know about Jesus Christ’s restored Church until then. But I started going to Church activities with some friends. And the more I learned, the more I wanted to be baptized!”
“Why?” Mary asked.
“Because I wanted to have a forever family.” Mom pointed at the picture of the temple hanging above them. “I learned that someday I could be sealed to my family in a temple forever. Having a forever family was my dream. And baptism was the first step! Now my dream is coming true.”
Mary smiled. “You have Dad, Mallory, and baby Maeva! And me too, of course.”
“Yes, of course. And Grandma Angela.”
“Did Grandma get baptized with you?”
“She waited a few years. But whenever we traveled near temples, we liked to stop and look at them.”
Mary thought about Mom and Grandma looking at temples together. “And what about Dad? How old was he when he got baptized?”
“He was 11.”
“And he lived in Brazil then?”
“That’s right,” said Mom. “There are people all over the world learning about Jesus and baptism. Lots of them are pioneers.”
“Pioneers?”
“A pioneer is someone who is the first to do something,” Mom explained.
Mary thought about that. “Like how you were the first person in your family to get baptized?”
Mom nodded and smiled.
Just then, Dad walked into the room and squished onto the sofa.
“Dad, were you a pioneer for your family?”
“Sort of. After I was baptized, I found out Grandma Rosimere was already a member of our church! But she hadn’t gone in years.”
“Really? What happened?”
“I started going to church. Then my brothers started going, then Grandma Rosimere too. Even Great-Grandma Marluce joined!”
Mary imagined Dad going to church by himself, then bringing more of his family with him.
“Wow,” Mary said. “I like hearing your stories. They make me even more excited to be baptized.”
“Thanks for asking us all these questions, Mary,” Dad said. “Now can we ask you one?”
Mary nodded. What would they ask?
“Why do you want to be baptized?”
Mary thought about what she learned from the scriptures and how she felt at church. “Because I want to follow Jesus and be with my family forever.”
Mom and Dad both smiled, and Mary tackled her parents in a hug. “I can hardly wait!”

“Come on, Jodi! It’s only one little game! God isn’t gonna hate you for playing just this once on Sunday.”

“That’s right,” thought Jodi Allen, a 17-year-old from Sandy, Utah, and the star goalkeeper on her championship soccer team. “It’s only one little game”—nowhere near important enough to break a personal promise she’d made to Heavenly Father years before.

But how could she explain that to the teammates who were pressuring her? They’d worked hard all season, winning the Utah state championship and the right to play in the western regionals in San Francisco. A win on Sunday could mean a chance at the finals. The backup goalkeeper had quit, and the roster was frozen. There was no one to take her place, and the same opponents had beaten them 9–1 the year before.

“Oh Jodi—who do you think you are? Some of us are LDS, and we’re playing on Sunday. Do you think you’re better than we are?”

No, there was never a question about playing on Sunday—not even in this tournament. But making her teammates understand was another story.

“Look,” she tried, “if I don’t play on Sunday, sure, I’ll disappoint my team, and I feel bad about that. But if I do play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint so many more. I’ll disappoint myself, because I’d be breaking a promise. I’d disappoint my parents, who know how important that promise is to me. I’d disappoint my cousins, who don’t play on Sunday because of my example, and I’d disappoint my seminary teachers, who have taught me better. But most important of all, I’d disappoint God. I just can’t do that.”

It was a great explanation, but it didn’t do Jodi much good. All Saturday night the team tried to convince her to play. They made fun of her. They called her every name they could think of. Finally, at about midnight, Jodi called home in tears. It wasn’t that she was tempted to give in. It’s just that she felt so alone.

Her parents listened. Her parents understood. Both her mother and father got on the phone and had a prayer with her. After they hung up, they called an old friend in the Bay area and asked her to give Jodi some support.

The next morning Jodi got up and got dressed—in a dress, which she wore as she stood on the sidelines watching her team play. They ended up tying their opponents, 1–1, and afterwards, many of her teammates apologized for being so critical of her.

The team ended up tying for third in the tournament, which was better than they’d ever done before. Jodi thought this would be a good note on which to end her soccer career, even though she was a junior in high school and could play for one more year.

“I’ve achieved just about everything I wanted to with soccer,” Jodi said. She had been ranked as the number one goalie in the state and had been scouted by a number of universities, but when they heard of her policy on Sunday play, they lost interest. “I’d like to try to develop some other talents now—things like music and acting. Plus being on the seminary council will require a lot of time,” Jodi said.

So Jodi’s senior year in high school will be a busy one, despite the lack of soccer, the sport she’s dedicated so much to for so long. She says she won’t miss it too much and that the things she’s learned from it will help her in other parts of her life.

“‘To everything there is a season,’ and the soccer season is over,” said Jodi. “I have no regrets. Because of soccer, many missionary doors have been opened. The Lord has blessed me, and others through me. I haven’t gone unrewarded. I’ve been humbled, pushed, and just about everything else, but I learned that I can stand up to it. The Lord knows he can count on me, and I know I can count on myself.”

Jodi couldn’t be happier knowing that she didn’t let one little game spoil all that.

I will forever remember the day a child new to our neighborhood knocked on our door and asked if our children could come out to play. I explained to him, as to others young and old, for the thousandth time, that we didn’t have any children. This little boy squinted his innocent face in a quizzical look and asked the question that I had not dared put into words, “If you are not a mother, then what are you?”

But then came the day my young husband was called to be a bishop and I was finally convinced that our not having children was not because of our unrighteousness. Some don’t understand that. A good man in the ward who had desired that position came to him privately with strong emotion and said, “What right do you have to be a bishop, and what do you know about helping a family? Don’t ever expect me or my family to come to you for anything!” In time my husband helped that man’s family through a serious crisis, and through it we forged a lasting bond of love with them.

This story took place in the USA.
Janie closed her book and sighed happily. This book was her favorite! She had already finished it three times. She loved to read!
“Do you think I could build a little library?” Janie asked Mom and Dad later that day. She wanted to help others by sharing books with them.
“What’s a little library?” Dad asked.
“It’s a box that you put outside with books in it,” Janie said. “People can borrow them for free. Or they can leave books for others to read.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “We can help you build it.”
“Thanks!” said Janie. “Maybe we can have a bake sale to earn money for the supplies!”Janie and her sister, Carli, made signs announcing the bake sale. They placed them around the neighborhood. Mom and Dad let people know about the bake sale online. Janie was so excited!
Janie had a lot of fun making the treats. She made cookies, crispy cereal bars, and snowball cakes.
Soon the day of the bake sale came. Janie, Carli, and their friend Bella put a table in the front yard. They sold treats to a lot of their neighbors. Some people donated extra money too. Janie put all the money in a special jar.
After the bake sale, Janie had another idea. She entered some of her favorite treats into a contest at the county fair and won a prize! She put the prize money in the jar with the other money for her little library.
Now that Janie had the money for the little library, she needed books to fill it with. She went from door to door and asked her neighbors to donate books they didn’t need anymore. Some friends came by to give Janie their books too.
It was finally time to build her little library. Janie used the money she’d earned to buy supplies. She drew a design of the box and made measurements. Dad helped her cut the wood, and Janie helped him put the pieces together.
Mom filled in the cracks and seams to keep the water out when it rained. Janie helped hang up a sign telling people to take a book or share a book.
Finally Janie and her family took the box out to the front yard next to their big, shady tree. Dad put a post in the ground, and together they put the box on the post. They had made a little library!
Dad placed three heavy rocks around the post. “That should keep it from blowing over,” he said.
“I love it!” Janie said. “Now we can put the books inside.” They filled the little library with the donated books.
After that, Janie went to check the little library every day. She loved to see what books people added or took out. One day she saw a little girl choose one of Janie’s own favorite books! She was so glad she could help her neighbors by sharing books in the little library.
Illustration by Barbara Bongini

We needed these testimonies to remain strong in the Church, for we faced many trials. My mother would not allow us to be baptized, but she did not stop us from going to church. We faithfully attended church and seminary. I also suffered persecution at school from people I thought were my friends. It was difficult, but these experiences strengthened my testimony.
After seven months a missionary challenged us to fast with him for the purpose of being baptized. When we ended the fast, the missionaries came to my house and spoke with my mother. To our great joy, she gave her permission for my brother and me to be baptized.
Trials make us strong.

At Christmastime Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas, Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma. “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

I remember a particular period of my life when I was under unusual stress. There were troubles with my employment, and at the same time, my wife was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. This was one of those times when it felt like the adversary had mounted a frontal assault against me and my family. On days when the stresses and anxieties of our tumultuous life were about to get the best of us, my wife and I found a way to relieve them.
We drove to a place just a few miles from our home to get away for a few moments of relief from our troubles, talk, and give emotional comfort to each other. Our place was Walden Pond. It was a beautiful little pond surrounded by forests of trees. When my wife was feeling strong enough, we’d go for a walk around the pond. Other days, when she did not feel up to the exertion of walking, we’d just sit in the car and talk. Walden Pond was our special place to pause, reflect, and heal. Perhaps it was partly due to its history—its connection to the efforts of Henry David Thoreau to separate himself from worldliness for a period of years—that Walden Pond offered us so much hope for simplicity and provided such a renewing escape from our overly complex lives.

Let me tell you the story of Laurie, a young BYU student who finally gathered the courage to visit the campus health center. She was always exhausted. Some days she couldn’t get out of bed at all. And she was having chest pain, shortness of breath and other physical symptoms of panic.
To her deep dismay, Laurie was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The doctor gave her a comprehensive treatment plan and a prescription for medication. But as soon as Laurie got back to her apartment, she flushed the pills down the toilet. “I was embarrassed,” she told me. “I felt like this was a weakness that I could will myself out of.”
Laurie went on to have many difficult years—denying her symptoms and suffering in silence.
It wasn’t until her third child was born that she finally decided to do something about it. She reached out for help and started to feel better.