Gospel Story Finder

Just this summer our family came in possession of the first letter written to my grandmother by her mother when my grandmother left her home in England as a young immigrant. She left everything behind because someone taught her of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She joined the Saints in America and eventually moved to Canada. For fear of being persuaded to remain in England, she did not tell her family of her conversion to the Church or her plans to leave until after. That first letter received from her mother reads in part:

My dearest daughter. . . whatever on earth has caused you to go out of your own country and away from all your friends, I cannot imagine. You say, “Don’t fret.” How do you think I can help it when such a blow as that come to struck me all up in a heap? You say you are happy, but I can’t think it, for I am sure I could not have been happy to have gone into a foreign country and left you behind. You say you will come again, but I don’t think you will hesitate your life over the deep waters again. When I think about it, I feel wretched. You had a good place and a good home to come to whenever you liked. And I must say that I loved the very ground you walked upon, and now I am left to fret in this world. But still, all the same for that, I wish you good luck and hope the Lord will prosper you in every way. I remain, your loving Mother. [Personal Files]

They never saw each other again in this earth life. And none of her family joined the Church. However, their temple work has been done for them.

The Children and Youth Development Program was regarded by some as a very complex program.
By virtue of my calling as the area organizational adviser in charge of Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary, I had the opportunity to meet with several children, youths and their leaders and talk to them concerning their goals and their plans to achieve this great work.
I found that many of these children and youths found it difficult to set achievable goals and make plans to achieve them. I decided to study the pamphlet and guidebook to better understand it. I then decided to help the children and youth make it a Christ-centered and a learner-focused program to be able to better explain to the children, youth, and their leaders on how the program works and how to help them set more realistic and achievable goals.
While at it, a thought came to my heart: “Why don’t you practice what you preach?”
This thought so pierced my heart that I couldn’t shake it off. The thought of me mentoring and supporting youths and their leaders to develop and improve themselves and not leading by example was a no-no! These thoughts fueled me to look at my life and set goals according to the four areas of growth. I then went to Heavenly Father in prayer and the impression came more strongly, lead by example. Hence, I decided to work on the Children and Youth development program myself!
Physically: There was a need for me to improve my appearance I decided to learn how to apply a proper and modest make-up, make clothes for myself and family. I went online, downloaded video tutorials on the combination of simple makeup colors and how to measure, cut and sew dresses. I did set a short-term goal of three months to achieve this. Today I make clothes for myself, family, friends and even sisters around me wear my designs – Hachron Designs.
Intellectually: To improve myself intellectually, I decided to continue my education by going for my master’s degree and a certificate course in BYU-Pathway Worldwide. This was a 12-month goal. Today I have earned a master of science in mathematics/statistics, a certificate with BYU-Pathway. Presently, I am undergoing my doctorate degree program.
Socially: I decided to manage my time so I would have more time for my loved ones and boost my mental health. Sometimes it is difficult to navigate all these activities while magnifying my calling, attending lectures, meeting up to make dresses and attending training meetings. But when Heavenly Father sees the sincere desires of our hearts and determination to learn, grow and develop, He gives us renewed strength and sends angels our way to lighten our load—just like He gave me a very beautiful and supportive family and a very reliable and dependable secretary.
Spiritually: I decided to say my prayers frequently and fervently, study the scriptures more often and be consciously engaged in family history work. I have been able to complete my family tree to the ninth generation and have extended it to my in-laws. Now my family tree is as large as an obeche tree. I feel closer to Heavenly Father and the Saviour Jesus Christ as I involve my family in prayers and scripture study. Also, I needed to minister more to not only my assigned sisters but also to everyone around me.
I recognize the importance of continuous learning and skill development to unlock personal potential and navigate the complexities of this world.
Another skill that significantly contributed to my personal growth was time management. I try to plan my day, week, month, and year with my family and with my secretary to balance both my personal life and my calling. As I sharpened my ability to prioritize tasks and allocate time effectively, I found myself more organized and less stressed. This not only improved my academic performance but also allowed me to practice and sharpen my sewing skills and learn new styles and designs, visit more sisters, and feel the Saviour’s love whenever I minister to them. Balancing responsibilities and passions created a more fulfilling and well-rounded life for me.
The Children and Youth Program has been a transformative force in my personal journey. A doctorate degree in mathematics and statistics in the making, a make-up and fashion designing skill, time management skills, and ministering as the Saviour would, have collectively sculpted a better version of myself. The continuous pursuit of learning and skill refinement remains an ongoing process, ensuring that I am equipped to face the ever-evolving challenges of life with confidence and adaptability.
Indeed, the Lord does speak through His prophet. Heeding the words and counsels of the prophet and our leaders has brought immense blessings and joy to my life and that of my family at large. If I can develop so much in a year, imagine how much more our children and youth who begin this program very early will develop over the years!

Two years ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. We were very close. When I was young, she would tell me, “You’ll always be with me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”
Because I had returned home, I was there when she needed me, spending time with her every day during her final months. She didn’t join the Church before her death, but she loved the Liahona magazine, the Book of Mormon, and general conference. “I believe it all,” she said.
Later, I was blessed to be in the Cochabamba Bolivia Temple with my parents when my grandmother was sealed to her husband, who had died young. She never remarried. I felt that they were there in the temple with us, happy and together again. To see my parents in the sealing room standing as proxy for them was a beautiful sight.

Fifth grade was a hard year for me. I’d had the same group of friends for several years, and I thought that we would always be friends. But soon after fifth grade started, my friends started using bad language and acting in ways I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t like. They also started being mean to other kids in our class and talking about people behind their backs.
Eventually I became one of those kids my friends made fun of. They even gave me a mean nickname: Big-Lip Charlotte, or “BLC” for short. My feelings were so hurt. I started trying to avoid my friends at school, but it was hard because we were in the same class.
“Hey, guys!” I said one day at lunch, trying to be friendly and cheerful.
“Hey, BLC! Big-Lip Charlotte!” they chorused together as they made faces at me.
I ran away, trying to hold back tears. I ate lunch by myself and counted the minutes until I could go home.
“What’s wrong, honey?” asked Mom when she noticed my tear-stained cheeks after school.
“The kids who used to be my friends have started calling me a horrible name. I just don’t understand why they have to be so mean to me.” I started to cry again.
“Those kids shouldn’t be acting that way. But it really doesn’t matter what other people think of you. You’re beautiful, and you have no reason to listen to what those mean kids say.”
“But, Mom,” I said. “I see them every day. I do care what they think of me. And other people listen to what they say about me. How can I just ignore everyone?”
“Charlotte, the only opinions that really matter are yours and the Lord’s. If you’re OK with yourself and what you do, and if Heavenly Father is OK with your choices, it doesn’t matter what people call you or say about you. I promise.”
As I went to school the next few weeks, my old friends still laughed at me and called me names. But I soon found that I could walk around with peace in my heart. I knew that if Heavenly Father was OK with my big lips, then I could be too.
I was able to get through the rest of fifth grade. I ended up making new friends who didn’t call me names and who helped me feel good about myself. Most important, though, I learned that if Heavenly Father is pleased with who I am, then I don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks.

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just as Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.

This story took place in Guatemala.
“I’m so excited to go to church at the chapel!” Anahí said at breakfast.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Anahí and her family hadn’t been able to go to church in person for almost two years. But today they would finally be able to! Anahí was glad she could see her friends and have the sacrament with their ward again.
Anahí and her family sat down in the chapel. Anahí waved to her friends.
Soon it was time for the sacrament. After the hymn, Anahí folded her arms and bowed her head. She listened to the sacrament prayer. Then she looked at a little picture of Jesus. It helped her remember to be reverent.
A young man brought the tray to their row. But when the tray reached Anahí, it was empty!
Then Anahí looked closer. In the corner of the tray, there was one crumb left. She picked it up and put it in her mouth.
For the rest of the day, Anahí worried. She kept thinking about the tiny piece of bread. All through dinner she worried. She didn’t even eat her ice cream for dessert. She just sat at the table while Mami washed dishes.
Did the sacrament count if I only took a crumb? she thought.
Mami dried her hands on a towel. “Is something wrong, love?”
Anahí shook her head no.
“Well, your melted ice cream makes me think something is bothering you.” Mami smiled and sat down next to Anahí. “What is it?”
Tears filled Anahí’s eyes. “I was excited to take the sacrament today. But when the tray got to me, there was only a crumb of bread left.” She took a big breath. “Did I take the sacrament wrong?”
“No,” Mami said. She hugged Anahí close. “I saw you looking at the little picture of Jesus you carry in your scriptures. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about how Jesus loves me. And about the nail prints in His hands and feet. And all He did for us.”
“Don’t you see?” Mami asked. “That’s why we take the bread and water. To remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us.”
“So the size of the bread doesn’t matter?”
“No. What matters is how you felt as you remembered the Savior,” Mami said. “And even though you just had a tiny piece of bread, Jesus’s love for you is not tiny. He loves you so, so much.”
Anahí smiled. She knew Mami was right. The sacrament could always be a special time to remember Jesus—even with just a tiny piece of bread.

At times an awareness of the elderly is brought into focus by a reminder from one ever so young. May I share with you a Pakistani folktale which illustrates this truth:

An ancient grandmother lived with her daughter and grandson. As she grew frail and feeble, instead of being a help around the house, she became a constant trial. She broke plates and cups, lost knives, spilled water. One day, exasperated because the old woman had broken another precious plate, the daughter sent the grandson to buy his grandmother a wooden plate. The boy hesitated because he knew a wooden plate would humiliate his grandmother. But his mother insisted, so off he went. He returned bringing not one, but two wooden plates.

“I only asked you to buy one,” his mother said. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Yes,” said the boy. “But I bought the second one so there would be one for you when you get old.”

By the time the motor coach passed Big Ben, Jamison knew what he was going to do. “Peter,” he whispered to his friend, “I’m not staying with the class. I want to explore the Tower of London alone.”
“Are you daft? Miss Wellington will really be upset.”
Before Jamison could reply, the teacher announced: “Get your lunches, and when we get off the coach, we’ll queue up (form a line) by the ticket booth.”
Later Jamison clutched his lunch bag nervously as he waited his turn to be searched by the Tower guard.
“Scotch eggs and biscuits (cookies) today, is it?” joked the guard as he quickly glanced into each sack. “You don’t have a bomb in there, do you?”
“N-No, sir,” stammered Jamison. Everyone was checked before entering the Tower because a bomb had recently been planted there.
Miss Wellington led the class down the stone causeway into the Tower of London. Jamison marched beside Peter.
“I’ve got to drop back, or someone will tell on me when I slip away,” said Jamison.
“I’m going with you,” replied Peter.
“You might get in trouble.”
“When Miss Wellington asks for partners to hold up arms and I don’t have a partner, she’ll know you’re gone. If both of us leave, nobody will miss us.” Peter looked to see if anyone was listening. “How do you plan to get away?”
“Simple—when we stop at the scaffold site on the Tower Green, we’ll slip away.”
Jamison had been on field trips to the Tower before and knew that at each important site a guide was stationed to explain its history.
When they reached the place where many famous people had been beheaded, a large crowd stood listening to the guide. Different school groups could be recognized by their uniforms. Miss Wellington stopped her class on the edge of the crowd.
Jamison jerked at his friend’s sleeve. Carefully the two boys inched from one group of tourists to the next. “Where are we going?” asked Peter as he dashed after his friend.
“To the White Tower. I want to see the armor. We never stop long enough there for me to really examine everything.”
The boys entered the White Tower and climbed the narrow, winding stone steps to the Chapel of St. John. Behind the Chapel they reached the room where swords from the early Middle Ages were displayed on the walls and in cabinets.
“Oh, look at this sword!” cried Peter, pointing to a long-bladed weapon with a jeweled handle.
“Now isn’t this better than trailing along with the class and looking at all those crown jewels and silver goblets?” asked Jamison with a grin.
The boys walked from display to display, exclaiming in whispers. Finally Jamison said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go up to the top floor and eat our lunch.”
“They won’t let us eat up there,” said Peter.
“I’ll show you a place where we can eat and they won’t see us.” Jamison wiggled his way through the people standing beside a counter of Middle Ages armor and headed for some stairs. He motioned for Peter to follow.
The top floor opened into a large hall where suits of armor stood like silent guards. A few tourists were moving slowly from display to display.
Jamison marched with confidence past a horse carrying a rider. Both man and beast were completely outfitted in mail and armor, ready for battle.
One cabinet housed fourteenth-century breastplates and gauntlets. Others displayed shields of various sizes and with different designs.
Quickly Jamison glanced around the room. Satisfied that no one had noticed them, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled behind a display of crossbows. Peter followed.
It was dark in the corner, but the boys were completely secluded from view. When Jamison was satisfied that they were safe in their hiding place, he sat on the floor and crossed his legs. “Let’s eat. But don’t drop any crumbs,” he warned. He pulled his scotch egg from the sack and took a bite. (A scotch egg is made by taking a hard-cooked egg, rolling it in sausage, and frying it in deep fat.) Each boy ate his egg with delight.
“What kind of biscuits do you have?” asked Peter. “I’ve a chocolate chip and two shortbread. Have you anything to swap?”
“I’ve two oatmeal and a ginger with white icing. I wish the school had packed those marshmallow biscuits with chocolate on top,” whispered Jamison.
When the boys finished eating, they carefully folded their paper sacks and stuffed them into their pockets. Jamison peeked out of their hiding place to see if all was clear.
Everyone had gone while they ate. “We have the place to ourselves. Isn’t it great?” whooped Jamison as he dashed around the room.
“Jamison, don’t you think it’s a bit odd that nobody’s up here besides us?”
“Someone will be along in a minute.” Jamison walked over to a display and lifted a knight’s faceplate. “Hello in there,” he called.
Soon Jamison also began to feel uneasy. No one had entered the room, and he knew they had been alone for at least fifteen minutes. “Maybe we’d better go find the class,” he said. “I’ve seen enough, haven’t you, Peter?”
As they dashed down the narrow stone steps, their footsteps echoed against the walls. Jamison grew more nervous. No one had come up as they descended. At the foot of the stairs Jamison reached for the heavy iron latch on the door and tugged. Nothing happened.
“Peter, the door is locked! We’re trapped in here.”
“What? Let me try. We can’t be. Miss Wellington will have the headmaster punish us if we aren’t back when the class boards the coach.” Peter yanked at the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Let’s go to a window and call for help,” said Jamison. “Someone will hear us.”
They hurried into the nearest room.
“There’s a window!” shouted Jamison. He ran to it and looked out. “Peter!” he gasped. “They’ve roped off this area. Look!”
“What does it mean?”
“The guards must have received a bomb threat or something. They’ve closed this building and evacuated the area,” replied Jamison, unable to keep the tremble from his voice.
“What if the building blows up?” Peter asked, swallowing hard. “We could get hurt or maybe even die.”
“If we’d stayed with the class, we wouldn’t be here now. I know I’m supposed to follow rules. Mum and Dad taught me that. And now you’re trapped too! I’m sorry, Peter. It’s all my fault!”
“It’s my fault, too—I chose to come with you. I thought it would be a lark … We could have come back another time. Our parents would have brought us.”
Just then a police siren wailed and an armored demolition lorry (truck) wheeled around the corner. The tower guards rushed over to the bobbies (policemen) jumping from the lorry and began explaining the situation.
Jamison stuck his head out the window and waved his arms. “Hello! We’re up here! We’re locked in!”
The guards and the bobbies looked relieved to see the boys. One shouted, “We’ll have you down in a few minutes!”
Jamison and Peter were at the door when they heard the key turn.
“You’d better dash over to your coach,” one bobby growled. “Your teacher’s been giving the guards fits because they’ve had other people to look out for—some blind students and a group of foreign tourists—before they could make an all-out search for you. I’m glad you’re found, though. Go along now—leg it!”
Jamison and Peter did not stop running until they reached the motor coach. “When we get back to the school, we’ll decide what to do about your leaving the group,” Miss Wellington told them. She sounded more scared than angry. But the two boys were quick to sit where she pointed. “Take those seats where I can keep an eye on you. I don’t want you straying again!”
Jamison looked at Peter. “She doesn’t have to worry about us ever straying again, does she?”

Even some of the most difficult clients responded differently than expected.
Shelly is deaf and blind. She can’t talk, can’t communicate. In her dark world, she only knows how to scream when she gets alarmed or frustrated or disoriented. Staff expected to quietly take her back to her room after a very short time. But she was assigned to three girls as her friends for the day. They held her hand, patted her, touched her, stayed with her constantly.
“We were amazed at Shelly. Those girls managed to communicate a sense of love and caring that penetrated her darkness,” said Brother Holmes-Gull. Shelly was seen quietly laying her head near the girls while they sat on the grass.

What am I going to do? I can’t bear my testimony. I don’t have a testimony! I thought.
It was family home evening, and Mom had taught the lesson. “I think it’d be very nice if we all took some time to share our testimonies with each other,” she said excitedly. “I’ll go first.”
At least she started on the other side of the room. It felt like Mom was looking right at me as she began. Who is Jesus, anyway? I wondered. I had heard all the stories, gone to Primary, but I still didn’t know Him. What if it is really just a story? Mom seemed to really feel what she was saying, like she really believed it was true.
Mom ended her testimony, and then it was Tiffany’s turn. She began, “I want to bear my testimony. I know the Church is true, I know there is a true prophet. …”
How does she know that? She’s only 10! I thought as I listened to her go on like it was so simple. It wasn’t simple, though—not for me. I didn’t know if I believed it, any of it. I had so many questions.
Tiffany finished, and it was Danny’s turn. He sped through bearing his testimony, and then everyone was looking at me.
I thought about just saying I had a testimony. But I decided I would just tell the truth. They are going to be so mad.
“Jennie, it’s your turn. Would you bear your testimony, please?”
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t know if it’s true. I’m sorry.” Dreading what they would say and how they would react, I ran to my room and threw myself onto my bed.
Mom followed quickly and sat down on the bed next to me. She reached forward and gently patted me on the back.
“Jennie …”
“Mom, I just don’t know if I believe it like you do. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”
“Well, it’s about time!” she said.
“What?” Surprised, I sat up.
“You’re 13 years old. It’s about time you started questioning and searching for yourself. You can’t live off of your father’s testimony or mine. You have to figure it out for yourself now.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“No. It’s OK that you don’t have a testimony now, but you have to decide what you’re going to do about it. You must find out for yourself,” Mom said.
“What should I do?”
“Read the Book of Mormon. Then pray about it. Ask God.”
“How will I know?” I asked.
“You’ll feel it. He’ll tell your heart.” She smiled, got up from the bed, and left my room.
Moved by my mother’s advice, I determined to read the Book of Mormon and find out if what my parents had taught me was true.
A few months later I came to the last chapter in the Book of Mormon. I remember thinking about Moroni’s promise as I knelt down beside my bed. I wondered if it really could be that simple.
As I began to pray, a feeling of peace and assurance came over me—so much so that I felt guilty for having even doubted. In that sweet moment, the Lord planted a seed in my heart that has since become a growing testimony of the truth.

The next morning I was up a little before five, tossing bundles of the Herald onto the back seat of the car. During the night the snow had stopped and the world was buried under its wet cottony mass. I glanced down the driveway and wondered if I should take a few minutes to push some of the snow away before pulling out. Blowing on my numb fingertips and stomping the snow from my feet, I shook my head. I didn’t have time, I reasoned. And I was sure I could get out without getting stuck.
The first stop I made was at Sister Rencher’s. With most people I didn’t make the effort to set the paper inside the front door. I just tossed it in the general direction of the porch. But with Sister Rencher I made an exception because it was so hard for her to get around. I snatched a paper off the back seat, stepped from the car, and sprinted for the front steps. I stopped at the end of the walk and stared in disbelief. The front walk and steps were swept completely clean. I glanced at my watch—5:15 A.M. “Boy, somebody’s sure been up early this morning,” I muttered, hurrying up the clean walk and setting the paper inside the storm door. “Maybe Sister Rencher can get around with that walker better than I thought,” I grinned.
“That was quick,” Dad called to me as I burst in from the cold 90 minutes later. He was just putting on his coat and stuffing papers into his briefcase before heading out the door for work.
“There’s a ton of snow out there,” I remarked. “It must have snowed another four inches after we went to bed.”
“I guess you cleaned off the walks and driveway,” Dad joked.
“What did you want me to do, get up at three o’clock?” I grinned back. “I was lucky to get the papers delivered. But somebody was sure up early. Sister Rencher’s walks were clean as spring.”
Dad smiled. “What about Sister Hatch’s and Sister Ballard’s?”
“Dad, I was delivering papers, not home teaching. I don’t go over that way.”

I would like to offer a short story—a parable if you will.
The Caterpillar and the Butterfly
Here is my version of the parable of the caterpillar and the butterfly:
There were once two caterpillars, one brown and one green, who lived in the same tree and became extremely close friends. Each morning they would find each other and then settle down on a large leaf where they could eat and talk throughout the day. Munching on leaves in the cool shade of the tree, they were as happy as two friends could possibly be.
Then one morning the brown caterpillar awoke to find his friend missing. He crawled frantically from one branch to another looking for the green caterpillar, but his friend was simply nowhere to be found. Sad and lonely, the brown caterpillar finally gave up his search and selected a leaf to eat for breakfast. The next day and the day following that, the brown caterpillar spent each morning looking for his friend but with no success. Gradually he forgot about the green caterpillar altogether.
Then, one late afternoon just as the sun was setting, a beautiful butterfly landed on the same leaf where the caterpillar was resting. The caterpillar had, of course, seen butterflies before, but he had never been so close to one of these beautiful creatures. He couldn’t help but contrast the delicate body and wings of the butterfly with his own thick and clumsy appearance. To his surprise, the butterfly spoke to him.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you again, old friend!” said the butterfly.
“What?” responded the caterpillar in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”
“Well, of course I am,” responded the butterfly. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The caterpillar, puzzled and embarrassed, said: “I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember having met you before. Perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else.”
“No, there is no mistake,” said the butterfly, “but I suppose that I have changed a lot and so I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t recognize me anymore. I was once a green caterpillar, and you and I spent many days together in this very tree.”
Looking at the beautiful butterfly, the caterpillar was astonished and asked, “You were once my friend the green caterpillar? But how could that be? How could a caterpillar become a butterfly? That seems impossible.”
“Well, it wasn’t easy,” admitted the butterfly, “but when I was a caterpillar I always believed that I had the power to change if I really wanted to. And to tell you the truth, changing into a butterfly wasn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part was giving up being a caterpillar.”

When I was a young child, our family was anxious for the return of Uncle Orson. My mother had deep feelings about the matter, which she implanted in her children. For some reason I always watched for Uncle Orson to come to the back door of our home. I remember on a number of occasions when a peddler would come to the back door. I would pull on my mother’s dress to get her attention and ask, “Is this Uncle Orson, huh?” But the answer was always no.
It was many years later that mother shared the story with me of her younger brother. Uncle Orson was born in 1881. Fourteen months later his father died, leaving him without the guidance of a father during those critical early years. When he was 17 years old, he, with a group of other boys his own age, went to Saltair, a dance pavilion on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. Before the evening was over, they became drunk and ended up in the county jail.
The following morning, parents and family members came to the jail house and obtained their sons’ releases. Many of them put their arms around their sons and built them into pillars in the community. But unknown to my grandmother, Uncle Orson was released from jail, given a one-way ticket to the Northwest, and told never to return.
Mother said that on occasions she would hear her mother sobbing in her bedroom during the night. When she went to her mother’s side, her mother would say, “I wonder where my wandering boy is tonight.”
Uncle Orson likely worked in the lumber camps of the Northwest in an atmosphere that was not conducive to living the principles of the gospel, If he were living today, he would be very old. It is most likely that he has gone to the world of spirits by now. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find out what happened to Uncle Orson.
Isaiah wrote, “And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited” (Isa. 24:22). Between the crucifixion and the resurrection of the Savior, he “organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness” (D&C 138:30).
This, too, is a prototype and applies in a like manner to those who died after Christ’s resurrection.
My good friend, Joseph S. Nelson, died a few months ago at age 86. He was a great missionary during his life. He served four missions. He was called to the last at 80 years of age. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find him—and here he is:
“I beheld that the faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead” (D&C 138:57).
I have come to love my great-grandmother, Ursula Wise Derrick. She must have been a most remarkable person. She was obviously “faithful in the testimony of Jesus while [she] lived in mortality” (D&C 138:12). But she had no opportunity to receive the saving ordinances that would assure her “redemption from the bands of death” (D&C 138:16).
I have loved Uncle Orson from childhood because I inherited a longing for him. I want so much to buy him a return ticket home to his eternal family.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find my great-grandmother and ensure that she has been taught the wonderful truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ so that she can take advantage of the saving ordinances we have performed in her behalf.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find Uncle Orson and teach him the gospel truths that his father would have taught him in mortality had he been here to do so. I hope that he might now have the opportunity to hear the gospel truths that he might have heard except for the one-way ticket he was given away from those who might have helped him.
Please, dear friend Joseph, find them and teach them these precious truths of salvation so that our family might be a forever family. If you do, I will be more grateful than mortals can express.

Recently, a member in Monterrey, Mexico, told me how the Book of Mormon changed his life. As a teenager, Jesús Santos was impressed by the LDS missionaries he saw walking down the dusty streets. He wanted to talk to them about their church but was told by a friend that you have to wait for them to contact you.
Many times he would go to the Church building and look through the iron fence at the missionaries and the Mutual youth playing games. They seemed to be so wholesome, and he wanted to be part of them. He would lean his chin on the fence, hoping that they would notice him and invite him to participate with them. It never happened.
As Jesús recounted his story to me, he said, “It is sad. I was a young man and could have served a full-time mission.”
He moved to Monterrey, Mexico. Nine years later he was visiting a friend across town when the missionaries knocked at the door. His friend wanted to send them away. Jesús begged him to let the missionaries talk to them for just two minutes. His friend consented.
The missionaries talked about the Book of Mormon, how Lehi’s family traveled from Jerusalem to the Americas, and how the resurrected Jesus Christ visited Lehi’s descendants in America.
Jesús wanted to know more. He was especially intrigued by the picture depicting Christ’s appearance in America. He gave the missionaries his address. He waited for months, but they never made contact with him.
Three more years passed. Some friends invited his family to a family home evening. They gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
As soon as he began to read it, he knew the Book of Mormon was true. Finally, 12 years after he first became aware of the Church, he and his wife were baptized. So many years had been lost. If missionaries had just talked to him, if the Mutual youth had just noticed a lonely teenager looking over the fence, if the missionaries in Monterrey had found him at home, his life would have been different during those 12 years. Gratefully, member neighbors invited him for a family home evening and shared with him that book which has such great converting power, the Book of Mormon.
Today Jesús Santos serves as the president of the Monterrey Mexico Temple.
In my mind’s eye, I can still see Jesús Santos as a ragged 18-year-old boy looking over the fence at the chapel. Can you see him? Can you invite him and others like him to be one with us? Whom do you know that would respond to your invitation to read the Book of Mormon? Will you invite them? Don’t wait.

One Monday when we were celebrating Washington’s birthday, I was down at my mother’s sawing a log in the backyard. She came out to give me some direction and see how I was doing it, and she wasn’t very pleased. She thought I ought to do it differently. She went back into the house and in a few minutes my younger brother arrived. She said to him, “I think you’d better go out in the backyard and give Bruce some help and see that he does this thing right.” And then she said to him, “Bruce isn’t very bright.” Well, so I’m not. So I start where I am, and I go forward from there. I start using such talent as I have, and I begin to apply the principles of eternal truth to my life. I consult and counsel with the Lord in the process, and no matter where I am, the gospel takes me forward and onward and upward, and blessings flow to me that will ennoble and sanctify and improve me in this life and eventually give me glory and honor and dignity in the life to come.

My sisters and I were talking about how well we did feeding our neighbor’s dogs. My mom said she would pay us for doing such a great job. Then my mom reminded us about tithing. I made a big fuss about that. Then my mom said I could either keep all my money or give tithing to the bishop. I knew that paying tithing was the right thing to do. I was happy I made the right choice, and I hope Heavenly Father was too.

Connor M., 15, and Kristin C., 16, taught a class together on indexing headstones and birth, marriage, and death records. Connor says, “I believe that everyone should do their family history because it really is a surefire way to take the adversary out of your life.” Kristin adds, “Learn how to do some sort of family history, and then share your learned skill with others.” Colter M., 17, also taught a workshop on indexing. When he was working in the Discovery Zone, he helped an older sister who came in with a CD sent over from Japan with her family tree in Japanese. “It was an amazing experience to be able to help her open the CD and view her family tree,” he says. “It was a very spiritual experience for me and the sister I was helping.”

When I was in the MTC, my companion taught me an important lesson of being in favor with man, or in this case, other missionaries. Throughout our time there, I thought the world of this elder and admired his obedience and hard work. However, it was difficult for him at times to get along with the rest of our district as they continually would bump heads. He felt at times they might not be as obedient as they should or follow the MTC rules to exactness like he did.

At the end of our two month training before we left to The Kingdom of Tonga, he wrote in my journal and a small excerpt from it reads, "All I was trying to do was be the kind of missionary the Lord wanted me to be, but it was hard with all this negative pressure around me to conform to the 'group standard'. After a lot of prayer and searching the scriptures, I found my answer. It's found in 2 Timothy 2:24-26. In summary it says two things: Love with the pure love of Christ all those around you, but never compromise your own standard." He continued writing, "No matter how much good you do, no matter how obedient you are, no one will follow your example if they don't love you."

What a valuable lesson for me to learn at the start of my mission of how important it is to genuinely love others in a way that they would want to follow the example that I could set for them. To me this means being a concerned friend before a home teacher/visiting teacher.

One of the talks that has had an everlasting impression on me is one given in a Saturday evening session of a stake conference years ago. The talk was given by a young mother. Here’s what she said: “I have been doing the genealogy of my great-grandfather. He and his large family of sons and daughters were members of the Church.
“My great-grandfather,” she said, “left church one Sunday with his family, and they never returned—no indication why.”
She then said, “In my research, I have found that my great-grandfather has over 1,000 descendants.”
And then she said, and this is the part I have not been able to forget, “Of those 1,000 descendants, I am the only one active in the Church today.”
As she said these words, I found myself thinking, “Is it only 1,000, or could it be more?”
The answer is apparent. The spiritual influence that family might have had on their neighbors and friends did not happen. None of his sons nor any of his daughters served as missionaries, and those they would have touched with their testimonies were not baptized, and those who were not baptized did not go on missions. Yes, there are probably many thousands who are not in the Church today, and not in this very meeting, because of that great-grandfather’s decision.
As I heard her talk I found myself thinking, “What a tragedy! Perhaps if I had been there at that time, I could have said something to the father, to the family, to the priesthood leaders that might have helped to prevent such a calamity to their family and to so many in the future generations that would follow.”

My friend Jorge reached across the table, offering me a sip from his glass of champagne. I was surprised by his offer. He knew I was a Latter-day Saint and drinking alcohol was against my beliefs. I politely shook my head, indicating that this time, like all previous times, I would pass.
He brought his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “¡Pero es nuestra graduación!” (But it’s graduation night!)
Yes, it was graduation night. And in Ecuador, this was our night to celebrate. The evening had begun with a formal dinner for our entire families. A bottle of champagne had been placed in the center of each table, and well-mannered waiters had served an excellent meal. After dinner, those of us who had just graduated danced a waltz with our father or mother.
Eventually all the parents left, and only the graduates and our friends remained. It was around midnight when Jorge approached me and offered me some of his drink. Jorge felt that just this once wouldn’t do me any harm, especially considering the event was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion and everyone was expected to have a drink.
I simply replied, “I know it’s graduation night. That doesn’t matter.”
All through high school, I had been invited to drink and smoke, but I had always refused, explaining that my religion taught me drinking and smoking were harmful. My friends usually did not persist after the explanation, but I never knew how they really felt about my turning them down.
To my surprise, Jorge smiled, extended his right hand, and shook mine. All he said was “I really admire this about you,” and he walked away.
Later, while reflecting on what happened that night, I remembered the counsel President Gordon B. Hinckley has given us to “stand for something” (see “True to the Faith,” Ensign, June 1996, 4). To Jorge and my other friends, I had stood for something. I realized that often we may think our efforts to do the right thing make us unpopular. While that may be true in some instances, for the most part, people take note and see Latter-day Saints as people who stand for something worthy of admiration.