Gospel Story Finder

Suddenly, the cars arrived, and the hall of the stake house was crowded with boys in straw hats covered with cookies, and girls in neon yellow, green, and orange skirts with big bows holding giant candy bars as hats. And just as quickly, they gathered in a classroom for one more run-through of their song—“Buy Me Chocolate,” which helps explain the cookies and candy bars.
Then another group walked by, all dressed in black and white with red-checkered napkins. They were humming something that sounded vaguely operatic but had tongue-twisting lyrics. Another group had swatches of cloth with an African print. They were going over some steps in a dance.
The cultural hall of the Salt Lake Hunter Stake was filled wall to wall with families from nine wards, all waiting to see each ward’s performance in the Young Women and Young Men Choral Festival. Every ward had two songs to perform: one serious song and one fun song from another country that could include some dance steps. The wards chose from religious songs that have been printed in the New Era.
As each well-rehearsed ward came on stage, the energy began to build. Everyone was ready to sing with volume and enthusiasm. But when the Mapusaga (Samoan) Ward came on (they were the ones with the chocolate song), the Caribbean rhythm had everyone moving. After that, there was no stopping them. Each ward put everything they had into their performances before an appreciative audience.
Why have a choral festival? The youth in the Hunter stake now know it means some fun times at practices and an even better time at the performance. And the audience agreed.

Sisters, do you realize the breadth and scope of your influence when you speak those things that come to your heart and mind as directed by the Spirit? A superb stake president told me of a stake council meeting in which they were wrestling with a difficult challenge. At one point, he realized that the stake Primary president had not spoken, so he asked if she had any impressions. “Well, actually I have,” she said and then proceeded to share a thought that changed the entire direction of the meeting. The stake president continued, “As she spoke, the Spirit testified to me that she had given voice to the revelation we had been seeking as a council.”

Sarah sat on her bed, waiting to hear Mom’s tap on the door. She tried to gulp away the sobs, but tears kept trickling down her face.
Earlier that day, she and her friend Megan were pretending that they had discovered a buried treasure. They placed Sarah’s allowance, some foreign coins from Dad’s mission, and Megan’s plastic jewelry in a shoe box. When Megan saw the old, worn poetry book on the living room shelf, it seemed like the perfect antique to finish off their treasure. “Grab that old book,” she said. “Let’s pretend it’s a diary.”
Sarah knew that she wasn’t supposed to play with it—it had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, and its yellowing pages almost crumbled when touched. Mom cherished it as one of her family heirlooms. But Sarah was sure that nothing bad would happen to it if she borrowed it for only a little while.
She and Megan sneaked out the back door to “bury” the shoe box under some bushes.
A sick feeling welled up in her stomach even before her brother Spencer told Mom.
Mom knocked on the bedroom door and slipped in. “Have you been thinking?” she asked. Sarah nodded. “And how do you feel?”
“Awful.” Sarah sniffled. “I took your book when I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”
Mom smoothed Sarah’s hair and kissed her forehead. “Heavenly Father doesn’t want you to feel awful. He wants you to feel sorry.”
“No problem!” Sarah thought. It seemed that she had been feeling sorry a lot lately.
“I forgive you,” Mom said, “but you need to pray for forgiveness, too. Since you were baptized last month, you are now accountable for your sins.”
“That’s just it!”
“What do you mean?” Mom looked surprised.
Sarah blinked at the floor, hating how puffy her eyes felt. “When I got confirmed, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost, right?”
“That’s right. As long as you’re worthy, the Spirit will be with you.”
“Then why is it still hard?” Sarah wiped her eyes, angry that the tears wouldn’t stop falling. “I thought that the Holy Ghost would make it easy to be good. But it seems that ever since I’ve been baptized, I’ve made as many mistakes as I did before.”
Mom hugged her. “That’s why there’s repentance. Even when the Holy Ghost helps you know what the right thing is, what you do is still your choice. Sometimes it’s hard to do what you know is right.”
Sarah nodded. She was confused, though. Even before her baptism, she’d had enough sense to know that taking Mom’s book would be wrong, but she’d never been tempted to do it. What had happened today?
Sarah sighed. She’d just have to try harder. When Mom left the room, she got down on her knees to pray.
In school on Monday, Marcus slid his math assignment next to hers.
“Let me check my paper,” he said. “I want to make sure I have the same answers you do.”
Sarah handed him her paper, as she always did, but this time she saw Marcus scribbling out his answers and writing hers down. He wasn’t checking—he was cheating! Sarah knew it was wrong to let Marcus cheat, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad. Wasn’t being nice more important than being honest about one little math assignment? After all, she wasn’t cheating—he was.
A familiar, uneasy feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. Remembering how bad she had felt a few days ago, she yanked her paper away.
“What are you doing?” Marcus cried.
“I can’t let you cheat,” Sarah said. Even though Marcus gave her a dirty look, she didn’t give in to the temptation to let him copy her answers. She realized that she had made a right choice because she felt calm and happy inside. “That’s what the Holy Ghost feels like,” Sarah thought. Her quick decision hadn’t been easy, but she had done what was right.
After school, Mom drove Sarah to Megan’s soccer game. On the way there, Sarah told her about the experience she’d had.
“I’m proud of you, Sarah!” Mom said. “See? You’re learning from your mistakes.”
“I guess so,” Sarah agreed. “Now I know what the Holy Ghost feels like, but I’m still confused about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I wonder why I think about disobeying lately. I never wanted to touch your book until Megan told me to, and I never wanted to let anyone cheat until today. I almost let Marcus copy my paper, even though I knew I shouldn’t.” Mom was quiet, so Sarah continued. “That isn’t all. Sometimes I’m mean to Spencer. Sometimes swear words pop into my head, and I want to say them. I want to be good, but I keep being tempted!”
“That’s what happens when you join a team,” Mom said. “The opposing team gets mad.”
“What?”
“Think of watching soccer,” Mom said. “It’s obvious that you’re loyal to Megan’s team, because you cheer for them. The other team might not like it, but you’re on the sidelines. You can’t help them to win or lose as much as if you jogged onto the field and started playing.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“When you were baptized, you chose sides,” Mom said. “You know that baptism shows Heavenly Father your love and commitment to obey. Don’t forget that it proves to Satan whose side you’re on, too. He’ll tempt you to change your mind.”
“I went to church every week before I was baptized,” Sarah protested. “Didn’t my going to Primary upset Satan just as much then?”
Mom pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. “You were on the Lord’s side, but you were cheering from the sidelines. Now you’re in the game. Being righteous will take more effort than it has before. And it will take more courage, and it will definitely take more repentance.”
Sarah thought about that. “I guess watching a game is much easier than playing it.” No wonder the gift of the Holy Ghost hadn’t taken away all of her problems. The Spirit could help her see when Satan was tempting her, but the temptations wouldn’t just disappear. “Is that what ‘opposition in all things’ (2 Ne. 2:11) means?” she wondered. She had read in the Book of Mormon that without agency to choose between good and evil, no one could become more like Heavenly Father.
“Even if it’s harder, it’s more worth it to play than to just watch,” Sarah decided aloud.
“Especially when you win,” Mom added with a smile.
Sarah got out of the car and walked toward the field. She silently promised herself that she would really, really try to follow the Holy Ghost, no matter how much she was tempted. She had chosen the Lord’s side. As long as she did her best to be worthy, the Spirit would bless her with the courage to keep choosing the right.
“We cannot sign on for a battle of such eternal significance and everlasting consequence without knowing it will be a fight—a good fight and a winning fight, but a fight nevertheless. …
“Sure it is tough—before you join the Church, while you are trying to join, and after you have joined. That is the way it has always been, … but don’t draw back. Don’t panic and retreat. Don’t lose your confidence.”Elder Jeffrey R. HollandOf the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles(“‘Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence,’” Ensign, Mar. 2000, 8.)

Coming unto Christ, for me, is part of bringing others unto Christ also. There is a teenager in my ward who does not believe in Christ or this gospel. One Sunday afternoon I had the opportunity to walk to the temple with him and bear him my testimony. When he asked me questions, I was never without an answer, because the Spirit was there helping and guiding me the whole way. When I got home, the Spirit I felt was so strong that I knew, through my actions and this experience, I had come closer unto Christ and had hopefully brought my friend closer also.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
As a boy, Heber J. Grant helped his mother sweep, wash dishes, and keep house. He had never played sports like other boys his age.
Heber: Mother, I want to join a baseball team.
At first Heber had to play with boys much younger than he was because he couldn’t pitch very well. His teammates made fun of him.
Boy: Throw the ball over here, sissy!
Instead of getting upset, Heber set a goal.
Heber: Someday I will play on a championship team!
Heber shined men’s boots to earn money until he had saved up enough to buy his own baseball.
Then he practiced pitching his baseball against Bishop Edwin Woolley’s barn every day. The bishop was concerned.
Bishop: Your son is the laziest boy in the whole ward. He wastes his time throwing a ball at my barn for hours.
Sister Grant: Bishop, my son is practicing to achieve a goal.
Heber’s hard work finally paid off. He joined a team that went on to win the championship in the states of California, Colorado, and Wyoming.

In the summer of 2012, Palakiko C. had just graduated from high school in Hawaii, USA, and was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University and serving a mission. Palakiko had done a lot to prepare for his mission already—he had accompanied the full-time missionaries all day three times, and he often went with them to visit and teach the gospel to families.
One evening Palakiko and the missionaries began teaching a part-member family with five children, ages 8 to 14, who hadn’t been baptized.
“We visited with them for six weeks,” Palakiko says. “Each week, I saw their faith increase as we taught them doctrinal principles that would help them receive eternal life.”
Soon all five children had accepted the invitation to be baptized and asked Palakiko if he would perform the baptisms. He enthusiastically agreed. Baptizing them would be a privilege and an honor. But for Palakiko, there was a more difficult challenge: they also asked him to give a talk about the Holy Ghost at the baptismal service.
Palakiko was more than a little nervous. “How was I supposed to give a talk on a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives?” he asked. “What would I say?”
In spite of his anxiety, Palakiko knew he should do it, and he started preparing for his talk that very day.
“I did everything in my power to make sure everything would go well,” he says. He prayed, read scriptures for guidance and comfort, and rehearsed the baptismal prayer in his mind. On the day of the service, the baptisms went fine. And as he gave his talk and focused on striving to have the Spirit, he felt guided in what to say.
“At no other time in my life have I felt the Spirit more than during that talk,” Palakiko says. “I’m glad I was able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands.”
Palakiko was able to do what he needed to do because he was strengthened by the grace, or enabling power, of the Savior’s Atonement.

Early in the summer of 1914, Dorothy Page and her parents left their home in the United States and traveled across the ocean to the city of Brussels in Belgium. Her father had been sent there on business and the family expected to be away at least a year.
Soon they were comfortably settled in a quaint old house with beautiful gardens, surrounded by a high stone wall with a heavy iron gate in front. When Dorothy grew tired of playing among the tiny flower beds and winding paths, she and her mother would drive through the narrow, crooked streets. The odd little shops and houses were interesting to Dorothy and unlike any she had ever seen back home.
In August, just as Brussels was becoming more like home to the Page family, Belgium entered World War I. Mr. Page received word that he should remain in Belgium, as few people thought the war would last very long. Dorothy and her family didn’t even worry much when they heard the big guns booming in the distance.
As food became scarce in Belgium and Thanksgiving Day drew near, Dorothy began to think of the traditional party that would be held at Grandfather’s farm back home. There would be a wonderful dinner of turkey, cranberry sauce, and mince and pumpkin pies. She was homesick for the cousins who would be there having fun playing together.
The day before Thanksgiving, Dorothy’s father came home with the news that the next morning they were driving to the coast to make arrangements to return to the United States. “Pack everything we’ll need,” he said, “and remember to take plenty of warm clothes for the ocean voyage. I believe we can fit it all in the car.”
Many hours were spent packing at the Page home, and early Thanksgiving morning the family was in the car ready to start.
Just as the car rolled through the big iron gates, a man came running after them, carrying a large square box. He explained that the box had somehow managed to come through by express from the United States. He put it down in the bottom of the car and stepped back and waved good-bye.
Soon their home in Brussels was out of sight, and the car sped smoothly down the country road toward the coast. Suddenly, as the road turned sharply, they were stopped by a sharp command, “Halt!” A half dozen soldiers blocked the road in front of them, and an officer approached their car.
He was polite but firm. He said he was very sorry but he must have their car. It was needed to carry wounded soldiers, he explained. Despite their protests, the family was soon sitting alone by the roadside with all their luggage in a neat pile beside them.
“It’s Thanksgiving Day, and we don’t have anything to be thankful for,” said Dorothy, big tears in her eyes.
“We have a great deal to be thankful for, dear,” said Father. “We are all healthy, alive, and together.”
Just behind them was a small farmhouse with one end entirely destroyed by shell-fire. The other walls had several gaping holes where bombshells had hit. The place looked uninhabited.
Suddenly, a little girl darted from the cottage and ran toward them, speaking rapidly in her own language.
The girl was about Dorothy’s own age. She had very blue eyes, yellow hair, rosy cheeks, and wore a little cap over her tight pigtail braids. Her clothes were worn but clean.
A man and a woman came from the house that had seemed so empty and deserted and followed the little girl. They all began gesturing and talking in a mixture of French and English.
Mr. Page tried to explain what had happened. At the end of his story, the man invited them to share their humble home, but he apologized that they didn’t have a crumb of food to offer them.
Everyone began carrying the baggage to the house while Dorothy’s mother was sorting out their belongings. She laid aside many things that had at first seemed necessary and kept only the warmest wraps. At last she came to the big express package from home.
When she tore off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid from the box, she gave such a happy shout that all the others crowded around her. They peered eagerly down at the package and Dorothy shouted with joy.
There was a canned turkey, candied sweet potatoes, cranberry jelly, nut bread, raisins, candy, cookies, and other tasty homemade foods that Grandmother always prepared for Thanksgiving Day.
Everyone was so hungry that they hurriedly spread the feast on an old kitchen table, but no one touched a bite of food until they had first bowed their heads and thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings. For a few moments, as they enjoyed the food, the war seemed very far away even though they ate to the sound of booming guns in the distance.
Dorothy and her parents explained why Grandmother had sent the box of food and told their new friends about Thanksgiving Day. As they did, each one felt that never before had they understood and appreciated the true meaning of Thanksgiving Day. And their Belgian friends decided that it was indeed a wonderful custom to set aside a special day of thanks for year-round blessings.

“When I was about seven, Dad sort of hoodwinked me into milking cows. He said, ‘You’re not big enough to milk the cows.’
“Well, I knew I was big enough to milk them, so I said, ‘Of course, I can milk them.’ I got up early, got the bucket, and went out and milked the cows.
“My dad then said, ‘I believe you can milk the cows. You’ve got the job!’ For the next dozen years I milked eight to twelve cows each night and morning.
“Dad was a lot smarter than I was. One day I said to him, ‘I don’t want to milk cows.’ He replied, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to want to. … as long as you do it.’”

Perla García calls them her tesoros (treasures): yellowed newspaper clippings of the Church’s early days in Chile, old photographs of visiting General Authorities, an aging Bible signed by some of the first converts, and other mementos of the nearly 50 years she and her husband, Ricardo, shared. They flood her heart with love, and her mind with memories.
When Sister García shows her tesoros to visitors, she cannot help but express gratitude for the gift of the Holy Ghost, speak with reverence of the missionaries who taught her the gospel, and recall with fondness being one of only a handful of Latter-day Saints in Chile during the late 1950s. The members may have been few, she says, but the blessings were many.
On 23 June 1956 Elders Verle M. Allred and Joseph C. Bentley from the Argentina Mission flew over the Andes Mountains and into Santiago to begin modern-day missionary work in Chile. “We were on our own. We had to stay very close to the Lord and depend upon him,” recalls Brother Allred, who now serves as patriarch of the Brigham City Utah Stake. “We felt like pioneers,” adds Brother Bentley, a Sunday School teacher in the Parleys Fifth Ward, Salt Lake Parleys Stake. “We worked very hard, but it was a great experience.”
Sister García met the elders while watering her yard. She invited them to come back after her husband had returned from working out of town. When the elders met Brother García, “he greeted us and cordially received us as though we had met before,” Brother Allred recalls. “Once we started talking about the Church, he wouldn’t let us leave.”
Their meeting turned into a three-hour discussion, during which Brother García was moved to tears as he listened to the missionaries’ message. On 24 November 1956 in a Santiago country club pool, Brother García became the first Latter-day Saint to be baptized in Chile. He was joined that day by eight others, five of them children. Sister García was baptized in January 1957.
Brother García’s agricultural work often required that the family relocate. When they found themselves in a new city without a branch, they would start one. Over the years, Brother and Sister García served in many Church callings.
“The gospel has been a great blessing for Chile,” says the couple’s daughter, Perla, recalling the joy her family felt by serving the Lord. “My father used to say that it is so beautiful to be laborers in the Lord’s vineyard.”
Ricardo passed away 26 September 1994. Despite illness, he spent the final years of his life serving as the Santiago Chile Nuñoa Stake patriarch and as an ordinance worker in the Santiago Chile Temple, where Sister García played the organ. It is in the temple that she feels closest to him.
“He was a very special man. I know he is waiting for me,” Sister García says. “I wasn’t happy to see him go, but my husband died a happy man. He said, ‘Don’t weep. I have finished my work and am ready to go. I know I will see you and the children again. Tell our brothers and sisters to remain faithful, that I love them, and that they should not be sad because I am happy to move on.’”

There were difficult and challenging days also, like the one when I returned from a distant trip to find my faithful and ever courageous wife directing our sons with boxing gloves on their hands sparring with each other. One son had challenged the high school bully, who had been teasing and trying to make fun of younger classmates. The coach had set an hour and a day for the fight. Preparations were on—training, diet, and prayer were all a part of making ready. Our prayers were answered. The outcome brought increased respect and strong friendship, even with the bully.

Monday, November 1
Dear Vera,
Yes, Nigeria is far away from where you live, but we are so glad we’re here. The people are so warm and loving, and Heavenly Father has blessed us so much.
On Sunday, four children were confirmed. We met in a tiny chapel with a concrete floor, and the Spirit was so strong. It was beautiful!
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. We love the Primary children so much that we want to give them a special Christmas present. Do you have any ideas?
Monday, November 22
Dear Elder and Sister Wall, (See? I remembered!)
I’ve got a great Christmas present idea! And I’ve even talked to Mom and the Primary president about it. But I’m not going to tell you what it is because I know how much you like surprises. (Remember the surprise birthday party Mom gave you, Grandma? You were so funny!)
I will give you a hint. It starts with the letter P, and we’ll be sending it in a couple of weeks.
Love,Vera
P.S. Can you guess what it is?
Friday, December 3
Dear Vera,
What could it be? Grandpa and I have been thinking about what you might be sending for the Primary children. We can hardly wait to find out!
There are lots of things that start with P in Africa—like pigs, parrots, and potholes! But I don’t think that’s the surprise you’re talking about.
Love,Sister Wall
Monday, December 13
Dear Vera,
Dalu and Merry Christmas! Dalu means “thank you” in Igbo (a language spoken in Nigeria). P stands for “pictures,” doesn’t it?
All the children here in our Primary liked the Christmas pictures you and your friends drew for them at the Primary activity.
We wish you could have seen them! All the children were smiling and laughing and saying how wonderful it was to hear from faraway Primary friends who love Jesus just like they do.
Thanks so much for your Christmas present. It was perfect! (That starts with P too!)
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. The Nigerian Primary children like to send surprises too!
Friday, December 31
Dear Elder and Sister Wall,
Please tell the Primary children in Nigeria dalu for their pictures! All the kids in my Primary liked them! We especially enjoyed the pictures with the palm trees, fans, and baskets.
Love,Vera
P.S. Even though I still miss you, ever since we sent you the special present for your Primary children, Nigeria doesn’t seem far away at all!

One of the most powerful experiences I’ve had with this feeling was in my search to find a house to purchase. I was single and had been contemplating buying a house for several years. I told my realtor what I was looking for, and she did an excellent job of finding houses that fit my description. She would show me houses, but I would turn them down because they didn’t feel right. She started asking me what I disliked about each one so that she could better show me homes that would fit my needs. Unfortunately, I couldn’t articulate very well what was missing.
Finally, one afternoon we walked through a house that wasn’t as nice as some of the others we had seen. It was a little more expensive than others. It fit my description for what I had said I wanted but not as perfectly as some we had seen. Nevertheless, after walking through it, I told my realtor I wanted to put in an offer. She seemed somewhat surprised at my willingness to act so quickly. Considering my reluctance through previous months, she was right to be surprised. But the feeling that this was where I needed to live was almost overwhelming. I didn’t feel a need to stop and think about it.
I put in an offer, and the sellers accepted my bid, despite the fact that it was not the highest offer they had received. I told my family that I knew I was supposed to live in that house, though I didn’t know why.
I found out why I needed to live there fairly quickly. I met a woman in the singles ward within a month of moving in. A little over a year later, we knelt across the altar in the temple, where we were sealed as husband and wife.
The Lord truly moves in mysterious ways. I had no idea that He was leading me toward eternal marriage when He helped me choose a house. All I knew was that I was being guided to take this step, and now I can see that that guidance came from His Spirit.

It was twilight on a cold and rainy October day in 1968, and I was riding my bicycle home from work in Copenhagen, Denmark. My husband was in Canada on an assignment at that time, and I was alone with two children, a boy ten and a girl seven years old.
On my way home I had to cross a very busy four-lane road with a bicycle lane. For safety, I had made it a habit to get off my bike and walk it across the intersection. On this particular day I got halfway across the street and stopped in the middle to let the cars go by. A small car stopped in the lane to my right, and the driver signaled for me to cross. A big truck stopped in the lane beside the small car, and the truck driver also signaled to me, so I continued across the street. Just as I passed the truck I saw a Volkswagen coming toward me, illegally in the bicycle lane, at full speed. There was no time for me to escape, either backward or forward.
In that split second, countless thoughts of my children, my husband, my widowed mother, and my job flashed through my mind, and I prayed more fervently than ever before: “Please, dear Lord, whatever happens—spare my life.”
The car hit the bicycle, slamming the handlebars into the left side of my body. As I lay helpless in the road, I could barely breathe because of the pain, but I didn’t lose consciousness. When I turned my head, I saw the Volkswagen’s tire only an inch away. I looked at my bicycle, which had been thrown several feet by the collision. It now looked half its original size.
I was certain that I had experienced a miracle. The tire couldn’t have been any closer, yet it had not crushed my head. I felt that an invisible hand had stopped it right there. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thanked Heavenly Father for saving my life.
I lay in the road waiting for the ambulance. What would the children think when I didn’t come for them? Would I be in time to call the day-care center from the emergency room before it closed? Who could I contact? I hardly knew my neighbors because of a busy schedule, and members of my ward were some distance away.
At the busy emergency room, the staff wouldn’t let me use the telephone before they had taken an X-ray. The nurses were too busy to make the call for me. It was four hours before the police officers came to make a written report of the accident.
For the five longest hours of my life I was kept in the hospital with a number of people helping me. Still, I felt that only Heavenly Father was able to give me the help I really needed. For the first time in my life I found myself unceasingly praying about my only concern—two small and lonely children.
“Please tell them I’m all right,” I prayed. “Let them have peace of mind so that they won’t panic, and give them patience. Please tell them what to do.” I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, and an all-embracing peace filled my mind—the same feeling I prayed my children would receive.
Finally, the doctor told me that except for my painfully bruised ribs, I was as good as new, and he let me go. The two policemen offered me a ride home, and we arrived at my apartment building at 10:15 that night.
Two small, tired children walked hand in hand in the dark toward the police car. “Mom, where have you been? What happened to you? How come it’s so late? Why did the police drive you home?” they asked, as soon as we were safely in the apartment.
I explained, and asked, “How did you get home?”
My son said, “We couldn’t understand why you didn’t come to pick us up, but we thought you might be late from work, so we walked home. It started to get dark, but we couldn’t get in because we haven’t got a key.
“I didn’t know what to do, but all of a sudden I thought we should pray about it. So we knelt on the doormat while I said a prayer. We sat without talking for a little while after the prayer, as you taught us to do, and then a nice thing happened to me.
“I felt a big, warm hand touching the top of my head, and I heard a friendly voice saying, ‘Your mother is well, she has been taken care of. It will be a while before she comes home, and it will be all dark outside, but just stay calm. Take your little sister by the hand and stay near the apartment and play peacefully. If you do, the time will go by quickly until your mother is with you again.’
“When I looked up to see who was talking to me, I couldn’t see anybody, and no more was said. I felt calm.”
Over the years I have seen my son have occasional struggles as he has grown into adulthood. It’s sometimes easy during difficult times to doubt there is a living God.
Each time he was struggling, I would ask, “Do you remember what happened to you the night of my accident?”
His features would clear, and he would say, “Mother, it’s true, and I will never be able to deny it.”
I am grateful that my son is able to carry an experience like this with him. I have also learned how important it is for us to teach our children to pray and to remember the words in Psalms 94:9 [Ps. 94:9]: “He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? he that formed the eye, shall he not see ?”

This light will keep the kittens warm tonight. It’s bedtime for everyone!
You can play with the kittens tomorrow.
Go check the kittens.
Where did that thought come from?
Go check the kittens!
Oh no!
Daddy, the kittens’ box almost caught on fire!
How did you know to check on the kittens?
I kept having a thought, kind of like a voice. I think it was the Holy Ghost.
I think you’re right. I’m glad you listened.
Me too! I’m glad the Holy Ghost helped us.
See Come, Follow Me for Enos–Words of Mormon.

I was 14 and had just moved to a new school with very few members. I had lived in a town made up mostly of LDS residents, so living in a place where I was the minority was a whole new experience. I didn’t quite know how to take it in. I was really struggling to find where I belonged while still upholding my standards.
After one extremely trying day, I fell to my knees in prayer, pleading for comfort and support. Then a calm feeling came over me. I felt arms embrace me as if someone were holding me gently. It was like my dad was giving me a big hug, only the warmth went all the way through. I knew without a doubt that the Lord felt my pain and was there to reassure me that my struggles were known. That’s something I will always keep with me in times of pain.

The thought of coming home early was devastating. As soon as the counselor suggested it, I felt a very complicated mix of emotions: Shame. Relief. Guilt. Peace. Sorrow. All at the same time.
I know that God was supporting me because somehow I got through that first week home. And then I got through another week. And another. Until I was finally able to feel like myself again. My dad was my biggest support and really took me under his wing. He always wanted to talk and spend time with me. Not to pry into what “went wrong,” but just to see how I was doing.
When my dad passed away in a rock climbing accident a few months later, I knew without a doubt that God has a plan for me. Being able to be with my dad for the last months of his life strengthened my testimony of the plan of salvation. I still don’t understand all the reasons why I had to come home when I did, but I’ve also learned that if you spend too much time wondering why, then you miss the wonderful miracles God has provided for you every day.
Kristen Watabe, Ohio, USA

A few years ago in Italy, LDS missionaries were harassed by some Italian youths. Among the group on two occasions was a young man named Felice Lotito. He was challenged by a bold elder to come to the local LDS branch so that he could judge for himself. It was a dare which Felice accepted. He came. He heard. He studied. He believed. He was baptized. Later he was sent on a mission to England where he increased his faith and his ability to speak English. He served honorably, came home, married a lovely Italian girl in the Swiss Temple, and became one of the directors of the seminary and institute program in Italy, which now serves nearly 1,000 students.

In July of 1980, Felice Lotito left at age 32 to be the mission president in the Italy Padova Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! God saw in Felice possibilities that Felice did not see in himself. When the gospel was presented to him, Felice had the integrity of heart and intellect to believe it, even though he had been harassing the missionaries just days before. The Lord reached out for Felice Lotito who will now reach out to thousands of his countrymen and touch hundreds of missionaries—missionaries like those of whom he was so critical just a few years before.

May I share with you an experience that took place on the island of Okinawa in the Servicemen’s District? As the local Okinawan members were excitedly preparing to go to Tokyo, which is nearly 900 miles away, for the area general conference, the young people of the Servicemen’s Branch found out that an active young Okinawan family was not planning to go with the rest of the branch. When approached and asked why he was not going to conference, this faithful brother hesitantly replied that he just could not afford to take his wife and children at this time; it was out of the question.
The young people of the Servicemen’s Branch immediately met and planned a cookie sale project to raise funds necessary to send this family to conference. The young people baked cookies in their parents’ homes; later when they were busily engaged in selling these cookies, they were pleasantly surprised when they approached the servicemen to purchase their cookies, explaining the purpose of their project. Without hesitation the servicemen all bought cookies and donated money in excess of the purchase price, so that the young people could reach their goal. The happy result was that this young Okinawan family was able to go to Tokyo to conference with the rest of their branch, because of the help they received.
The young people of the Servicemen’s Branch all learned a great lesson in giving and loving; they learned through experience that persons who really care for others and who give some of their time, talents, and belongings for the good of others are the ones who really receive the fullest blessings of life.

One Sunday at church, I found myself in the hallway with my young daughter as the sacrament hymn finished. I was trying to teach her to be quiet during the passing of the bread and water. As we fought our battle of wills for yet another Sunday, I began to feel a great weight of discouragement.
Was I doing the right thing? Would she ever learn? How long had it been since I’d been able to reverently partake of the sacrament myself?
An older man shuffled out of the chapel with the tray of bread. My daughter thrashed in my arms, and I felt close to tears. As he held the bread out to me with one hand, he gently placed his other hand on top of my daughter’s head.
I looked up and the man smiled at us both. His eyes were full of compassionate understanding and love. My overtaxed mother’s heart was able to refocus on the true meaning of the sacrament. My impatience with my daughter dissolved, replaced with love for her and for my Savior. I knew my Savior wasn’t disappointed in my efforts to teach my daughter. I wasn’t failing her or Him. He loved her. He loved me.
With time, my daughter learned to sit quietly, so I’m no longer worried about her actions distracting others while they reflect on the Savior and renew their covenants. Now the deeper concern in my heart is that she learn to recognize the meaning behind the ordinance and the power of the covenants.
My daughter’s testimony is just starting to take root. Some Sundays she is more focused on the sacrament than others. But when I remember the man from my ward all those years ago, I feel hope in her ability to learn and in the future of her faith. We all learn step by step. My desire is that one day the bread will be passed to her from the hand of a worthy priesthood holder and she will see in him the hands of her Savior.

“If you took a look at my books, you might not be quite so anxious to open your store on Sunday! I can show you mathematically that we did not make any profit on Sunday during the years our business was open on Sunday!”
As a young couple, my wife and I worked for several years in Idaho Falls in eating establishments which were open on Sunday. During that time, we noticed that on Sunday, the business often lost money. The machinery always seemed to break down, and then we could not serve the customers. Repairmen charged twice as much on that day. Good hired help was hard to find. We vowed that if we were ever able to buy a business of our own, we would make some changes.
The opportunity finally came one year with the purchase of a drive-in restaurant. The loan we took out to buy the business was large, and the finance people and the other owners of surrounding food establishments, assured us that we did not have the slightest chance of paying off our loan if we did not compete on the biggest sales day of the week—Sunday. Because we had already paid the down payment and wanted to make a success of our enterprise we felt trapped. We stayed open.
As predicted, Sunday proved to be our biggest day. Having made the decision to stay open on Sunday, we couldn’t change. We were afraid of the business we would lose. Eventually, in the back of our minds, grew the fear that if we did not serve people on Sunday, we would lose our customers and be unable to raise the large sum we needed to make the business ours.
We had almost reached our goal when I had a heart attack. Because good Sunday help was hard to find, we agreed to close on Sunday through the winter months.
My doctor was pleased with our decision, happy that I could get some much needed rest. But as the months passed, I became worried about the low volume of business we had on our books. One day I told my wife that we should again open on Sunday. She looked at me in silence for several seconds, then said, “First, go look in the mirror and see if you look like a man who could stand seven days of work each week!”
“I guess I don’t have to look,” I answered slowly. “We’d better forget the whole idea.”
Later, as we sat down together to review and evaluate our business year, our fears were confirmed—our gross sales were over $17,000 lower than the previous years! But in spite of our low volume, our balance showed only $10.00 less profit! We were amazed. Pleased with such figures, we agreed to keep the drive-in closed on Sunday for another year. Again, the volume was way down but the profit was no less. Our drive-in was a success without opening on Sunday!
When I think of the poor effect on my health and all the work I did for nothing on those Sundays, I am surprised it took me as long to learn the lesson that obedience to the law of the Sabbath carries its own reward. The Sabbath is the Lord’s day. Wc will all be blessed for honoring it.