Gospel Story Finder

Welfare services missionaries were assigned by the branch president to visit the home of every newly baptized family. In carrying out this assignment, the missionaries often found emergency teaching situations.

For example, one day upon entering the home of a newly baptized member, they were greeted by the mother, who invited them to sit own and then began to cry. Her baby was sick. Its stomach was badly bloated.

Upon investigation, it was found that the child had never had anything to eat except flour and water or powdered milk. For eight months the mother had been afraid to give the baby any other food because it was so sick, and it was sick because it was starving!

The missionaries taught the mother how to include cereals, fruits, and vegetables in the child’s diet. Now the child is on the road to normal health.

When Student Association president Mike Peterson of Santa Maria, California, learned that the local library had only one book published by the Latter-day Saint Church and that it was a Book of Mormon, he knew something had to be done about it. Mike and Garry Moore consulted with William O. Bradford, stake president, and thirty volumes of books about the Church and a subscription to the New Era were presented to the library.

We now have 124 operating temples, with several others announced. This is nearly three times the number operating in 1995, when our current prophet became president. I responded to a very rare invitation by my father to accompany him on a journey through Africa in 1998. I was not a General Authority at the time. In Ghana, after examining a proposed temple site in Accra and approving of its purchase, he announced to the 6,000 members gathered in an outdoor meeting that a temple would be built in their land. The response was instant and unexpected. They stood and embraced their neighbors. Many wept and pointed to the ground as if to say, “We will have a temple right here in our homeland.” We had been told the day before of a couple who recently had walked 25 kilometers in order to renew their temple recommends, with no hope ever of seeing a temple. I will never forget my father’s response. He said, “We are here to give them hope.” I will always remember that experience. That temple was dedicated in January 2004.

You probably won’t find four more inseparable friends than Ruth (8), Sara (7), Marta (6), and Raquel (5). They don’t even have to separate when playtime is over, because they are sisters as well as best friends. Being so close in age causes some problems, but generally the girls get along well, and their love for one another shows.
All four girls attend the same school, where they take two language classes: Catalan—language spoken in the province of Cataluna, where Mataro is located—and Castellano Spanish—the national language. Both languages are spoken in their home also.
The girls sing together in their school choir, which won second place in a Christmas choir contest in 1986. All the other choirs in the contest consisted of thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, so the girls were especially proud when their group won second place.
The sisters agree that singing is great, but they disagree about favorite school subjects. Ruth likes story writing best, Sara enjoys math, Marta prefers art, and Raquel says, “Field trips are the best!”
The girls’ favorite game to play is house. They also like to go to the nearby beaches to swim, play with a Frisbee, and build sand castles.
The Casas live on the segundo piso (second floor) of an apartment building. Each girl has assigned chores to do so that things run smoothly at home. Raquel is very active and tries to make sure that the others get their chores done. Marta makes the beds, Sara cleans the bathroom, and Ruth washes the windows. Ruth also cares for the family pet, a wild canary named Jacky. One day the canary just flew in through the girls’ bedroom window and stayed!
Each of the girls takes her turn teaching the lessons, leading the music, or making the treats for family home evening. And when there were disagreements about whose turn it was to say family prayer, Mom came up with a solution: Wednesday is Ruth’s turn; Thursday is Sara’s. Marta’s turn is on Friday, and Raquel’s is Saturday. Dad offers the prayer on Sunday and Monday, and Mom on Tuesday.
The whole family really enjoys Church. Dad (Rafael) is the branch president, and Mom (Rosario) is the Primary president as well as the girls’ Primary teacher. There are six to eight other children who attend the Mataro Branch Primary. The summer of 1987 was especially exciting for Ruth because she was baptized and confirmed by her father.
No matter where one lives, having friends is special. But the four friends from Mataro know that it’s even more special when those friends are sisters.

As a child I believed what my parents and Primary teachers taught me about the gospel. I was excited to be baptized and go to church. But as I grew older, things began to change.
My dad was in the Air Force, and so we moved every three years. Usually, there were only a few members of the Church; often I was the only one. When we moved to Pennsylvania, there was only one other member of the Church my age at my new school. It seemed like everyone used bad language, smoked, and drank. I was different, and I didn’t know how I could get them to accept me as a Mormon.
A group of girls eventually did accept me. Although they drank, smoked, and did drugs, they didn’t pressure me to join in, so I figured it was OK. But just by being with them, I started developing bad habits. I went behind my parents’ backs to do things I knew I shouldn’t, like watching inappropriate movies, dating earlier than I was allowed, and using bad language.
My mom, realizing what was happening, tried to get me to stop hanging out with these people. But instead of seeing her love and concern, I resented her for it. I became disrespectful and defied her and the Church at every turn, putting down gospel teachings and being rude to the girls in my branch. I told myself I didn’t care that I was unhappy. But I did care.
I thought I couldn’t change, and I began to lose hope. Then one Sunday, a new Young Women leader gave her first lesson. As a complete stranger was teaching me things so many had taught before, something made me listen. She spoke about the importance of temple marriage and eternal families, and her lesson gave me a reason to change. That Sunday I realized why the Church should be important in my life.
I had burned a lot of bridges, and although I had been a member of the Church my whole life, there was still much I didn’t know. But that Sunday my conversion began. While the road ahead of me was hard and sometimes discouraging, with the love and guidance of those around me, I made progress. I learned that I am a child of God and that He loves me and wants me to return to Him.
The temple meant a lot to me during this process and showed me the path I needed to follow. When a sister in my branch asked me if I could do a family baptism for her, I could tell how much it meant to her. I knew that I could not take this temple trip for granted, and I wanted to be worthy.
Although it was difficult, I severed ties with friends who brought me down. I needed friends who would uphold my standards. I got rid of music that contained foul language and stopped using that language myself. I had scripture study and personal prayer daily. Until it became a part of my life, I never knew how much the gospel could help me. Now I find my days less hectic, and I am able to live in a more Christlike manner.
As I sat in the temple, waiting to do the work for that sister’s ancestor, I knew why I was there and how important it all was. I now look forward to temple trips, and I am not ashamed to tell my friends about them.
I regret so many past mistakes, but now I know that I am on the right track. I’m not perfect, and I know I still have a lot to learn. But the gospel has brought happiness into my life once again, and even though it was delayed for a while, I am truly converted.

In our ward we have had some success with two boys who had been completely inactive. We made friends with them. We took them out for pizza. We planned activities around their special interests. When we told them how much the program had to offer and showed them we really wanted them with us, they decided to give us a try.

Last week they both came to activity night. If we can care enough to make good on our campaign promises and really deliver the good program we’ve promised, and still care about them just as much, we’ll keep these boys, and they will have a chance to work out their salvation.

There was nothing particularly interesting about my feet, so I was a little confused when Nieves, a recent convert in Bolivia, said she was thankful for them.
“I’m so grateful for your feet,” she would tell us in the weeks following her baptism.
Nieves had readily received the restored gospel, but when we invited her to be baptized, she hesitated.
She explained that she suffered from a painful skin condition. When her skin touched cold water, it felt as if a thousand needles were piercing her pores. This condition prevented her from doing even ordinary tasks, such as washing vegetables or scrubbing clothing by hand.
We explained that the baptismal font could be heated, and we assured Nieves that she would be baptized in warm water. Her face brightened, and she chose to be baptized on Christmas Day. My companion and I told the branch president about her skin condition, and he said the font would be heated in time for the afternoon baptism.
When we arrived at the chapel for the baptism, however, the font had just been filled with extremely cold water! The frantic branch president explained that because of a miscommunication, the water would not be ready until much later.
My companion and I knew that Nieves wanted to be baptized that day, and we believed that the Lord desired the same thing. We found an empty room and prayed that He would help Nieves to be baptized.
We felt comforted after the prayer and decided to proceed with the service. Those who spoke before the baptism taught beautifully, but I was suddenly nervous when I heard, “Elder Nelson will now baptize Sister Nieves.”
I tried to hide my discomfort as I stepped gingerly into the frigid water. Nieves took my hand and lowered her foot toward the water. I braced myself for the worst, but Nieves did not shriek or even wince. She stepped calmly down the stairs and smiled up at me.
After the baptismal prayer, she lay back into the cold water. When I lifted her, she emerged grinning. I was filled with gratitude. To me, her baptism was a miracle.
The last time I saw Nieves, she said something that cleared up my confusion about her interest in my feet. She said, “I’m so grateful for your feet, which walked to my door and brought me the truth.”
I think of Nieves and her simple faith and gratitude whenever I hear these words of Isaiah: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!” (Isaiah 52:7; see also Mosiah 12:21).

A time back, I clipped a column from the Deseret Morning News, written by Jay Evensen. With his permission, I quote from a part of it. Wrote he:
“How would you feel toward a teenager who decided to toss a 20-pound frozen turkey from a speeding car headlong into the windshield of the car you were driving? How would you feel after enduring six hours of surgery using metal plates and other hardware to piece your face together, and after learning you still face years of therapy before returning to normal—and that you ought to feel lucky you didn’t die or suffer permanent brain damage?
“And how would you feel after learning that your assailant and his buddies had the turkey in the first place because they had stolen a credit card and gone on a senseless shopping spree, just for kicks? …
“This is the kind of hideous crime that propels politicians to office on promises of getting tough on crime. It’s the kind of thing that prompts legislators to climb all over each other in a struggle to be the first to introduce a bill that would add enhanced penalties for the use of frozen fowl in the commission of a crime.
“The New York Times quoted the district attorney as saying this is the sort of crime for which victims feel no punishment is harsh enough. ‘Death doesn’t even satisfy them,’ he said.
“Which is what makes what really happened so unusual. The victim, Victoria Ruvolo, a 44-year-old former manager of a collections agency, was more interested in salvaging the life of her 19-year-old assailant, Ryan Cushing, than in exacting any sort of revenge. She pestered prosecutors for information about him, his life, how he was raised, etc. Then she insisted on offering him a plea deal. Cushing could serve six months in the county jail and be on probation for 5 years if he pleaded guilty to second-degree assault.
“Had he been convicted of first-degree assault—the charge most fitting for the crime—he could have served 25 years in prison, finally thrown back into society as a middle-aged man with no skills or prospects.
“But this is only half the story. The rest of it, what happened the day this all played out in court, is the truly remarkable part.
“According to an account in the New York Post, Cushing carefully and tentatively made his way to where Ruvolo sat in the courtroom and tearfully whispered an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you.’
“Ruvolo then stood, and the victim and her assailant embraced, weeping. She stroked his head and patted his back as he sobbed, and witnesses, including a Times reporter, heard her say, ‘It’s OK. I just want you to make your life the best it can be.’ According to accounts, hardened prosecutors, and even reporters, were choking back tears” (“Forgiveness Has Power to Change Future,” Deseret Morning News, Aug. 21, 2005, p. AA3).
What a great story that is, greater because it actually happened, and that it happened in tough old New York. Who can feel anything but admiration for this woman who forgave the young man who might have taken her life?

I grew up in beautiful Jamaica; it was fun and wonderful. However, when I started high school, some classmates and friends could not understand my decision to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. “How could you join that church?” they would ask. “How could you believe that story?”—referring to the First Vision. “How could you read that book?”—referring to the Book of Mormon. “Do you really believe all that?” And “Why are you wasting your life away?”

It was painful, especially when it came from people I cared about.

But what they didn’t know was this: I had an experience with the Holy Ghost. As that testimony filled my heart, it dulled the pain of days, and “for one brief moment, heaven’s view [appeared] before my gaze.”

Jamaica is to me like Palmyra was to Joseph Smith. It is my Sacred Grove. I do not know the exact spot where Joseph knelt to pray in the Sacred Grove, but I know exactly where I was when my Sacred Grove became a reality. It happened at Four Grove Road, Mandeville, Jamaica, in my bathroom, at 6:00 a.m. on a Wednesday three years after my baptism. This sacred experience happened because two weeks earlier an inspired sister missionary invited me to read the Book of Mormon. Sister Audrey Krauss is attending this conference today with her family, and I forever love her.

That experience changed me.

I would like to share with you a “But if not” moment in my life.
In early 2002, my husband and I were living in Rexburg. He was teaching junior high school, I was working here at the University, and we had four young children ages 12 to 2 years old. During this time, Dave was having some health issues. After discussing with medical professionals, our parents, and counseling with each other, we decided to move forward, and Dave was going to have laparoscopic surgery that was to help with the health issues he was experiencing. So in mid-July, we drove to Jackson, Wyoming, for the surgery the next day. That evening, we had a wonderful time by ourselves going to a movie and getting dinner.
The next day, the surgery went as planned. As Dave came out of the anesthesia, he was in a significant amount of pain. So we worked with the doctors and other medical providers to address the pain. By the next morning, the pain was still unbearable for him. The physician ordered tests and scans to try to determine why this was happening. The tests came back without any information as to why he was in so much pain. We were told that Dave needed to have another surgery to determine what was wrong. This time it would be more invasive and not completed laparoscopically. My parents came to support us during this time while Dave’s parents watched our children. Dave and I were both given priesthood blessings before his surgery.
I was so relieved that we were on a path forward to determine what was wrong and that he would be out of pain. As I waited for him while he was in recovery, a nurse I had talked with previously had told me that everything went well and the surgeon was very thorough. With this good news, my parents returned to Rexburg. So on that beautiful July day, I was filled with hope. I waited in his hospital room while he was in the recovery room. I was told it would not be long when he would be joining me. I waited and waited.
Eventually, a nurse came to me where I was waiting and asked me to go with her to speak with the doctor. He informed me that during the surgery he searched for anything that would be an indication of what would be causing the pain. He checked the sutures and looked for infection. He could not find anything wrong. He then proceeded to tell me Dave was unresponsive to their attempts of bringing him out of the anesthesia and they were going to transfer him from the recovery room to the intensive care unit. He asked if I would wait a bit longer as they continued to treat him. As the doctor went to the ICU, I slumped against the hallway wall and slid to the floor in tears. I have never felt so alone.
As I sat on the floor sobbing, I thought to myself that “I can’t do this.” Dave was always first in my life. We had known each other since high school and have always been together. I was later allowed to be in the ICU room with Dave while the doctors and nurses worked on him. At this point, his heart rate was a steady 160 beats per minute, his blood pressure was dropping, and his temperature was rising. This wise doctor informed me that the best thing he could do was to have Dave transferred to another hospital with a trauma unit. He did not think Dave would make it through the night if he continued to treat him.
After the initial shock of his statement, I felt I needed to find a quiet place to pray to my Heavenly Father. I recalled there was a small individual restroom in one of the hallways in the hospital that I had walked by many times. Once I was there, I knelt down on the cold tile, and through many tears I poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I told Him I couldn’t do it, and then cried some more. I finally asked for peace. I needed to know I wasn’t alone. I needed to know all would be okay. I asked my Heavenly Father to take this hard moment away from me—but if not, please grant me peace. At that moment, my anxiety left and I knew that I needed my Savior to be first in my life and that all would be okay. This was my “But if not” moment during this time. I left that restroom not knowing what “okay” would mean. Again, I was in tears. I kept thinking, “But if not, I know my Savior loves me and that I was not alone.”
There were many more “But if not” moments for me during the next two weeks. Dave was life-flighted to another hospital. He remained in a medically induced coma for several days. During this time, the doctors could not give me a positive prognosis for him. Over time and after many uncertain nights sitting in his hospital room, his health did improve. He remained in the hospital for over two weeks until we were able to go home.

After I went home, I didn’t want to lose the connection to the Spirit that I had felt during the conference, so I made a goal to do what was necessary to keep my newfound foundation in the gospel firm and keep the Spirit with me.
Making changes was a little hard at first. I had to stop spending time with certain friends because they were not a good influence on me. I worked to give up some bad habits. I started taking church seriously. Making these decisions helped me fill my life with goodness. What has helped me stay consistently connected to the Spirit is setting aside time each day to study the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon.
The teachings in the scriptures remind me what is really important in my life. When I feel lonely in my faith, especially with so few members here in Bulgaria, I allow the truths of ancient prophets to deepen my faith in Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite verses is Moroni 10:32: “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”
It’s scriptures like this one that remind me of the light the gospel offers and keep me strong when I’m having a hard time. The scriptures always strengthen my foundation of faith.

During my first BYU London study abroad program as a student, my father came to visit. We took an excursion to France, where his uncle is buried in a World War I military cemetery. The young Lars Lester Larsen—big brother to my dad’s mother—was sent to France as a private in September 1918 and was last seen alive filling his canteen in a small creek before enemy artillery fire set in. He was killed just weeks before the armistice.

The blue star on the banner in the Larsens’ living room window, a national tradition that indicated a son was serving in the military, was changed to gold, the sign that the son had died in combat. His mother—my great-grandmother—was heartbroken and fell ill; her health never recovered. After the war the government organized a trip overseas for those “gold star mothers” of soldiers buried in Europe to visit the graves of their sons. My great-grandmother died the day the ship set sail from New York. So my father and I were the first two relatives ever to visit his uncle’s gravesite, to dedicate it for a glorious resurrection.

When we arrived at the grave marker for Private Larsen, in the midst of thousands and thousands of crosses, with nobody else around, the first thing my father did was put on a suit coat and tie.

He said, “Son, we are here to dedicate a grave, a priesthood ordinance, and when you perform the duties of the priesthood, you do so appropriately attired.”

After his dedicatory prayer he said, “Grandmother would be happy.”

Not only did I learn to be appropriately dressed to perform the duties of the priesthood but I also learned of the terrible price that was paid for our citizenship in a free country—much like the sacrifices of our spiritual forebearers and Jesus Christ Himself to allow us to be members of “the Lord’s country and kingdom.”

The first sacrament meeting I attended in Russia was at a small branch in the city of Kaluga. Only about 12 members attended the meeting. As I looked into the audience, I saw Sister Lydia Denisova. She was 83 years old. Though all her teeth were gone, she had a big smile on her face. She sang the hymns with gusto and enthusiasm. I thought about how Sister Lydia was just as old and wrinkly as every other babushka I saw on the streets, but unlike almost every babushka I had seen, her countenance shone with joy, shone with the happiness of the gospel and the fruits of righteousness and service. Brother Denisova, her husband, had been the branch president, but at ninety years old and almost blind, he was too old to carry out that calling. And yet, there he was still serving. I felt humbled as he served me the sacrament.

Near the end of our three years in Russia, the Denisovas were no longer able to come to church because they weren’t able to walk well enough to leave their apartment. Sister Woolley and I visited them. We found them living on the fifth floor of a walk-up, one-room apartment. The walls were decorated with pictures of the prophets and of the temple. On the tables were copies of the scriptures and the Liahona magazine. We had a wonderful visit. I asked Sister Denisova if she was happy. She told me that she was very happy. She told me of her many blessings: how she had been blessed to receive the gospel 15 years earlier, how she and her husband had been married in the temple. She was thankful to the Lord that she had enough to eat and a warm apartment. She didn’t moan or complain about the fact that she couldn’t walk or leave the apartment. Her gratitude, despite the opposition in her life, made Sister Lydia a happy person. She truly exhibited a state of joy. Her commitment to keeping the commandments and her deep-seated humility had given her the peace that the Savior offers despite what many of us might say was a difficult existence. Some of us might keep the commandments but not feel very happy if we were cooped up in an apartment with no way to leave for many months. Like Lydia, we need to be grateful and positive. We need to chose to be happy.

After our missions, while here at BYU, my wife, Brooke, and I started seriously dating. As we discussed the possibility of marriage one night, she asked me an unexpected question.

She said something like, “Would you be open to adopting a child at some point after we have some of our own kids?”

While this was certainly a major question, at this time I was so smitten with Brooke that she could have asked me almost anything and I would have said, “Absolutely—sounds great to me!”

And that is exactly how I answered her question.

Well, fast-forward twelve years and four kids later, I found out she was actually serious. That is when she brought back up for discussion the question I had long forgotten. As she did so, my response this time was quite different. I found myself instantly cogitating on all the reasons adopting a child would not make sense. I won’t go through the list that entered my mind, but one of the primary reasons is demonstrated by this picture. [A photo of the Hafen family of six was shown.]

At this point we were already a family of six with four wonderful children. In the subsequent weeks as the discussions continued, I found myself searching for and sharing a variety of reasons with Brooke on why we should not pursue adoption.

We all have hindsight, insight, and foresight. In hindsight, I realize my insight and foresight at that time were severely lacking! Gratefully, Brooke’s strong impression compensated for my weakness, and she continued to nudge me to discover my own answer on adoption. So I spent several weeks doing research, writing down my thoughts, and praying. Over time, I became frustrated that I was not finding a clear answer. After an additional conversation, Brooke and I thus agreed to fast and attend the temple with this exclusive purpose.

As Brooke and I prepared to go to the temple for an answer, I recall kneeling in prayer. But rather than just asking Heavenly Father to bless me with an answer, this time I focused much of my prayer on a contemplative and exhaustive acknowledgment of my weaknesses. While I didn’t believe I had made major mistakes that would have prevented personal revelation, I remember a desire to be more humble and thorough in my quest for forgiveness this time.

My experience in the temple was uplifting, as it always is, but I felt slight disappointment as I was preparing to leave without the distinct answer I was seeking. I exited the dressing room and went to the lobby to wait for Brooke. After I had been waiting a few minutes, a couple from one of our early BYU married student wards who I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years walked into the lobby.

After exchanging some pleasantries, I asked them what was new in their lives. Their response surprised me: they shared that after having had four children, they had recently adopted a child.

As you might assume, this was exciting news to me! I asked them several detailed questions about their adoption experience. It was abundantly clear that they already viewed the adoption as a huge blessing to their family. As they were leaving, I sat back down, contemplating what they had just shared.

And then it happened! I was flooded with a spirit so undeniably strong that I will never forget it. With tears welling up, I felt these words enter my mind: “This is your answer. Move forward with adoption.”

While I haven’t had many experiences in my life that were this dramatic, I have had many times in which questions have been answered or decisions were simplified through revelation. And I am so grateful for this experience and testify that it came because of the purifying power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

In the 1830s, missionaries baptized Mary Grimshaw and her family into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Grimshaws immigrated from England to the United States and made their home in Nauvoo.
Mary was given the assignment of helping Emma Smith, the wife of the Prophet Joseph Smith, with her laundry each week. Mary and Emma worked side by side in the Smiths’ kitchen.
“I’m so glad that you have agreed to help me,” Emma said as she lifted a large tub of water onto the black coal stove.
“I’m glad that I’m able to help,” Mary answered while she put shirts and dresses into the water to simmer and soak.
The kitchen air soon became hot and moist, and it smelled of strong lye soap. Mary wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She dipped a wooden spoon into the water and pulled out a shirt. Kneeling beside another tub of sudsy water, she scrubbed the shirt up and down the washboard. When the shirt was scrubbed clean, Mary handed it to Emma.
Emma rinsed it first in one tub of cool, clear water, then in another tub of clear water. The last tub had a few drops of bluing added to the water to make the shirts whiter.
After each article of clothing was washed and rinsed, it was pulled through a hand-turned wringer, which looked like two rolling pins hooked together with a crank on one end to turn them. The wringer was attached to another galvanized metal tub. As the clothes went through the wringer, the water was squeezed out and ran into the tub to be saved and reused. The clothes were then hung neatly on the clothesline to dry.
“Thank you for your help,” Emma said.
“Oh, it was fun. I enjoy having an excuse to come to your home,” Mary told her.
Mary did enjoy helping on laundry day at the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home. For five years Mary faithfully returned each week.
Then one sad day the Prophet Joseph Smith was shot and killed. Wanting to go and comfort Emma in some way, Mary said to no one in particular, “Sister Emma needs me more now than ever.”
As she walked to the Smiths’ house, she smoothed the braids that hung from both sides of her head, straightened the apron tied around her waist, and forced on her best smile.
She thought of how different the day felt. The very air was filled with sadness and uncertainty. She wondered about her future and the future of the Church. Stepping on to the porch, she knocked on the wooden door.
Emma looked pale and lonely, and her eyes were red and swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary heard herself say. “Do you still want my help today?”
“Yes,” Emma replied. “I was hoping that you would come. Please go into the kitchen and get started.”
As Mary began to sort the clothes, she jumped back unexpectedly. On top of the pile of clothes lay a man’s shirt. The left side was stained with blood, and there was a small hole singed by gunpowder. The sight of it made Mary feel weak. She fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably.
At the close of the day, Mary wrote in her diary, “Today I washed the shirt the Prophet Joseph Smith was shot in.”
Mary’s faith in the gospel grew. She sustained Brigham Young as the new prophet. Later she crossed the plains with the other pioneers and made her home in Smithfield, Utah.

As the only young woman in her branch, miles and miles from the nearest group of LDS youth, Justine Goodson of Maryborough, Queensland, Australia, could get pretty lonely sometimes. Although finding non-LDS people who respect LDS standards sometimes proved to be a difficult task, Justine knew she could always turn to one friend—her Father in Heaven.
Justine wasn’t sure what she should do. She wanted to have friends, but she didn’t want to compromise her standards.
“People started to influence my friends to do wrong things. As hard as it was for me to accept it and move on and find new friends, I knew that I had to do it,” says Justine.
Justine prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The answer to her prayer for friends came in a rather surprising way.
In an effort to fill her time and keep her mind off her loneliness, Justine threw herself wholeheartedly into her studies.
“I started to get really academic,” she says. “I would just go to the library and study.” Not only did Justine’s grades improve, but she started to meet other people who were interested in learning—and in making friends.
“We all got along really well,” says Justine of her newfound friends. “So we decided to enter an academic competition.”
After much hard work and many long study sessions, Justine and classmates Janelle Gordon, Ian Neilsen, and Michael Weekes sent off their project in the mail and forgot about it until their English teacher called them out of class a couple of months later to tell them they had won.
Not only did Justine get the satisfaction of doing well in her studies, she knows her prayer for friends who respected her standards was heard and answered.
Justine gives all the credit for her good fortune to her Father in Heaven. Although being the only LDS student in her school is a challenge, Justine knows that with a little help, she can do anything.
“I can just see my Heavenly Father’s hand in so many events. He’s always looking over us and guiding us toward what would be best for us.”

Last fall I witnessed an incident that made a vivid impression on me. Visualize in your mind a warm, sunny, autumn afternoon in Rexburg, Idaho. I had parked my van in the parking area and was walking toward the front door of the downtown post office to mail some packages inside. On the sidewalk in front of me, I noticed a grandmother with her small grandson in tow making their way toward the open door of the building. I remember thinking to myself how fun it must have been for that grandmother to run errands with her little grandson, when suddenly the little boy released his grasp from his grandmother’s hand and sprinted impulsively toward what he thought was the open door of the post office. His grandmother could see the inevitable, but her warning cry was not heard nor heeded. What the small child thought was an open door was actually a solid glass window panel adjacent to the door. This poor little boy smashed head-on into the glass panel. Stunned, he turned around to frantically search for his grandmother. Maybe it was the way this woman instinctively scooped up her crying and hurt grandson and clutched him tight in her arms that impressed me so. Or, perhaps, it was the way she lovingly consoled him and tenderly wiped the blood from his nose and face. Anyway, I was touched as I saw the Savior’s loving arms personified in the arms of that grandmother.

While we were living in California, one of our sons was seriously injured in an automobile accident. His skull was badly fractured, and doctors gave us very little encouragement that he would survive. Three days after he was admitted to the hospital, he contracted meningitis and his condition worsened. Our family doctor and neighbor came to our home and said, “All we can do now is pray.”

And pray we did. For several weeks our neighbors, friends, and business associates joined us in praying for our son and for our own strength. After almost a month, our son’s condition finally stabilized and then improved, and we were blessed to see him eventually recovered and smiling again.

I would not wish a similar experience on anyone, but that terrible, difficult period taught us the principle that President Thomas S. Monson has taught the Church. Said he, “Prayer is the passport to spiritual power.” During our son’s illness, we saw and felt the spiritual power of prayer! Our ward had never prayed harder than it did then, and I don’t think that the members had ever been closer to each other. Our family was sustained by the collective faith and prayers of our friends. And even as our hearts were breaking in fear that we might lose our son, we felt closer to Heavenly Father and more aware of our dependency on Him than at almost any other time in our lives.

Of course, when he* became Explorer adviser in the Orlando First Ward, the young men were interested in diving and so together they earned the tuition and attended scuba classes. Seventeen young men (including Bishop George Parkhurst) finished the certification course. To celebrate their success they went diving off Singer Island near Palm Beach, Florida. They made two dives on Friday and two on Saturday, each about 35 minutes apiece in water 60 to 80 feet deep.
The beautiful underwater world that each person on the trip got to see seemed like another universe. Once the young men slid into the water, they merged into a world of brightly colored coral, sponges, sea anemones, sea fans, and hosts of small tropical fish. They also got to meet many marine creatures including the small, harmless nurse sharks, the more dangerous moray eels, and barracuda, grouper, snapper, and other larger fish.
Brian Solomon, 17, found it hard to believe even after he had seen it. “The part of the trip that sticks out in my mind is how beautiful ocean life is. No matter how many pictures you see, it doesn’t compare with what you can see in person. Observing some of the sea life close up was something I’ll never forget. Imagine swimming along and then looking down and spotting a four foot barracuda making eyes at you!”
Dale Strange said, “As we descended to the bottom we began to see the coral and the animal life. Time seemed to fly so fast in that world that an hour could seem like just a few minutes. It was all new and unreal to me even though I have always been interested in the ocean.”
Besides giving the boys something to learn and master together, the classes also gave them greater appreciation for their leaders. Brian Solomon summed up the feelings of the group: “The classes and the trip were great, but our experiences with our leaders were even greater. Each one of them did his part and more. I wish everyone could meet them and feel their spirit.”

Sue Ellen sniffed the acrid smell of burning leaves and felt the wind blowing her curls. She looked up through the gold and red leaves still on the maple trees in her backyard and thought she’d never seen the sky so blue. Today was Saturday and she was restless. “Mom,” she asked, “what’ll I do?”
Her mother laughed. “Why, Sue Ellen, on a nice October day like this, I’d make a house of leaves.”
“Oh, Mom,” Sue Ellen said, “how can anyone do that?”
“It’s easy and lots of fun,” her mother said. “Get your little rake from the toolshed and rake up a big pile of leaves. Then when you get tired of jumping into them, let me know and I’ll show you how to make a house.”
Sue Ellen’s best friend Linda lived next door. She couldn’t think of anything to do either until she saw Sue Ellen raking an enormous pile of leaves.
“Can I help, Sue Ellen?” she called.
“Sure, Linda. After we make a big pile, Mother’s going to show me how to make a house of leaves.”
Soon their pile of leaves was higher than both of the girls.
“Let’s run and jump right in the middle!” Sue Ellen shouted.
“Let’s!” agreed Linda.
They ran and jumped plunk into the middle. When they got up, there were leaves in their hair, down their necks, in their shoes, and some were even sticking out of their ears. And they laughed and laughed. “How do you make a house of leaves?” Linda asked.
“I don’t know, but Mother will show us,” Sue Ellen replied.
Sue Ellen’s mother came out with the big rake. “Now then, how many rooms will your house have?” she asked.
Sue Ellen said, “We’ll want a kitchen so we can make gingerbread men and a dining room—”
“And we need a living room and two bedrooms, one for Sue Ellen and one for me,” Linda interjected.
Sue Ellen’s mother raked a square of leaves. Then she said, “We need a door to the porch and one to the dining room and lots of windows.” Then she raked away some of the leaves for the doors and windows.
“Oh, oh, I see!” cried Sue Ellen. “Come on, Linda, let’s make the rest of the rooms.” And soon they had a kitchen and a dining room and a living room and two bedrooms and a porch.
When their house was finished, Sue Ellen said, “Now we need some furniture for our house.”
“I know!” declared Linda, clapping her hands. “Let’s get our dolls and doll furniture and play house.”
After the girls had everything arranged, it was time for lunch and their nap. When their naps were over, Sue Ellen and Linda decided to make a different house. So they raked their leaves up into a pile again and made an even grander house.
About three o’clock Sue Ellen’s mother came out and said, “Knock, knock. May I come in?”
“Oh, Mrs. Anderson, how nice to see you,” Sue Ellen answered. “Do come in.”
“Please have a chair,” Linda said.
“Thank you, I will,” Mrs. Anderson replied. And she sat on a little pile of leaves in the living room.
“I came over to ask if you ladies would take tiffin with me.”
“Oh, yes, we’d love to!” they both answered, giggling.
“I have it all ready, and I thought we could have it at your house. I’ll be back in just a minute.” And faster than you can say one, two, three, she was back with a tray of hot chocolate and hot gingerbread men.
After they finished eating, and when Mrs. Anderson was leaving, she said, “What a lovely house you have!”
“We think so,” Sue Ellen and Linda answered. “Thank you very much for tiffin, and do come again tomorrow.”