Gospel Story Finder

Five young women and their leaders from the Bucharest Romania District, along with a nonmember friend, took part in the Church’s first Young Women camp in Romania from August 24 to 26, 2009. District Young Women president Dina Cojocaru led the camp with the help of senior missionaries Elder Don and Sister Edie Van Noy.
The girls and leaders held morning and evening devotionals, studying the scriptures together every day. Elder and Sister Van Noy taught workshops on topics such as virtue and how to give effective talks in church. In another workshop, the girls learned about modesty and dressing fashionably while still maintaining integrity.
Alina Mateescu, one of the young women, said she had wondered what it takes to be a virtuous young woman, but through the workshop on virtue she felt assured she could become the exemplary woman of integrity God wants her to become.
Romania, a country in southeast Europe, has about 2,736 members in 17 branches.

While serving as an Area Seventy in Mexico, Elder Adrián Ochoa spent a couple of days in the city of Chihuahua in counsel with the stake president and others, then boarded a plane destined for home. But after taking his seat, he received a forceful spiritual prompting that his work in Chihuahua was not finished.
The flight crew was making final preparations for take-off. “But,” said Elder Ochoa, “I knew I had to get off that plane.” So he disembarked. A series of subsequent interviews yielded important information that resolved a difficult issue and permitted the spiritual progress of a family.

Far away from Salt Lake City, and some eighty miles from Shreveport, Louisiana, lives the Jack Methvin family. Mother, dad, and the boys are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Until just recently there was a lovely daughter who, by her presence, graced that home. Her name was Christal. She was but ten years old when death ended her earthly sojourn.
Christal liked to run and play on the spacious ranch where her family lives. She could ride horses skillfully and excelled in 4-H work, winning awards in the local and state fairs. Her future was bright, and life was wonderful. Then there was discovered on her leg an unusual lump. The specialists in New Orleans completed their diagnosis and rendered their verdict: carcinoma. The leg must be removed.
She recovered well from the surgery, lived as buoyantly as ever and never complained. Then the doctors discovered that the cancer had spread to her tiny lungs. The Methvin family did not despair, but rather planned a flight to Salt Lake City. Christal could receive a blessing from one of the General Authorities. The Methvins knew none of the Brethren personally, so opening before Christal a picture of all the General Authorities, a chance selection was made. By sheer coincidence, my name was selected.
Christal never made the flight to Salt Lake City. Her condition deteriorated. The end drew nigh. But her faith did not waver. To her parents, she said, “Isn’t stake conference approaching? Isn’t a General Authority assigned? And why not Brother Monson? If I can’t go to him, the Lord can send him to me.”
Meanwhile in Salt Lake City, with no knowledge of the events transpiring in Shreveport, a most unusual situation developed. For the weekend of the Shreveport Louisiana Stake Conference, I had been assigned to El Paso, Texas. President Ezra Taft Benson called me to his office and explained that one of the other Brethren had done some preparatory work regarding the stake division in El Paso. He asked if I would mind were another to be assigned to El Paso and I assigned elsewhere. Of course there was no problem—anywhere would be fine with me. Then President Benson said, “Brother Monson, I feel impressed to have you visit the Shreveport Louisiana Stake.” The assignment was accepted. The day came. I arrived in Shreveport.
That Saturday afternoon was filled with meetings—one with the stake presidency, one with priesthood leaders, one with the patriarch, then yet another with the general leadership of the stake. Rather apologetically, Stake President Charles F. Cagle asked if my schedule would permit me time to provide a blessing to a ten-year-old girl afflicted with cancer. Her name: Christal Methvin. I responded that, if possible, I would do so, and then inquired if she would be at the conference, or was she in a Shreveport hospital? Knowing the time was tightly scheduled, President Cage almost whispered that Christal was confined to her home—more than eighty miles from Shreveport!
I examined the schedule of meetings for that evening and the next morning—even my return flight. There simply was no available time. An alternative suggestion came to mind. Could we not remember the little one in our public prayers at conference? Surely the Lord would understand. On this basis, we proceeded with the scheduled meetings.
When the word was communicated to the Methvin family, there was understanding but a trace of disappointment as well. Hadn’t the Lord heard their prayers? Hadn’t he provided that Brother Monson would come to Shreveport? Again the family prayed, asking for a final favor—that their precious Christal would realize her desire.
At the very moment the Methvin family knelt in prayer, the clock in the stake center showed the time to be 7:45. The leadership meeting had been inspirational. I was sorting my notes, preparing to step to the pulpit, when I heard a voice speak to my spirit. The message was brief, the words familiar: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:14.) My notes became a blur. My thoughts turned to a tiny girl in need of a blessing. The decision was made. The meeting schedule was altered. After all, people are more important than meetings. I turned to Bishop James Serra and asked that he leave the meeting and advise the Methvins.
The Methvin family had just arisen from their knees when the telephone rang and the message was relayed that early Sunday morning—the Lord’s day—in a spirit of fasting and prayer, we would journey to Christal’s bedside.
I shall ever remember and never forget that early-morning journey to a heaven the Methvin family calls home. I have been in hallowed places—even holy houses—but never have I felt more strongly the presence of the Lord than in the Methvin home. Christal looked so tiny lying peacefully on such a large bed. The room was bright and cheerful. The sunshine from the east window filled the bedroom with light as the Lord filled our hearts with love.
The family surrounded Christal’s bedside. I gazed down at a child who was too ill to rise—almost too weak to speak. Her illness had now rendered her sightless. So strong was the spirit that I fell to my knees, took her frail hand in mine, and said simply, “Christal, I am here.” She parted her lips and whispered, “Brother Monson, I just knew you would come.” I looked around the room. No one was standing. Each was on bended knee. A blessing was given. A faint smile crossed Christal’s face. Her whispered “thank you” provided an appropriate benediction. Quietly, each filed from the room.
Four days later, on Thursday, as Church members in Shreveport joined their faith with the Methvin family and Christal’s name was remembered in a special prayer to a kind and loving Heavenly Father, the pure spirit of Christal Methvin left its disease-ravaged body and entered the paradise of God.

Recently I was telephoned by a close friend who told me his father had died. I expressed my sympathy and asked when the funeral would be. When he told me I looked at my calendar and said, “I would love to be at the funeral to honor your great father and to express my love and sympathy to your mother. But I am getting ready to leave town on an assignment, and I will be extremely busy that day.” He said, “Well, we talked about that and thought that your schedule would be too busy to ask you to speak, but father had suggested if you were available you might do it.” It is interesting how suddenly everything on my calendar could be adjusted. I said, “You tell your mother I will be there.” After the funeral I received a letter. I will only share a paragraph.
“The last few months my husband knew his time was limited here on this earth. One day when we were talking about funeral arrangements, I asked him who he would like to have speak at his service. He said, ‘I surely would like to have Brother Featherstone, but I know that as busy as he is that isn’t possible.’ Then he went on to mention some other good men. When I learned of your coming to speak, I shed many tears of joy. I just couldn’t believe with all your many duties and responsibilities that you would come.”
Then I realized what this service on my part meant to her. She closed with, “I wonder how the Lord can be so good to me.”
Now you and I both understand it was not having Vaughn Featherstone speak but rather a dying husband’s wish granted that filled her with this great love for the Lord.

Because of that example from my father, years later I was able to make a similar decision. I had just been hired by a consulting company, and they flew six of us employees from the Philippines to Sydney, Australia, to join with 400 managers from all over the world for training. We flew first class. A limousine picked us up at the airport and whisked us away to a five-star hotel, where each room had a big basket of goodies. The company wanted to show us that this was a good company to work for, and it wanted its new hires to stay.
After the first day of meetings, we had a gala dinner, a formal affair. We sat about 12 to a table, each with 10 managers and 2 managing partners who were to be our role models in the company. They told us stories about how they started in the company and grew in their careers with it. They told us of multimillion dollar deals they had closed, important businesspeople they had worked with, and major projects they had directed. I heard the names of Fortune 500 CEOs mentioned frequently and was in awe of these men because of the work they did.
We were all feeling great about our opportunities until one of the people at the table asked, “How does your wife handle all of your traveling? You’re constantly gone.” And one of the partners answered, “I was just divorced two years ago.” And the other partner at our table said, “I’ve been divorced for five years.”
I remember my thoughts: “These are not the men I want to be. I don’t think I want to work for this company because I don’t care much about worldly accomplishments if my family is in disarray.” The example of my father made it easy for me to decide to put my family first, and I found another job that allowed me to do so.

Someone else who loved basketball helped me prepare for my mission too. His name is Devin Durrant, and he was one of my teammates in college. He became my hero.
He asked me if I knew what it felt like to make the winning shot in a basketball game. I said yes. Then he said, “It’s great. But it can’t compare to how you’ll feel when you teach and baptize someone on your mission.” I never forgot that.

The prophets teach us that through keeping temple covenants, our families can be eternal. When our daughter Rachel was married, our family was able to participate in a special temple session beforehand. We greeted our children in the temple, hugged them, kissed them, and told them how much we loved them. We felt great happiness in the Lord’s temple with our children, knowing that we have been sealed as a family for time and all eternity.

Several years ago, my husband and I qualified to run the Boston Marathon. The night before the marathon, in an effort to visualize what it would be like to complete the race, we went to downtown Boston about a mile from the finish line. There in the quiet of the evening we laced up our running shoes and ran that last mile to the finish. As we crossed the line we held our hands victoriously high in the air and pretended that we had won the race! We imagined thousands of observers in the stands cheering for us. The next day we ran the race. Twenty-six point two miles (41.3 km) is a challenging distance. There are hills that are called “Heartbreak” for a very good reason. The entire time I was running those hills, I kept in mind that finish line and what it had felt like the night before to cross the line victorious. That vision of the finish line helped me to finish that marathon in a pelting, cold New England storm.

When we got married, I found out that even in a small home like ours, there is tons of stuff to do. You can’t imagine how much stuff! In the beginning, I wasn’t really helping out. I did some little things, but Jackie was doing most of the work. She is very caring and giving. One day she became upset, and I’m like, “What’s wrong?”

I grew up thinking that girls were supposed to do all the housework. I quickly learned that was not realistic. Jackie was very busy and under a lot of pressure with her job. While I’m under a lot of pressure too, I realized that I should start doing more to help.

I started sweeping the floors and washing dishes. Then I learned how to use the washing machine. I put notes on it to help me remember. Seriously! I have a sticker to help me know which washing powder to use. These things have now become my habit.

It’s been good since I started doing things in the house. It has made Jackie happier.

Danny has lots of friends. One of them is Brother Green. Brother Green is old, even older than Danny’s grandfather. His hands and face are wrinkled. He has snow-white hair and glasses that keep sliding down his nose.
One day Danny’s friend Jeff called him on the phone. “Can you come over to play ball?” Jeff asked.
“Not now,” said Danny. “I’m going to go see Brother Green. He’s my friend too.”
“Does Brother Green play ball?” asked Jeff.
“No,” said Danny.
“Does he like to climb trees?” asked Jeff.
“No,” said Danny. “He’s too old to climb trees.”
“Well,” Jeff asked, “what good is having a friend who doesn’t do things that you like to do?”
Danny thought for a minute. He remembered the time when his dog, Ginger, had been run over by a car. When he had told Brother Green about it, Brother Green hadn’t said much. He’d just listened while Danny talked and talked about the fun that he and Ginger had had. And Danny had felt much better when he went home.
Then Danny remembered the day that his best friend, Robert, had moved away. Brother Green was out trimming his bushes. He’d asked Danny, “How’s everything going?” And when Danny had told Brother Green how much he was going to miss Robert, Brother Green had nodded and said, “It’s hard to lose a friend.” And again Danny had felt a little better when he went home.
Danny remembered telling Brother Green good things, too—like the time when he got his new dog, Pepper. And when his mother was going to have a baby.
Suddenly Danny knew what to tell Jeff: “Brother Green always takes the time to listen to my stories. He makes me feel important.”
Now Jeff and all his friends who play ball, ride bikes, and climb trees with Danny have Brother Green for their friend too.

How Ron and Sandi Hammond arrived at that important moment in the Middle East is a testament of the Hammonds’ faith and the inspiration behind the Church’s senior missionary program.
In 2012 the Hammonds were serving as ordinance workers in the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Ron had a successful dental practice and was teaching in the Religion Department at Brigham Young University–Idaho. But the serene routine of their lives changed abruptly with a distinct spiritual impression to immediately submit papers to serve a mission. The timing surprised them. Their married children were in various stages of career moves and relocations, and Ron was not yet looking to retire. But the Spirit assured them that they were needed and that all would be well.
As it turned out, priesthood leaders at Church headquarters had been fasting and praying to find the right couple to serve as country directors for LDS Charities in Amman, Jordan.
“It was so evident,” says Sandi, “that the Lord was out ahead of us, preparing the details of the specific assignment He had for us. We know that He does this for every missionary who serves. It is comforting knowing that the Savior is arranging things for you to serve before you ever arrive.”
“In retrospect,” Ron says, “we are grateful we were neither specific nor insistent on where we wished to serve. Leaving such matters in the Lord’s hands allowed Him to give us an experience we would not have had otherwise.”

Some years ago, one of our young married daughters and her husband asked Sister Rasband and me a very important, life-influencing question: “Is it still safe and wise to bring children into this seemingly wicked and frightening world we live in?”
Now, that was an important question for a mom and dad to consider with their dear married children. We could hear the fear in their voices and feel the fear in their hearts. Our answer to them was a firm “Yes, it’s more than OK,” as we shared fundamental gospel teachings and our own heartfelt impressions and life experiences.
Now, what about that daughter and son-in-law who asked the very heartfelt and probing, fear-based question years ago? They seriously considered our conversation that night; they prayed and fasted and came to their own conclusions. Happily and joyfully for them and for us, the grandparents, they have now been blessed with seven beautiful children as they go forward in faith and love.

What amazes me about the Book of Mormon is the great and eternal change it causes in people even before they are members of the Church. As a missionary in the Mexico Cuernavaca Mission, I saw this great change firsthand.
When I had been on my mission for six months, a member of the branch referred my companion and me to teach a 20-year-old woman and her family. The young woman didn’t understand what Latter-day Saints believed and asked us many questions. Knowing that the Book of Mormon answers questions of the soul, we gave her the book and shared the promise it contains about praying sincerely to know if it is true.
For three weeks she attended church, and we continued meeting with her. We didn’t know that she had already taken an important step: she had prayed about the Book of Mormon. During one particular lesson, she told us of her experience. She had been thinking a lot about the lessons we were sharing, and she desired to pray on her own. She knelt down and asked God if the Book of Mormon was true. The peace she felt after praying encouraged her to read more of the book. While reading, she felt the Spirit sweep over her.
Recounting her experience, she told us, “I felt more special than I had ever felt before. Something began to fill all the empty space I had in my life that nothing else could fill. I felt so happy that I began to cry. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling, but I knew that my Heavenly Father had answered me, that He knew me, and that He loved me enough to listen to me and answer my prayer.”
I felt so much joy in my heart when she recounted her experience. I knew I was on sacred ground on that occasion. The Holy Ghost confirmed to me that her words were true. From her testimony I was reminded of the great love our Heavenly Father has for us; He loves us so much He has given us the Book of Mormon as an instrument to know Him and His truth. When we obey the principles found in the Book of Mormon, our lives will change.
I still remember how that lesson ended. The sister asked us, “What happens now that I know the Book of Mormon is true?”
“Be baptized,” we responded.
Her reply was simple but reflected the firmness and simplicity of her testimony: “Then I will be baptized.”
The Book of Mormon has the power to help us find happiness and peace. When we read it, we will develop a firm determination to live the gospel of Jesus Christ, just as this sister determined to follow the example of the Savior into the waters of baptism.

But before the tents could be set up, the area had to be cleaned in keeping with the 11th Scout law. The members of one patrol, at arms length, walked from one end of the camp to the other, picking up rocks and trash and carrying them to the dumping area. The other patrols followed at regular intervals, and then the patrol leaders did the same. Finally the troop officers would inspect the results. “You can bet the camp was clean before we retired for our first night’s sleep,” Sadler says.
Each day at camp began with tent inspection. Sadler says, “Everything, and I mean everything, was removed into the open air and arranged strictly as to detail. The bottom canvas was rolled up around each tent, and the entrance flaps were tied back to let the fresh sea breezes blow through. After that came the inspection of patrols and individual Scouts. Demerits were charged to patrols in which all was not strictly in order.”
The days were spent in physical exercises, Scout advancement work, and fun. The high point of most days was the swim period. Each afternoon the troop leaders announced the standing of the patrols in the competition for the “Elwes Camp Cup.” This was awarded to the patrol with the fewest demerits for the week. Sadler’s patrol, the Ram Patrol, won the cup three summers in a row. The third summer he was the patrol leader and so received the cup personally from Baden-Powell.

I didn’t think I’d ever want another dog after Lady. She was a beautiful black cocker spaniel with a happy smile. She went with me everywhere, following me to the bus stop in the morning and waiting there for me after school.
Then one day Lady wasn’t there. As soon as I burst into the kitchen and saw the look on Mom’s face, I knew. As gently as she could, she told me how Lady had been hit by a car. Dad helped me bury her. I left that little mound in the meadow with a huge, hard hurt in my chest.
Maybe it was harder for me to lose my dog than for some people, because I lived out of town on a little farm. I didn’t get to play basketball or Little League. I had too many chores. But no matter what chores I had, Lady was always with me.
After Lady was killed, I didn’t want another dog. Every night before I went to bed and every morning when I rolled off my mattress, I prayed that the terrible hurt would go away and that I could be happy again. I did that for two weeks straight, but the hurt was still there.
Then one afternoon as I was bringing the cows in from the meadow, she was there, lying under a tree, her tongue hanging out, her ears pricked up.
I looked around, expecting to see her owner. But there was nobody—just that dog, the cows, and me. “What’s your name, dog?”
She started thumping her tail on the ground, just begging me to pet her. I patted her on the head, then scratched her ears. You’d have thought I’d given her ten pounds of steak the way she carried on.
From then on I couldn’t go anyplace without her tagging along. “She’s just like a second shadow,” my little sister, Stephanie, said.
I smiled. “Stephanie, you just named my dog for me—Shadow!”
“What kind of dog do you think she is?” I asked Dad that first evening.
He studied Shadow. “I can’t be sure. I’d guess she’s a German shepherd-collie mix.”
“Daniel,” Mom said, “you shouldn’t get too attached to Shadow. She belongs to someone.”
“Someone just let her loose,” I argued. “People from town do that sometimes. And she didn’t have a collar or anything.”
“Maybe so, but she’s too good a dog to have just been turned loose. She’s been well fed and groomed. Somebody’s probably looking for her.”
“She’s mine,” I said stubbornly. “You’ve told me all along I ought to pray for things.”
“Did you pray for another dog?” Dad asked.
“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “But ever since Lady was killed, I’ve prayed that the hurt would go away. Well, it’s gone, Dad. As soon as I saw Shadow, I didn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t pray for a dog, but I guess Heavenly Father thinks I need one.”
“I still think you’d better try to find the owner,” Mom said. “Then if no one claims her, she’s yours.”
I didn’t want to, but I made some handwritten signs and hung them along the highway in front of our house. But no one ever came.
Shadow was the greatest! When I got up in the morning, she was waiting for me. It didn’t matter if I was milking the cows, weeding, or hauling hay. She swam with me in the creek and lay beside me on the big gray boulder as we dried off.
I could talk to her, and she’d look right into my eyes as if she understood every word I said. Every day I thanked Heavenly Father for her.
One afternoon I went with Mom to the supermarket. While she shopped, I studied the notices on the bulletin board. People were selling beds, washers, dryers, and a bunch of other stuff.
I spotted the corner of a pink flyer—and wished I’d never gotten close to that old bulletin board. “Lost in the Sanderson Park area,” the flyer proclaimed in big, black letters, “a light brown and white dog, German shepherd-collie mix. Answers to the name Trina. $20.00 reward.”
I didn’t want to believe that Shadow was that lost dog. I tore the flyer down, stuffed it into my pants pocket, and headed for the car. All the way home, I tried to tell myself that Shadow wasn’t the missing dog. Sanderson Park was clear on the west side of town. We lived over two miles north of town. How could a dog get way over there?
That evening as I finished feeding the calves, Shadow was at the end of the manger. “Come here, Trina,” I called softly. Shadow’s ears perked up. She gave me a puzzled stare, then looked about as though searching for someone. “Come here, Trina,” I repeated dully. She bounded toward me and began looking around again. A horrible hurt exploded inside me.
“They can’t have her,” I raged out loud. “I found her. I fed her and looked after her. She’d probably be dead now if I hadn’t come along. She’s mine!”
As hard as I argued with myself that I was the rightful owner, I couldn’t convince myself. The hurt that I’d felt when Lady was killed didn’t seem nearly as sharp and painful as what tore at me now.
I hardly touched Mom’s mashed potatoes, gravy, fried chicken, and hot rolls at dinner. “Are you feeling all right, Daniel?” she asked.
“I guess I’m just not hungry. May I be excused?”
I went to my room and lay on the bed, blinking back the tears that kept welling up in my eyes. Slowly I pulled the pink flyer from my pocket. Whoever lost Shadow has probably already given up hope, I argued with my conscience. It’s been weeks since she showed up here. They probably think she’s dead by now.
It was late when I dragged down the hall to the kitchen, where Dad was thumbing through a stack of bills. I pushed the pink flyer in front of him. He glanced at me, then read the flyer. “Do you think Shadow’s this missing dog?” he asked.
“Maybe she was, but she’s mine now. You can’t make me take her back.”
“Daniel, I’m not going to make you take Shadow back. That’s your decision.”
“Why would Heavenly Father take back what He gave me?” I choked out. “She was the answer to my prayers.”
“I believe she was,” Dad agreed. “But,” he added gently, “she might not be the answer you think she is. Do you remember the story of Nephi and the brass plates? When Nephi returned to Jerusalem to get the plates from Laban, he didn’t know how hard it was going to be. He didn’t know he’d have to give up his gold and his silver. He didn’t know his brothers would attack him. He didn’t know he’d have to kill Laban. Those were all things he would rather not have done. Why do you suppose he did them?”
“He was doing what the Lord commanded him,” I mumbled.
“That’s right. He had grasped the iron rod his father, Lehi, later saw in a vision. The iron rod is the word of God. In other words, it’s the things the Lord commands or asks us to do. No matter where that iron rod took him, Nephi was going to follow it because that was what the Lord wanted him to do. When you found Shadow, she was an answer to your prayer, but Heavenly Father might have thought you needed something more than you needed another dog.”
“Like what?” I protested. “What did I need more than Shadow?”
“Maybe the Lord wanted to see if you’d be like Nephi, choosing the right when it was the hardest thing to do. He answered your prayer, Daniel. Now you have to be willing to accept His answer. And maybe you’re the answer to someone else’s prayer. Maybe some other people are praying that Shadow will return to them. How their prayer is answered might depend on what you choose to do.”
I didn’t sleep very well. Most of the night I kept telling myself that no matter what happened, I was going to keep Shadow. But by morning I knew better. “I’m taking Shadow back,” I announced quietly at breakfast.
“I’ll drive you over,” Dad offered.
“I’d like to take her alone,” I answered. “I’ll ride my bike.”
It was all I could do to ride away from the house, with Shadow tagging along. The address on the flyer was for a house at the end of a dirt lane. As I started down it, Shadow yapped twice and darted ahead. Two girls playing in front of the house spotted Shadow. “Trina! Trina’s back!”
A man and a lady came out of the house on the run. The whole family gathered around Shadow, hugging her and burying their faces in her shiny coat. No one even noticed me standing there. Then Shadow dashed over and rubbed against my leg. She was as happy as any dog could be.
“I guess you’re the one who brought Trina back?” the man said, smiling. After I nodded, he said warmly, “We sure appreciate that, Son. We were afraid that she was gone for good.”
I held out the pink flyer. “I saw this down at the store.” I felt a lump form in my throat. “I found Shadow—I mean Trina—a few weeks ago.” I told how I’d put up signs looking for the owner.
“Well, we appreciate your bringing her back.”
“Give him the reward, Dad,” one of the girls called out.
“That’s right!” The man reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. I didn’t take it. He pulled out a second twenty-dollar bill. “This is for taking care of her.”
“I didn’t bring her back for the money,” I said softly. “I didn’t want to give her up. I hope you’ll take really good care of her.” I turned and started pushing my bike down the lane to the main road.
“Son,” the man called after me. I stopped and turned. “I know how you feel, giving up a dog that you love.” He glanced down at Shadow. “It won’t be long before Trina’s old enough to be a mom. If you’re interested in a dog, you can have your pick of her pups. That’s a promise.”
There was still a big hurt inside, knowing I was leaving Shadow behind, but I was glad that I’d followed the iron rod Dad had talked about. And I suddenly realized that even though the answer to my prayer was different from what I’d expected, Heavenly Father had known what I needed. “I’d like that, Mister,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “I’d like that a whole lot.”

He was sent by the Brethren as a missionary when he was fifteen years of age. At the age of five he had lost his father, and at fourteen he had lost his mother. The record shows that he labored in Maui and in Kohala on the Big Island. Then he was transferred to the island of Molokai as the presiding elder when he was sixteen years old. Every day he and his companion, Elder Thomas A. Dowell, visited the several small branches, proselyting, healing the sick, and casting out evil spirits. With the Saints, they read the scriptures and the beautiful teachings of the Savior, and retold the story of the Restoration. Many members were indifferent and had an apathetic attitude because of false reports about the Church and the Prophet Joseph Smith.
The two companions traveled from the east to the west on Molokai. Their food was scarce, and they traveled about thirty miles every day under the hot sun, without water. One day, Elder Smith’s companion almost didn’t make it. That day, they finally reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. Myers, a German family. This couple treated them kindly and so lovingly and gave them food and lodging for several days. Not only that, but Mr. Myers furnished Elder Smith with a good riding horse so he could visit several branches. Elders Smith and Dowell were guided by the Spirit every day. They worked hard and brought converts, as well as bringing so many back into activity.

When I was a young boy, I learned about this discrepancy that can occur between our outward actions and our true feelings. Like some of you I was blessed to grow up learning gospel principles in what I felt was a 'large' family. I was the second of six children, and the only boy. Because boys sometimes feel the need to distinguish themselves from little girls, I became skilled at antagonizing my sisters. One evening, my older sister Heather and I were engaged in a running battle. I would harass her, and she would reciprocate. Our teasing and tussling escalated until we became very upset at each other. We were soon both in tears, and our fighting continued until our exasperated mother knew that she had to intervene.

Taking each of us by the arm she escorted us into her bedroom and described how she would put an end to our discord. Letting go of us, she told my sister and I to face each other. I knew this couldn't be good. My mom then explained, in a stern voice that we would each be required to hug each other for one full minute in order to show that we love each other! With tears still flowing, we hesitated until she explained the longer we waited, the longer we would be stuck in the room together. We approached each other holding our arms out, and tried our hardest to create the appearance of an embrace without actually having the skin of our arms touch.

I remember holding my arms in a perfect circle providing enough room for my sister to fit within my hug without actually any physical contact. She did the same thing, and we stood this way for a full minute, tears running down our faces. This resolved our conflict, but only because the idea of another full minute of hugging was threat enough to end our fight. I have since learned to love and cherish my sisters. I learned from this experience that being obedient was not necessarily being converted. My outward actions manifested obedience, and the appearance of 'loving' my sister, but my inward feelings were in conflict.

Since this was all back in the '60s, there were no computers, and until I could take a typing class in high school, my mother had to type all of my term papers and book reports. She taught me another principle that I have used many times in my life with my children and many other people with whom I have been associated.

It is “ Do not let your lack of planning become my emergency.”

In other words, if she was going to type my book report, she would not be doing it late the night before it was due. I had to allow her several days to fit in the time to type it for me. It took pressure off both of us when I took a typing class and was old enough to type my own reports. Let’s hope all of us never let our lack of planning become someone else’s emergency. As a child and a teenager, my parents truly taught me to organize myself and “prepare every needful thing” as the scripture says.

When I was growing up, whenever we got any money, my mother would take the very best bills—the ones that were the least wrinkled or dirty—and give them to the minister of the church we went to. She did this her whole life. She said, “This belongs to God.” Those words have stayed with me ever since. When I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as an adult, it was not hard for me to pay tithing because my mother had taught me to obey that law.

When President Russell M. Nelson invited us sisters to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year (“Sisters’ Participation in the Gathering of Israel,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 69]), I decided to try. I finally finished reading the Book of Mormon (for the first time on my own!) at 11:55 p.m. on December 31. Then I asked Heavenly Father if it was true. I didn’t really feel anything different, but I shrugged it off.
As time went on, though, I started getting a bit worried about not receiving an answer. I thought that eventually, I’d feel a KABLAM, and I’d just know it was true—but I never got that mind-blowing feeling. I finally reasoned that I might as well read the Book of Mormon again and see what happens. So I went back to 1 Nephi and started over.
At that time, I was a captain on my robotics team. When I’d sit down to read my scriptures, I was often worrying about some aspect of our team. But as I read the Book of Mormon, I began to see how it applied to my problems, and I started to recognize a pattern of the Lord’s hand helping me. It was a huge faith-building experience. I really did know the Book of Mormon was true; I just hadn’t realized it before.
Now I’m reading the Book of Mormon again. As you read it, you can come to know it’s true as well.
Katy B., Rhode Island, USA