Gospel Story Finder

Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
“As a 12-year-old deacon, I was pleased to accompany the bishop to deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of our ward in Vernal, Utah. The backseat of his car was filled with baskets of grapefruit and oranges. This was during World War II, when grapefruit and oranges were scarce, so they were quite a treat. He waited in the car while I took a basket to each door and said, ‘The bishop asked me to give you this Christmas basket from the ward.’
“When we had delivered all the baskets but one, the bishop drove me home. There he handed me the last basket and said, ‘This is for your mother.’ Before I could reply, he drove away. [Dallin H. Oaks was 7 when his father passed away in June 1940.]
“I stood in front of our house, snowflakes falling on my face, holding the basket and wondering. We had been delivering baskets to widows, but I had never thought of my mother as a widow. I had never heard her refer to herself as a widow. I wondered why anyone would think my mother was a widow.
“That Christmas experience was formative in my understanding of the eternal family and in my appreciation for the faith of my mother. She always taught us that we had a father and she had a husband and that we would always be a family because of their temple marriage. …
“I am grateful for temple marriage and for the assurance that we can be together as an eternal family.”4

This story happened in the USA.
Tommy sat on the front steps of his home and sighed. What a horrible day!
That morning, he had spilled his breakfast on himself. The only clean pants he found were too small. He was late for school. His teacher had him stay inside for play time because he forgot his book. Then, on his way home from school, he tripped on the sidewalk and hurt his knee. And when he went outside to play, his bike had a flat tire. Everything had gone wrong!
“I’m just going to sit right here so that nothing else bad happens,” Tommy said. But he felt worse and worse the longer he sat.
Then Tommy heard a crunching sound nearby. He looked up and saw Mr. Johnson raking leaves in his yard. Mr. Johnson lived all alone in the house next door.
Tommy did not like raking leaves at all. He watched Mr. Johnson try to gather the leaves and put them in a big bag. But he couldn’t get more than a few leaves inside. The leaves kept spilling back onto the ground.
Mr. Johnson is having a really hard time, Tommy thought. When Dad raked leaves, Tommy helped him hold the bag open. It would be really hard for just one person to do that job.
Why isn’t someone helping him? Tommy wondered.
Then Tommy realized something. He could help!
Tommy hopped up off the steps and walked over to Mr. Johnson. “I can hold that bag open for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” said Mr. Johnson. “My back doesn’t bend the same way it used to.”
Tommy held the bag and helped fill the next one too. Then he grabbed a rake and helped with the rest of the leaves.
While they worked together, Mr. Johnson told jokes and funny stories. Tommy laughed until his stomach hurt. Soon he began to forget about spilling his breakfast, missing play time, and hurting his knee.
When Mom called him in for dinner, Tommy realized they had raked the whole yard. And it had been fun!
“Thanks for your help,” Mr. Johnson said.
“No problem.” Tommy waved goodbye. “See you later!”
Tommy walked into his house and sat down next to Dad at the dinner table.
“How was your day?” Dad asked him.
Tommy smiled big. “It was the best day ever!”
What did Tommy do to make his day better?
Illustrations by Julia Bereciartu

Almost 50 years ago I knew a boy, even a priest, who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. This boy, Robert, stuttered and stammered, void of control. Self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, he had an impediment of speech which was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to him in the baptistry of the sacred Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked Robert how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost incoherently that he felt terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Then the clerk read the words: “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.” Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into the water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He then gazed as though toward heaven and, with his right arm to the square, repeated the words “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”18 Not once did he stammer. Not once did he stutter. Not once did he falter. A modern miracle had been witnessed.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

The Lord Knew Where to Send Him
Prophets, seers, and revelators assign missionaries under the direction and influence of the Holy Ghost. Inspired mission presidents direct transfers every six weeks and quickly learn that the Lord knows exactly where He wants each missionary to serve.
A few years ago, Elder Javier Misiego, from Madrid, Spain, was serving a full-time mission in Arizona. At that time, his mission call to the United States appeared somewhat unusual, as most young men from Spain were being called to serve in their own country.
At the conclusion of a stake fireside, where he and his companion had been invited to participate, Elder Misiego was approached by a less-active member of the Church who had been brought by a friend. It was the first time this man had been inside a chapel in years. Elder Misiego was asked if he might know a José Misiego in Madrid. When Elder Misiego responded that his father’s name was José Misiego, the man excitedly asked a few more questions to confirm that this was the José Misiego. When it was determined that they were speaking about the same man, this less-active member began to weep. “Your father was the only person I baptized during my entire mission,” he explained and described how his mission had been, in his mind, a failure. He attributed his years of inactivity to some feelings of inadequacy and concern, believing that he had somehow let the Lord down.
Elder Misiego then described what this supposed failure of a missionary meant to his family. He told him that his father, baptized as a young single adult, had married in the temple, that Elder Misiego was the fourth of six children, that all three boys and a sister had served full-time missions, that all were active in the Church, and that all who were married had been sealed in the temple.
The less-active returned missionary began to sob. Through his efforts, he now learned, scores of lives had been blessed, and the Lord had sent an elder from Madrid, Spain, all the way to a fireside in Arizona to let him know that he had not been a failure. The Lord knows where He wants each missionary to serve. …
Elder W. Christopher Waddell of the Seventy

Tillie carried her house on her back as all turtles do. Whenever she felt danger near, Tillie pulled her feet, her head, and her little tail inside her house and shut it up tight. Tillie went into her little house other times too. If she heard even the slightest strange noise or if she saw her shadow, into her house she went! Tillie was so shy, she spent most of her time inside her shell. Because she hadn’t made any friends, Tillie was feeling very lonely.
One day as Tillie moved slowly through some tall grass, she saw something move and quickly pulled in her feet, head, and tiny tail. Then Tillie felt a little thumping on her shell.
"What’s that sound?" Tillie asked herself.
"Someone is knocking on my shell!" she exclaimed. And in spite of her shyness and fright, Tillie was curious. When the knock came again, Tillie opened her shell just a crack and peeked out. But she couldn’t see anything so she poked her head out a little farther.
"Hi," squeaked a teeny voice that belonged to the smallest mouse Tillie had ever seen.
Tillie was so surprised that she forgot to duck back inside her house. "Who—who are you?" she stammered.
"I’m Morty. Who are you?" the little gray creature inquired.
"Tillie’s my name. Did you knock on my shell?" she asked.
"Yes," Morty answered. "I went to get some grain for Mother so she could make mouse cakes and now I can’t get home."
"Why not?" asked Tillie.
"Because you’re sitting on the doorway to my house," the mouse squeaked.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to," apologized Tillie.
"That’s all right. If you move over just a little, I can get by," said Morty.
Tillie slowly moved forward as Morty watched, amazed.
"You take your house with you when you move!" exclaimed Morty. "Will you please wait a minute until I call my brothers and sisters? They’ve never seen anything like this before either."
Morty hurried into his underground home, and it wasn’t long until he returned with four other mice.
"These are my brothers and sisters—Millie, Mindy, Mickey, and Monty."
They all stared at Tillie for a moment, then, rather shyly, they asked if she would like to play with them.
Tillie had never had friends to play with and she beamed with happiness. "Would you like to slide down my shell?" she asked her new friends.
They climbed up on her back, then slid down to the ground, landing on the soft grass.
"This is fun," they squealed as they took turns climbing up and sliding down.
When their mother called them to come in, the little mice asked Tillie if she would play with them again the next day.
"Oh yes," Tillie told them. "I’ll just move over there in the tall grass so I’ll be close to you. That will be a good place to live."
It was wonderful having friends like Morty, Mindy, Millie, Mickey, and Monty. Tillie was sure she would never be lonely again.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.

Several years ago, my wife and I were on the verge of getting a divorce because of my problem with alcohol. Not even our daughters’ tears could change me. When the missionaries visited our home, it did not take long for my wife and daughters to be baptized, but I would not accept the things of God.
My addiction to alcohol controlled my life. I would go to bars after work and often missed work because I was drunk. When I drank, I became physically aggressive. I often got into arguments and fights with others.
When I would leave for work, my daughters would cry and ask to go with me to keep me from drinking. I promised them I wouldn’t drink, but I never kept my promises. I just wanted to keep drinking.
Eventually, I realized I needed help. With the help of the missionaries, I worked to overcome my addiction. For a while, I couldn’t stop drinking for more than a week at a time.
Then one day the missionaries shared a passage from the Book of Mormon that changed my life: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
I needed the Savior’s help. Without Him, I would never overcome my addiction. I found that the more I relied on Him, the longer I could go without drinking. After several visits with the missionaries, I accepted their invitation to be baptized.
Since then my life has changed. More than eight years have gone by, and I have not tried even one drop of alcohol. Today I am free, and I owe it all to the Lord.

Early Saints who crossed the plains to the Salt Lake Valley aren’t the only pioneers in the Church. All members who help strengthen the Church and prepare the way for others are pioneers.
As one of only two Czech children in the Prague First Branch, Lukás Kroutil, age 7, is a pioneer. By his obedience and example, he is preparing the way for other Czech children who will eventually join the Church.
Lukás’s mother’s name is Helena Kroutilová (ová added to a name shows that it is a woman’s married name). She has been a member of the Church for a year, and Lukás is eagerly awaiting his own baptism. He says: “Being baptized means that you are a member of the Church. You make a covenant that you will keep Heavenly Father’s commandments. If you’re a kid, listening to your parents is a very important commandment.”
Lukás rides a tram with his mother to church. Meetings are held in a large house that also contains the Czech Prague Mission offices and the mission president’s home. Some of the rooms have been converted into a lovely new chapel, where the two Prague branches hold their sacrament meetings.
Primary is in English because most of the other children in Lukás’s Primary are from the United States and speak English. Missionaries translate opening exercises and Sharing Time for Lukás and Anita, the other Czech child in the branch. Lukás loves to sing. His favorite hymns are “Come, Ye Children of the Lord,” “Love One Another,” and “I Am a Child of God.” The Primary children learn songs in both English and Czech. Every fast Sunday they sing the prelude music for sacrament meeting. Most of the songs are in English, but they always sing at least one song in Czech. Whenever a song is translated into Czech and published in the Liahona, the quarterly Church magazine in Czech, all the children learn it.
When the Primary separates into classes, the Czech children have their own class taught by Sister Eva Cadová and the missionaries. Lukás loves to learn in Primary. During class he and his teachers read Book of Mormon and other scripture stories and articles from the Little Star section of the Liahona.
Sacrament meetings are in Czech. English-speaking members wear headphones, and a missionary assigned to the branch translates for them. But when it is time to sing, the headphones come off and everyone sings praises to their Heavenly Father in Czech. One of Lukás’s jobs in the branch is to hand out the hymnbooks before sacrament meeting, then put them away after the meeting. “I like to help people at church. I pray for those who are sick, and I help my mom with her calling.”
Lukás walks to school. He enjoys studying math and science, exercising and playing sports, and learning poems by heart. He likes to write but dislikes dictation (his teacher reads a sentence, and the students write it down). It isn’t that he can’t remember all the letters in the words. He can. What makes Czech words extra difficult to spell are the diacritical marks over the letters (there are two in Lukás’s name), and he has a hard time remembering where they all go.
None of the members of his branch live near him, so he is also a pioneer at his school. He tries hard to be a good example for his friends by helping them to choose the right. “Kids like to tattle and tell stories about each other. Sometimes my friends use bad language or want to tell things that aren’t true. I tell them not to do these things.”
Studying hard is important to him because he wants to become an architect and build houses when he grows up. At home after schoolwork is finished, he watches television, rides his bike, or plays hide-and-seek or computer games with his friends. Playing softball with the missionaries on their preparation day is his favorite sport. He is the goalie on his soccer team, and he plays tennis well.
Lukás cares for a sleepy little hamster named Kikina. He feeds his pet seeds, carrots, potatoes, apples, oranges, and nuts and keeps the hamster house clean so the small animal will stay healthy. When Kikina is awake, Lukás talks to him. He used to put Kikina in a toy car and pull him around the room. That was until Kikina jumped out of the car window one day. Lukás has decided the hamster doesn’t like riding in the car.
When his grandmother goes grocery shopping, Lukás carries the bags home. He helps clean the house, dry the dishes, and take out the garbage. One day he cleaned the entire house as a surprise for his mother. His favorite things to do with his mom are read the Book of Mormon and have family home evening. Treats like French fries or Tatranky (a wafer cookie covered with chocolate) make family home evening even more fun.
He loves being around the full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukás to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.
He is looking forward to becoming a full-time missionary. He knows that he may have to learn another language. However, he will happily go wherever the Lord sends him. He looks forward to telling people about Jesus Christ and the Church and teaching them how to pray.
Until then, he will continue to be a pioneer in his own country and in his own branch by being a faithful member, setting a good example, and following the prophet. And if any of his friends like to read and they believe in God, he will give them a Book of Mormon and tell them to read it. Then he will tell them his favorite scripture story—the story of Joseph Smith and the First Vision.

Dear New Era Readers:
Driving home from Salt Lake City where we had left our daughter Susan at the Missionary Home, we wondered where we would find her little “love note” saying the things so hard to put into spoken words at the time of parting.
All during high school and her years away at college we had found these treasured bits, written in the quiet of night for last-minute pinning to her pillow, or to ours, or for slipping quietly under a dinner plate to be found after she’d gone. So we had come to expect and look forward to them and their blessing of comfort and the assurance that, indeed, all was well.
We were not disappointed. Hardly had I entered the house when, putting our soiled clothes into the laundry hamper, there it was, taped inside the lid. Removing it carefully, I thought, “How strange to put it here,” until I read the words, “You are the soap and water of my soul.”
Reading and rereading I stood shaken and tearful, until, hearing the door open quietly, I turned to face Susan’s dad. He was holding a note found taped to the steering wheel of the pick-up. We exchanged papers and I read, “Roads—red roads and brown roads, and wonderful roads you have brought me along …”
These were the beginning. Through almost two years we have continued to find them, as she had planned, each written to fit its chosen hiding place. We hope that by sharing them with you, you can come to feel a greater closeness to your families.
Sincerely,
Susan Savage’s Mother

This story happened in the USA.
It started with four square.
Four square was a game some kids played outside the school at break time. Four players stood in a square and bounced a ball to each other. If they missed the ball, they had to leave the game.
I was nervous the first time I played. But I was pretty good at it. It was fun!
Then the girl across from me missed the ball. She said Heavenly Father’s name and laughed. “Good shot, Gwen,” she said. “Guess I’m out!”
I held the ball tightly. She had just taken the Lord’s name in vain! That was like swearing.
But no one else seemed to think it was bad. They all laughed, like it was funny or cool.
We kept playing. Then it happened again. Someone missed the ball and said Heavenly Father’s name like a swear word.
A few minutes later, I missed the ball too. And just like the others, I took the Lord’s name in vain. Kids laughed and high-fived me as I got back in line to play again.
After that, I played four square every day . . . and I said the Lord’s name more and more.
One day my friend Abby joined the game. She passed the ball to me. I missed it and said Heavenly Father’s name.
Abby blinked in surprise. “You never used to say that.”
She was right. At home and in Primary, I learned that the Lord’s name was special and we shouldn’t use it to swear or joke around. And that’s what I’d been doing—for weeks! I felt sick.
After school, I found Mom in her office.
“Hi, sweetie!” she said.
I burst into tears. I told her all about four square and taking the Lord’s name in vain. “I don’t know if I can stop,” I said with a sniff.
She hugged me tight. “It might feel that way right now. But I know Heavenly Father can help you.”
“How?” I asked.
“Repentance means turning back to Heavenly Father and trying hard to do better,” Mom said. “It won’t be easy, but you can pray for help. As you use better words, your old habit will fade.”
Mom helped me make a list of new words I could say instead of the Lord’s name. Then we prayed together. I told Heavenly Father how sorry I was and asked for help to use good language.
The next day I took a deep breath before I played four square. When I missed the ball, I almost said Heavenly Father’s name again, but I stopped. Instead, I said a word from my list.
“Oh, bananas!” I said. That felt good!
Each day I tried hard to use better language. I still messed up sometimes. But I kept praying and trying. Soon I went a whole game without saying the Lord’s name. Then a whole week. Then a whole month!
I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had helped me repent and change my habit—and that felt better than winning any game!

Pam, a sister who had not been active in the Church for years, found this to be true as she struggled daily to change her life and repent of past mistakes that weighed heavily upon her mind. As she earnestly sought the companionship of the Holy Ghost, she was able to pray with greater purpose and to keep the Lord’s commandments. Because of her faith, hope, and repentance, the Holy Ghost touched and changed her life, eventually leading her to receive temple blessings.

Under the direction of Bishop Stephen Gregory and ward JustServe specialist, Brother Anson Bentley, the members of the Bridlington Ward in the York Stake, have all worked together in setting up a soup kitchen for the homeless at the chapel. The soup kitchen runs every Thursday evening. Bishop Gregory said, “It’s been quite an experience really, we have got the attention of local councillors who come and help us, we have members who have not been active for many years, who have decided that would like to come and help at the soup kitchen and they haven’t been near the building in years. Because of the current COVID-19 restrictions we have had to turn offers of help away and limit it to five volunteers each week, otherwise we would have the chapel full of people wanting to help.”
Brother Bentley said, “We have had pretty much the whole of the ward’s active membership participate in the soup kitchen in one way or another. Thanks to the Bridlington Ward membership, the soup kitchen has been very well supported.”

After Primary was over, I walked down the hall to the bishop’s office to wait for my dad, who’s in the bishopric. I noticed how clean the walls were. I didn’t see any stains on the carpet, or cobwebs in the hallway. The cultural hall was spotless, with all the tables put away and the chairs lined up neatly against the walls. The curtains on the stage looked perfectly fine.
As I passed the chapel, I stopped short. Sticking up behind the hymnbooks were sacrament meeting programs. The picture Sister Gentry described popped into my mind, and I quickly collected all the programs and papers that had been left there. I felt bad for those people who didn’t understand how special the Lord’s house is.
My arms were full, and I was looking for the nearest trash can, when I spotted my dad with a quizzical look on his face. I looked back at the clean chapel, and a happy feeling came into my heart. “I’m just doing my part to keep the church clean,” I told him.
Dad gave me a quick squeeze, and we both knew that the Lord’s spirit was there that day in our beautiful building.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

About 11 years ago, soon after our marriage, my husband for some reasons best known to him, refused to attend sacrament meetings.
This development was a big cause for worry to me. I begged him to reconsider that position but to no avail. Weeks, months and then years passed, as a wife and a mother, it was my dream to raise my children in that Latter-day Saint home settings.
What could I do to help my husband? Then the story of Mosiah and Alma, and their children came to mind. Alma faced a similar situation when his son was persecuting the Church of the Lord. He prayed with faith and an angel appeared unto his son and a change occurred. Immediately, I entered my room and prayed to my Father in Heaven with faith knowing that He will answer me, and He did.
My husband came home from work one day and said I should prepare his white shirt for church on Sunday. Apparently, he had received a call from a brother and a sister he had baptized while on mission. They called to thank him for introducing them to the Church. In the process, they asked my husband how was church, and he could not lie. So, he began attending church service.

This story happened in Finland.
Jonas laughed as he raced his brothers to the living room for home evening. He could still smell the yummy roasted lamb from Easter dinner. And he could still taste the sweet pasha, their traditional Easter dessert.
After the family was sitting quietly, Jonas’s older brother Tristan stood up.
“Happy Easter!” Tristan said. He started their home evening with a song and prayer. Then it was time for their special music program. Everyone had prepared a song about Jesus Christ to share.
Tristan played the guitar, strumming each string carefully. Then his brother Einar played the piano. His fingers moved across the keys. Mom, Dad, and Jonas’s other brothers also played songs. Jonas loved hearing his family’s music.
At last it was Jonas’s turn. He took a deep breath and started to sing.
“At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice, but I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, ‘Love one another as Jesus loves you.’”
As Jonas sang, his heart filled with love. His eyes filled with happy tears. It felt like the Holy Ghost was telling Jonas that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him.
“Thank you all for sharing your talents,” Dad said. He held up a picture. It showed Jesus Christ kneeling and praying next to a tree. “Who knows what’s happening in this picture?”
Jonas raised his hand. “That’s Jesus praying in Gethsemane.”
Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s where He felt all of our hurt and sadness.”
“He went to the Garden of Gethsemane before He died,” Mom said. “After He died, He lived again. This is all part of His Atonement. Jesus did all of this because He loves us.”
Mom turned on a video about the first Easter. When the video ended, everyone was quiet for a minute. Jonas felt Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love again.
“Now is it time for our activity?” Jonas asked.
Mom stood from the couch and went to the cabinet. “Yes! Jonas, will you help me?”
Jonas and Mom got out glue, scissors, and a pile of Church magazines. They spread them out on the floor. Then Mom gave everyone their special Easter journals. “Let’s make picture art of Jesus Christ in our journals for Easter.”
Jonas sat on the floor and opened his notebook.
Dad picked up a pen to write in his journal. “Next to your pictures, you can write down what you will do to follow Heavenly Father and Jesus so you can become more like Them.”
Jonas turned the pages of one of the magazines. He found a picture of Jesus Christ smiling.
Jonas cut out the picture and glued it in the center of his journal page. He thought about all the love he had felt from the Savior that day. Then he wrote, “I will follow Heavenly Father and Jesus by listening to Dad and Mom and helping with chores. I will love my brothers more.” He held it up to show Mom. She read what he had written and smiled.
Jonas would remember this Easter for a long time. He felt Jesus Christ’s love when he sang and learned about Him. And he felt Jesus’s love when he tried to be like Him.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ really did love Jonas. And Jonas loved Them too.
Pasha is a sweet custard dessert. Do you have an Easter treat you eat each year?
Illustrations by Steliyana Doneva

One of my duties back on the farm was to feed my fathers sheep. During the cold winter their survival was dependent on my supplying them with hay and grain we had stored from the summer.
Beneficial as that was, nothing could compare with the Spring, when I would open the gate and guide the sheep out onto the grassy slopes where they could forage for themselves. Instead of huddling in bunches waiting to be fed, they would move freely over the hillsides, searching for and feasting upon living food from its original source. By fall they were always fat and healthy.

After I had served four months as a full-time missionary, my initial enthusiasm and zeal for the work had waned considerably. I found myself having a hard time understanding and being compassionate with my companion and was discouraged that we weren’t succeeding in the work. I lacked all the confidence I had felt so strongly just a few months earlier.

Alone in an interview with my mission president, I expressed my feelings of inadequacy and discouragement. “How do I develop more confidence in my work as a missionary?” I asked.

His response could not have surprised me more. He didn’t try to boost my confidence by telling me what good work I was doing. He didn’t teach me about the power of positive thinking. Instead he asked me how I felt about other people, especially those with whom I worked.

“I don’t have much patience,” I admitted. “I was so eager when I started my mission, and it’s frustrating when things don’t go as I anticipated.”

Before I left on my mission, I honestly thought I could get along with anyone. However, in the midst of adversity, I found that I was often critical and judgmental of others.

The president then read a familiar scripture:
“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God. …
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion” (D&C 121:45–46).

The relevance of this scripture to my situation was immediately apparent. As a missionary, I had lacked confidence, and this scripture promised enough confidence to wax strong in God’s presence. I lacked self-assurance, and this scripture promised the Comforter as a constant companion.

And the key to that kind of assurance, courage, and confidence? In addition to continually virtuous thoughts, I must have “charity towards all men.”

In my appraisal of others, including my companion, I had been critical and judgmental. By failing to have charity, I had cut off my potential source of confidence. I learned an invaluable lesson that day. I had long known that I hurt others when I criticize and find fault, but for the first time I realized how my judgmental attitude was harming myself as well. Since that discussion, I’ve noticed many times that when I am charitable toward others, I feel more confident and less limited by my own faults. In short, the harder I try to be forgiving, the easier it is to feel forgiven.

I heard a funny story about a captain of an aircraft carrier who is trying to navigate his ship during a storm at night. He sees a light in the distance that appears to be heading straight toward him. He shouts to his radio operator, “Tell that oncoming vessel to change course by 20 degrees!”
The radio operator does and waits for a response. “Captain,” he says, “they are telling us to change our course 20 degrees.”
The captain shouts, “Explain to that radio operator that I’m not asking—I’m demanding. Change course!”
The radio operator sends the message, waits for a moment, and then looks up. “Captain,” he says, “they insist that we are the ones who must turn.”
The captain grabs the headset and barks into the microphone, “I don’t know who you are or where you are going but there’s something you ought to know. I’m the captain of a navy aircraft carrier group accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers, and numerous support vessels. We are proceeding directly towards you and will not change course!”
Through the static the captain hears a reply: “Understood, Captain. But there’s something you ought to know. We are a lighthouse.”

It has become easy to shock people. I remember once a lady asked my mom, “Are all these kids yours?” We just looked at her and said, “Of course not, lady. She checks us out of the library.” I admit that being in a large family can cause a little bit of commotion. People always stop and stare or look at us funny. Maybe it’s because there are so many of us, or maybe it’s because the colors of skin don’t seem to mix or match.
Many people would have a hard time dealing with this, but not my dad. He usually just tries to pass us off as a Sunday School class or birthday party when we are in public.
A family the size of Helaman’s army does have its advantages. If we want to play basketball, it doesn’t take long to divide up into two teams. By the time we graduate from junior high school we are highly skilled in mass food production. How many of you have ever seen a five-pound bucket of peanut butter disappear by Thursday? How many of you can make ten lunches in ten minutes or less? Do you know what a pan filled with two dozen scrambled eggs looks like?
For all of you who are wondering, I can clue you in about the lunches real quick. The key here is speed. Grab ten lunch sacks and write the kids’ names on them. If you forget one, just refer to the handy chart inside the cupboard door. Then get out 20 pieces of bread and put them on the counter. Blob mayonnaise on each piece and spread with one hand while using your other hand to put ham on every other piece. Now go back and put a piece of cheese on the other slice of bread. Match up a ham and cheese and the hard part is finished. Grab an apple, some carrots, and a drink. Throw them in the sack with a napkin, and you are finished. This has been done in seven minutes and 37 seconds, and my record has stood for three years!
Speaking of food, my mom truly considers fast Sunday a day of rest since that is the only Sunday she doesn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to get us to church 15 minutes late.
Another great advantage of a big family is that unless you are the oldest child, you can usually find a pair of shoes that almost fit. But this advantage has backfired. Can you imagine the horror on my mom’s face as she looked down the aisle in sacrament meeting to see my little sister Amaris in her white chiffon dress with dirty purple tennis shoes flopping on her feet?
In sacrament meeting we take up the entire first row. Over half of our ward’s Mutual is my family. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to go to a stake dance to find that your brothers are four of the ten guys that showed up.
When most moms make a birthday list of what they want, it usually includes things like perfume, jewelry, or maybe a sweater. But my mom’s recent birthday list included a set of scriptures without the baby’s Cheerios smashed in between the pages and a new pancake griddle which can accommodate ten pancakes at once. Her ultimate desire is to remodel our dining room with sloping floors, drains, and automatic water, spigots in the ceiling. I guess dinners at our house are a bit messy.
On Saturdays, when many dads are asleep, reading the paper, or watching the Wide World of Sports on TV, my dad is constantly repairing bike tires, helping out the Cub Scout pack (we only need two more to have our own), or going to the wholesale food outlet to do our weekly grocery shopping.
You’d think that turning 16 would be a festive event in our family. Well, if we can handle the horror of the transportation my dad offers us, then we will probably survive the dating scene. Our family has three cars from which to choose—the 1971 Chevy Impala which works most of the time (my friends dubbed it “the Beast”), my mom’s beatup brown station wagon complete with Popsicle sticks stuck to the ceiling, and the 15-passenger family van. Needless to say, when the Beast is working, I usually drive it. My dad has presented me with three things to keep it moving—jumper cables, a screwdriver, and an up-to-date Triple-A card.
Now for the dating scene. Once my date passes the “date with Shannon interview,” my mom must see him blessing the sacrament, and then he must deal with the harassment and questions from my younger brothers and sisters. “Do you really like my sister?” “Do you always dress like that?” “Did you know my sister really likes Brad better than you?” I figure anyone who comes back twice must be a true friend.
When the family really needs to get away from it all and get a little bit of rest and relaxation, we go camping. We drive our van, which pulls a tent trailer, and take a second car, which pulls a U-Haul filled with four pup tents and 14 bikes. By the time we get it all set up, it’s time to go home. Besides, it is getting to the point where we have to rent three campsites.
One time we really splurged and got to stay in a hotel. The only problem was that we didn’t have enough suitcases to go around. So my dad nonchalantly plopped the black garbage bags used to hold extra clothes along with the suitcases on the cart for the bellhop to take up to the room.
One of the hardest things to deal with is Christmas. You thought you had it hard because your mom made you wait until 7:00 A.M. to begin opening your presents? Well, that’s the easy part at my house. No matter what time we start, it’s usually three or four hours later before we finish. My mom insists that we open our presents one by one so we can “enjoy the other children’s exuberance.” I don’t know about you, but there is only so much excitement I can get from watching the wrappings being peeled off another doll or Tonka truck. By the time it gets to me, I have to brush off the cobwebs.
Valentine’s Day is another fine day I could do without. My mom insists that homemade Valentines show more thought and care. Usually on February 13 at about 10:00 P.M., you can find one mom, dad, and big sister cutting out pink, red and white hearts numbers 412, 413, and 414. It’s a never-ending battle.
Easter—18 dozen eggs later—you wish there were no such things as chickens or bunnies. And by the time I hop around the yard trying to find a place to hide all of them, I usually get pretty tired of it and shove a whole carton of them in the mailbox. But that’s not half as bad as the defrosted egg salad sandwiches we eat for two whole weeks!
The only regret my parents have is that we don’t yet qualify for a group rate at Disneyland. But hey, we are only two short now. Our home teachers hope we don’t adopt any more children very soon because after a year they finally have all of our names memorized.
My mom never has been very good at handiwork, so when she finished cross-stitching a family tree with our names on it, we were all impressed. But that was five kids ago, and she doesn’t have time to fix it, so she has taken to adding Post-it notes around the edges.
There are times that make it all worthwhile. I don’t think there is an experience comparable to having an adopted sibling sealed to our family in the temple. No matter how many times we’ve been, it’s always neat to hear that we will be a family for all eternity.
Whenever we do baptisms for the dead, I get really excited knowing that five of my brothers and sisters are in the temple with me.
Besides all of that, I have the biggest fan club in town. It really makes me feel good to know that 13 people in the audience are really proud of me.
This summer I went to Denmark, and I actually began to miss my family (except for the 6:00 A.M. Saturday morning “Smurf’s are on” call). When I returned and stepped off the airplane, there they were—13 people screaming, “Shannon’s back!”
As I wandered through the house in the middle of the night suffering from jet lag, I saw the ten-pound bucket of butter in the refrigerator, stumbled over the assorted pairs of mismatched shoes in the front entry, and opened my lipstick tubes to find that they had all been bitten off or smashed down, and I smiled and said to myself, “I’m home.”