Gospel Story Finder

One day a girl in my kindergarten class was being mean to me. I didn’t know what to do, so I talked to my mom about it. We agreed that it was better to not be mean back, which would only make me feel worse. We decided that I should be extra nice to her. I made a card that I planned to give to her with a fruit snack during lunch on our field trip the next day.
When I gave her the card and fruit snack, she was so happy that it made me happy, too. I felt like I was the one who got the present! My mom said that that feeling is the Holy Ghost. Even though a few days later the girl was mean again and gave chocolate candy to all my friends at recess but not to me, I remembered the lesson I had learned. I am glad that I know it is better to choose the right and be kind to others, no matter how they treat me.

Embarking on my education with BYU-Pathway Worldwide presented daunting challenges—power outages and unreliable internet connectivity which threatened to derail my academic pursuits, threatening my ability to complete the one-year PathwayConnect program. Despite my fears, I persevered, relying on prayer and faith. Miraculously, I witnessed divine intervention, which bolstered my confidence as an online student. A job opportunity, facilitated by a friend, provided the means to provide backup electricity and secure reliable Wi-Fi. It felt like a miracle! With these basic necessities restored, I felt a renewed sense of hope and determination to pursue my educational goals. However, my journey was far from smooth sailing.
Upon graduation from PathwayConnect, acceptance into BYU-Idaho’s online bachelor’s program brought renewed concerns. The unexpected loss of my job caused some financial hardship, which left me with no means to afford tuition and essential course materials. Depleted savings increased my worries, yet I knew that quitting school was not an option. As President Dieter. F. Uchtdorf once said, “For members of the Church, education is not merely a good idea—it’s a commandment”.
Amidst fervent prayers and contemplation, I saw a post on LinkedIn by Matt Richards, who works at BYU-Pathway. He talked about the Hall Foundation Scholarship. It was like an answer to my prayers! This scholarship helped me pay for school and books, so I could keep studying. Its promise of financial support was a lifeline in my time of need. Securing the scholarship eased the burden of tuition and expenses, allowing me to focus on my academic pursuits. Even when things seemed tough, I learned to trust that help would come when I needed it most. With faith and help from above, I’m about to graduate. It’s been a journey full of ups and downs, but I know I’m not alone. There are miracles all around us, if we just keep believing.

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake who would later become an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, speak to the brethren of the general priesthood session of conference and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald! Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green with a slender bit of gold chain [that had been broken]. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse galloped across the bridge spanning the stream and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1955, 86; paragraphing, capitalization, and punctuation altered.)
The lesson to be learned from this story is found in the familiar couplet: “Do [your] duty; that is best; Leave unto [the] Lord the rest!” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Legend Beautiful,” in The Complete Poetical Works of Longfellow [1893], 258).

Latter-day Saint pioneer Mary Ann Angell Young was a living testament that faith in God and his gospel is reason enough to endure hardship with dignity, patience, and unwavering hope. So deep was her devotion to the gospel and so steady was her trust in the Lord that no extremity of persecution, toil, illness, or separation from loved ones in life or in death disturbed her faith.
Born in Seneca, Ontario County, New York, in 1803, Mary Ann was reared by God-fearing parents. After the family moved to Providence, Rhode Island, Mary Ann joined the Free Will Baptist Church and developed a keen interest in the Bible.
“Her study of the scriptures, especially the prophecies, so engrossed her mind, that she confidently looked for their fulfillment, in consequence of which she resolved never to marry until she should ‘meet a man of God.’”1 That blessing came years later, shortly after her conversion to the restored gospel.
Mary Ann learned of the Book of Mormon when Elder Thomas B. Marsh preached of the Restoration in Providence in 1830. From him she requested a copy of the sacred book, which she prayerfully read and believed. “She testified many times that the Spirit bore witness to her when she took the Book of Mormon in her hands, of the truth of its origin, so strongly that she could never afterwards doubt it,” wrote her biographer, Emmeline B. Wells.2
Two years later Mary Ann journeyed to New York to investigate the new religion firsthand. Her parents, who were visiting friends near Palmyra, had not told her enough about the new faith in their letters to satisfy her. So she joined her parents, and together they heard and embraced the restored gospel and were baptized by Elder John P. Greene, Brigham Young’s brother-in-law.
Because her parents were not ready to gather with the Saints in Ohio in 1833, Mary Ann struck out for Kirtland alone. There, at the age of 30, she met her long-awaited “man of God.” Hearing Brigham Young preach, she “instinctively felt drawn towards him, and … admired him so much, that when … he asked her to be his wife she unhesitatingly consented, feeling confident he was her true mate.”3
After a brief courtship, they were married on 18 February 1834, two years after Brigham’s first wife, Miriam Works, died, leaving Brigham with two young daughters. Brigham wrote in his diary that Mary Ann “took charge of my children, kept my house, and labored faithfully for the interest of my family and the kingdom.”4
Although the newlyweds were not strangers to hardship, they soon experienced even more perilous times. Mary Ann scarcely had time to organize her home before Brigham left to follow the Prophet on the march of Zion’s Camp and before mob troubles escalated in Ohio and Missouri.
In December 1837 Joseph Smith cut off from the Church approximately 40 dissenters in a “high and mighty pruning.”5 This action brought persecution, hatred, and threats of bodily harm and death to Brigham, who had vigorously testified against the malcontents and defended the Prophet. His life in peril, Brigham fled Kirtland on 22 December. Shortly thereafter, Joseph and other faithful members left Kirtland as well.
During that winter, Mary Ann and her five children had to fend for themselves while apostates terrorized them, ransacking their home in the pretended belief that Brigham was hiding there. The tormentors “used ‘threats and vile language’ that undid [Mary Ann’s] emotions until her health became frail. This was, she later told her biographer, ‘undoubtedly the severest trial of my life.’”6
In February 1838, Mary Ann, now suffering from tuberculosis, gathered her children and what few possessions the mob had not taken and undertook the long, difficult journey from Kirtland, Ohio, to Richmond, Missouri, to rejoin her husband. “He was so … shocked at the change in her appearance that his first exclamation was, ‘You look as if you were almost in your grave.’”7
Brigham could now devote himself to nursing Mary Ann to good health. The Lord also knew of her desperate need for relief and care. On 17 April 1838, Joseph Smith received a revelation temporarily relieving Brigham from his heavy Church responsibilities, thus allowing him to care primarily for his family and ailing wife.8
That salutary respite was short-lived. Tensions and hostilities between the Saints and Missourians increased until, in October 1838, Church members were again expelled from their homes. Then, in February 1839, the Young family and more than 800 other Saints were forced to leave the state; they braved the winter cold to seek refuge in Illinois. Since their wagons and animals had been confiscated, most of the destitute Saints walked.
During this difficult exodus, Brigham Young would push ahead with his family, find lodging for them, and then return to escort the weaker and orphaned Saints onward. Mary Ann and the children lived in 11 different quarters during the three-month ordeal.
Ten days after Mary Ann gave birth to Emma Alice in Montrose, Iowa Territory, on 4 September 1839, duty again called her husband away—on a mission to England. Brigham was so ill that he could not walk without help; his whole family languished with sickness as well.
At their sad parting, Mary Ann said to Elder Young, “Go and fill your mission, and the Lord will bless you, and I will do the best I can for myself and the children.”9 She trusted in God and rejoiced that she had the strength to see her husband off on his journey.
Between Nauvoo and Montrose, the Mississippi River is 1.6 kilometers wide. Necessity often required Mary Ann to make the dangerous river crossing in a skiff to obtain food. One day in late November 1839, Mary Ann was suffering from malaria, and her hungry children were crying for food.
Mary Ann tossed a tattered blanket into the boat and wrapped another around herself and the infant Emma Alice. A winter storm had come up, and a stiff north westerly wind swept across the river. Wearing a thin cotton dress and shawl, Mary Ann rowed into wind-whipped waves that soaked her and her baby.
Finally Mary Ann reached Nauvoo and visited a friend, who fed her. “Sister Young came into my house … with her baby Alice in her arms, almost fainting with cold and hunger, and dripping wet,” this sister recorded. “I tried to persuade her to stay, but she refused, saying, ‘the children at home are hungry, too.’ I shall never forget how she looked, shivering with cold and thinly clad. … She came back [from the tithing office] with a few potatoes and a little flour, for which she seemed very grateful, and … weak as she was from ague and fever, wended her way to the river bank” to row home again.10
After his return from England, Brigham became ill with what is thought to have been scarlet fever. It was winter, and the family was living in a log cabin that had a blanket for a door.
“When the fever left me on the 18th day,” Brigham wrote, “I was … so near gone that I could not close my eyes, … and my breath stopped. … [Mary Ann] threw some cold water in my face; that having no effect, she dashed a handful of strong camphor into my face and eyes, which I did not feel in the least. … She then held my nostrils … , and placing her mouth directly over mine, blew into my lungs until she filled them with air. This set my lungs in motion, and I again began to breathe.”11 That inspired treatment, now a common resuscitative technique, was not known or practiced until the 20th century.
Brigham later built his family a new home in Nauvoo, and a degree of peace and prosperity surrounded the growing city. However, before long, opposition mounted against the Saints until once again they were forced from their homes in midwinter.
On the trail west, Mary Ann put her healing talent to frequent use. She nursed Thomas L. Kane to health, after which he decided to devote himself to helping the Saints and other oppressed people. She also helped restore Eliza R. Snow’s health.
In Winter Quarters, Nebraska, “Sister Young performed a noble mission; there was sickness in almost every log cabin in the settlement, and provisions were scarce and comforts there were none. … Inquiring into their needs and bestowing medicine and attention wherever she could, [Mary Ann] was an angel of mercy in very deed.”12
Mary Ann did not leave for the Great Salt Lake Valley with her husband in the spring of 1847. Instead, she stayed behind, caring for the children and others.
Three weeks after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, President Young returned for his family. Together they reached their new home in Utah on 20 September 1848.
Considering the privations and trials of the past, the family lived in relative peace and prosperity for many years. Yet Mary Ann’s prosperity did not alter “her demeanor towards her … neighbors. The poor were her especial care and none were turned [away] empty.”13
Mary Ann bore six children and cared for two adopted daughters as well; her son Brigham Young Jr. became an Apostle.
Mary Ann survived her husband by five years. Two years before her death on 27 June 1882, continual physical ailments caused her great suffering, as did later “severe pain which she bore with great patience and the most perfect resignation to the will of her heavenly Father.”14
Despite the tribulation in her life, Mary Ann demonstrated an unshakable reliance on the Lord. “Ever cheerful and buoyant,”15 she passed through a host of hardships with extraordinary steadiness and acceptance, “always [looking] upward from whence help would come.”16
The primary bulwark of her fortitude was her testimony. She often testified that she knew Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and that Brigham Young was his rightful successor. In her lifetime, she had seen the fulfillment of prophecies uttered by these leaders. “I know it for myself,” she said, “and I bear this testimony to all the world, that this is the everlasting Gospel, revealed by the power of God’s inspiration and the visitation of angels in the dispensations of the fulness of times.”17

When I was a freshman at BYU, I was so looking forward to receiving a call and beginning to serve in my campus ward. During our first week in the ward, we filled out surveys indicating our talents, interests, and experience. About a week later I had an appointment with the bishop. After the introductory exchange he said, “Sister Nyland, we’d like you to serve as the Relief Society chorister.” I nearly fell off the chair. I said, “But Bishop, I don’t know anything about music.” He was quite surprised at that and said, “Well, let’s look at the cards.” All of the data from our surveys had been entered onto punch cards (something many of you are too young to remember), and he stuck a skinny little knitting needle into the hole for music ability. Mine was the only card that came out of the stack as having no musical skill. He thought that was interesting, as did I, but he asked me if I’d like to try anyway. Well, I’d been raised to accept callings, so I told him that I would accept this call and ask my roommate to help me. Susan and I went to the basement of our dorm, and she sat at the piano, plunking out the melody with one hand and showing me how to lead it with the other. We practiced and practiced each Saturday. I did learn the pattern for 4/4 and 3/4 time, but I never could quite get the pattern to match the beat of the music. Mercifully, after about a month I was released, and my roommate was called to lead the music!

“Now, listen up, guys. This is the last game of the season,” Coach said. “We’re tied for first place with the Grizzlies. If we win today, we’re in first place. We can do it! Just go out there and play the kind of baseball we’ve been playing all season. OK now, let’s go!”
We huddled around the coach, listened to his pep talk, then broke with a big yell—it always gives me gooseflesh.
We were scoreless for the first two innings. Then the other team got two in the bottom of the third and one in the fourth, and it stayed 3–0 through the fifth. We were really down.
But in the sixth inning my dream came true. The Grizzlies pitcher was tiring, though I don’t know why—we certainly hadn’t overworked him—and walked the first batter. Then Tubby hit a line drive for a base hit. Tyler hit a long fly ball to center field, and the guy out in the daisies dropped it. I couldn’t believe it!
So the bases were loaded with no outs, and I was up.
“Stee-rike!”
I pushed my hair back up under the batting helmet and crouched lower.
“Stee-rike two!”
I hadn’t made the strike zone small enough.
“Ball.”
That was better.
“Ball two.”
“Ball three.”
The three-two pitch was on its way. I connected with a crack you could hear two blocks away! The roar from the crowd was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They knew it was a home run before I got to first base. I flew around those bases, almost catching up with Tyler. Thanks at least partly to me, we’d won four to three! We were the Bridgeville Little League champs!

President Hinckley’s words inspired one teen to stop using illegal drugs.
“Not too long ago I was deeply entrenched in the underground rave scene. With my involvement in this not-so-wholesome activity came abuse of a drug known as ecstasy. My life got to the point where I was rolling every weekend and spending all my money on illegal drugs. It wasn’t until the prophet spoke out against illicit drug use to the youth of the Church that I realized I was in big trouble. Listening to his counsel to be clean, however, helped motivate me and give me courage to stop using drugs.”

I am indebted to Elder Dallin Oaks for an account, a modern-day parable which I refer to as the parable of the bushy-tailed squirrel, the tree, and the dog, which illustrates my concern:
As two men walked across an eastern university campus, they were attracted by a crowd of people surrounding a large maple tree. As they approached, they noticed that the crowd was being amused by the antics of a fox-tailed squirrel circling the tree, climbing it, and running back down again. A red Irish setter dog crouched nearby, intently watching the squirrel. Each time the squirrel ran up the tree out of sight, the dog would slowly creep towards the tree. The squirrel paid little attention as the dog crept closer and closer, patiently biding its time. People watching this entertaining drama unfold knew what could happen, but they did nothing until in a flash the dog—catching the squirrel unaware—had it in the grip of his sharp teeth.
The people then rushed forward in horror, forcing the dog’s mouth open to rescue the squirrel. It was too late. The squirrel was dead. Anyone could have warned the squirrel or held back the dog. But they had been momentarily amused and had watched silently while evil slowly crept up on good. When they rushed to the defense, it was too late.

One day, I was playing a trivia game with two of my neighbors. In the game you draw a card and answer the question on it. If you answer correctly, you get to advance on the game board. I drew a card that asked this question: “One of the world’s major religions was established by a man named Joseph Smith. What is the common name for the members of this religion?” My two neighbors are not members of the Church, so they looked confused, but I had a big smile on my face. I knew the answer! I quickly said, “Mormons!” I was so surprised to read a card about my religion. I was very happy that I knew the right answer.

Heavy rains triggered flooding across the midwestern United States, Oregon, and Washington. Volunteers came with supplies from the bishops’ storehouse to provide help to those in need.

When Church representatives in Findlay, Ohio, presented a donation to the local Red Cross chapter, a passerby spotted them in their yellow Mormon Helping Hands T-shirts. She walked in and held up her camera phone with a picture of four Helping Hands and exclaimed, “They just saved my home!” Then she hugged everyone in sight.

Years ago when I was in business, I learned a very expensive lesson because I did not listen carefully to the counsel of my father, nor did I heed the promptings of the Spirit giving me guidance from my Heavenly Father. My father and I were in the automobile business, and the Ford Motor Company was looking for dealers to sell their new line of cars. Ford executives invited my father and me to a preview showing of what they thought would be a spectacularly successful product. When we saw the cars, my father, who had over 35 years experience in the business, cautioned me about becoming a dealer. However, the Ford sales personnel were very persuasive, and I chose to become Salt Lake City’s first—and actually last—Edsel dealer. And if you don’t know what an Edsel is, ask your grandpa. He will tell you that the Edsel was a spectacular failure.

The young men and women of Santa Maria, California, live on the edge of another world, a mysterious, only partly explored domain that covers three-fourths of the earth. They know how to have a lot of fun where the sand meets the sea, and they set out one day in July to have as much of it as they could.
They started with horseplay, acrobatics, and sand surfing on the practically alpine sand dunes of Pismo Beach State Park, within sight of the surf. They had cut small, point-nosed sand surfing boards out of formica and had waxed the smooth surface with paraffin. They can sail down a steep dune as if it were the face of a giant wave.
Later there was frisbee throwing, sand castle building, and clam digging on the beach. Plying the clam forks vigorously, they added the basic ingredient to the clam chowder stock that was already bubbling higher up the beach, thanks to the efforts of the girls. One young man unlimbered his skim board on the wet sand. (A skim board is a round board cut out of plywood and then fiberglassed.) He would run a few steps, holding the board in front of him, then throw it down and jump on it for a slick ride atop the thin film of water left by a retreating wave.
The group couldn’t do any swimming at Pismo Beach because of the rough surf and dangerous currents, so they loaded the chowder and their sandy bodies into the cars and headed for Avila Beach only minutes away. Avila is a swimming beach, and the crowds of people witnessed that the water was fine.
After swimming, sunning, and surfing at Avila, they gathered at a beachside picnic table to enjoy the clam chowder. Afterwards, while most of the group sunned themselves, a couple of young men headed up the beach to a rocky area to explore tide pools, the basins of sea water trapped in depressions in the rocks when the tide goes out. They found starfish and other small sea creatures waiting for the sea to come back and reclaim them.
The next day the group headed back to the sand dunes for some cliff-hanging dune buggy fun and a little more sand surfing. They kept at it till there was nothing left of them but silhouettes against the sky and the sea.

While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.

For some people, like Emily Nielsen, 16, the temple brought special blessings.

“For me personally, the temple is very important,” said Emily. “My choicest memories have been made there. Our family adopted a baby, Matthew Kimball, and he was sealed to our family in the Los Angeles temple. As my brother and I followed our parents in their beautiful temple clothes into the temple, I knew that we’d be together forever.

“During the Atlanta Temple open house, I had a personal tour and was able to see rooms in the temple that weren’t shown on the regular tour. I had been very concerned about my mother’s health and was afraid. When we got to one of the sealing rooms, I asked if I could be left alone for a moment to pray. As I prayed, the Spirit came upon me, and I knew that everything would be all right and that the Lord loved me. And even though my mother died five months ago, everything is all right, just like the Lord promised me.

“The temple and its ordinances are special to me because, I know that through them I will be with my best friend, my mom, again, and that our relationship will last forever. I also know that if I live worthily, I’ll be able to be married in the temple to my eternal mate, and my mother will be there because she promised me.”

The autumn wind whistled noisily as it whipped at the black mud clinging stubbornly to conceal the cracks between the spruce logs of the Jameston’s cabin.
Persistently, as if in an effort to determine whose strength was greater, the breath of strong air picked up small rocks and huge thistles and hurled them powerfully against the pioneer structure that housed the family of 13.
“Sounds like a real storm’s brewing,” papa said as he reached for a block of wood to replenish the dancing flame in the potbellied stove that stood in the corner.
Emily looked at mama to see if she was going to verify what papa had said, but mama seemed deep in thought as her fingers expertly guided the heavy thread with her darning needle.
Emily walked to the window and stood looking anxiously out. “I don’t think it’s going to be a bad storm,” she said, hoping someone would agree with her. “It’s much too early in the year.” She looked around. No one seemed to care that the wind was blowing and soon there would be snow. Much, much too soon winter would be upon them.
She stood a moment longer at the window and then hurried to the bedroom and removed a small fruit jar from the third drawer of the dresser. She turned the wick up and lit the lamp that stood on the table by the bed. Carefully she emptied the contents of the jar and began to count the coins.
“Five, 15, 25, 50 …”
Lora opened the door and tiptoed in. She stood in silence as she watched her older sister pick up the money and drop it one coin at a time into the jar.
“Four dollars and thirty cents, $4.4, $4.45.”
When Emily finished, she put the lid back on the jar and gave a deep sigh. Lora sat down on the bed beside her.
“Is there enough?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” Emily answered, “but soon there will be. Soon there will be,” she echoed.
“Show me the picture of the coat again, Emily,” Lora said excitedly.” I could look at it forever.”
Emily leaned over and pulled the catalog from underneath the bed. Without effort she opened the book to the turned-down page, its edge ragged from constant contact.
“I think it is the most beautiful coat in the whole world,” Emily said breathlessly.
“So do I,” Lora agreed. “Do you think I will ever have a new coat, Emily?”
“If you want it strongly enough,” Emily nodded. “Mama says if you really want something and work hard enough for it, you’ll most likely get it.”
“How long have you been saving for the coat?” Lora wanted to know.
“About two years now,” Emily answered as she carefully placed the catalog back under the bed.
“Seems like you’ve been saving forever.” Lora pulled the covers back and fluffed the feather pillows vigorously. “And you’ve counted the money a hundred times, maybe a thousand, and there still isn’t enough.”
“I know,” Emily said, “but soon there will be, you’ll see.”
The next day was cold, and the night’s wind had not subsided.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring in Aunt Hattie’s used coat from the box in the granary and make it over for you?” Mama asked anxiously as she examined the worn wrap Emily was putting on.
“No,” Emily stated firmly, “it would be a waste of time, mama. The sale catalog will be here soon, and I’m sure by then I’ll have enough money.”
“Will they have your coat in the sale catalog?” Lora asked doubtfully.
“Oh, I hope so,” Emily said as she took her younger sister Karen by the hand and started for school.
“You can find Lora or David to go home with this afternoon if you want to,” Emily counseled as they walked along. “I’m going to stop by Mrs. Harwells’ after school to help her clean house.”
“I know why,” Karen said importantly. “So you can buy an unused coat.”
Emily smiled and gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze.
The afternoon sun had long departed from visibility as Emily hurried out the Harwell’s gate and down the road towards home. Her mind had no room to think about how tired she was, for thoughts of owning the coat crowded everything else out as it drew closer to becoming a reality.
“Oh, I hope the sale catalog came in the mail today,” Emily thought and she started to run in her anticipation. But the catalog wasn’t there when she got home, and in the many days that followed while she waited for the book, she worked. When folks could afford to and whenever mama could spare her, she worked and saved and saved and worked for a nickel or a dime, and although money was getting more and more scarce, the coins in her jar continued to slowly to add up.
On a particularly cold December day shortly before Christmas, the sale catalog came. Lora went to the Post Office, and if there was any other mail she failed to notice it in her excitement. With a squeal of delight she raced toward home, and as the cabin came into view, she began waving the book and shouting, “It’s here! It’s here!”
Emily burst out of the door and met her at the gate. Karen was close behind, and it seemed the whole family came from every direction oblivious of the wet, cold snow.
“Open it and tell me if the coat is there,” Emily said, not daring to look for herself.
Lora held out the book and started to open it. Then she stopped. “Oh, it’s on the cover,” she said in a hushed tone. “Your beautiful blue coat is right here on the cover of the catalog.”
Emily reached quickly for the book, looked at the price of the coat, and then without warning she burst into tears. No one knew what to do.
“Don’t you have enough money to buy it?” Karen asked worriedly.
Emily picked up her young sister. “Oh yes, Karen. I do! That’s why I’m crying, because I’m so happy.”
“Girls are dumb.” Sam threw a snowball at Emily and everyone started laughing.
The mood carried over into the evening, and all were having a good time. Emily, the center of attention, was at the table filling out the order blank when Chris Landin and his wife, Irene, came to the door. Papa hurried to open it.
“Good evening, Brother Jameston.” Chris shook papa’s hand.
“Come in, come in,” papa smiled.
Brother and Sister Landin spoke to the children and then sat visiting with mama and papa.
“We just came from the Andersons,” Chris said. “Joe’s health is getting worse, and it seems that if he is to get well, he must move to a lower climate soon.”
“How ironic it is,” Irene shook her head sadly, “that since he has been too ill to work, his finances won’t permit him to do this.”
“Do you suppose there is some way we neighbors could appropriate some money to help Joe?” Chris wondered.
Papa’s eyes saddened. He remembered how Joe had stopped in the middle of his work and rushed Sam to the hospital 18 miles away when the accident with the runaway horses had crushed the little boy badly. The Jamestons had all known that Joe’s instant concern and his automobile were an important part of the team that had been needed to meet the emergency that day.
“I have done a lot of custom work lately,” papa said finally, “but no one has been able to pay me for more than a month, and although we raised a big garden and have plenty to eat, I have no cash on hand at all.”
“I know. That’s the way it is with most of us,” Chris agreed, “It has been especially hard for a lot of folks this year. All of us are feeling the pinch of the depression.”
Emily sat listening. She liked the Andersons. Joe and his family weren’t members of the Church, but he was often doing something good for others. The kids in the neighborhood all liked him and called him Uncle Joe. He always had time to listen to troubles and never made light of an individual’s problem, no matter how small. In spite of how busy he was, Uncle Joe would often stop and play a game of softball if an extra player was needed, and Emily especially liked the way he could tell a story. His imaginative tales fascinated not only small children but teenagers as well. But one of the things that claimed priority in importance in Emily’s thoughts was how Uncle Joe had helped her and David and Lora make a tie rack for papa’s birthday after he had hired the three to pull weeds in his garden so they could purchase lumber for the gift.
After the Landins left, Emily closed the catalog, mumbled something about deciding to wait for a day or two before ordering the coat, and then hurried to the bedroom before anyone could question her further.
The next day Joe Anderson’s health was constantly on Emily’s mind. She caught snatches of conversation at school from his daughter who was two years younger than Emily. “People have been good. So many have given what they could, but there is not quite enough money. He is getting worse—his lungs …”
Papa and the neighbors helped with the Andersons’ chores and offered words of cheer, but few could contribute financially.
A few days later, when the Jamestons were gathered around the pump organ singing, Emily slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. For a long time she stood quietly thinking.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, “if my papa were ill, I would want everyone who could to help him get well.” Then she took the small jar of coins from the drawer of the dresser and joined her family in the front room.
Going to mama and papa, Emily held out her hard-earned savings. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided that I want you to give this money to the Andersons,” she said.
Lora pressed her hand quickly over her mouth to smother the cry of disbelief that sprang to her lips. She looked around. Wasn’t anyone going to stop Emily from giving her money away? Mama was just sitting there, sitting there smiling, and papa, what was papa doing? Was something the matter with his eyes? Why was he brushing his hand across them so vigorously?
Finally, Lora could stand the silence no longer. “Are you sure, Emily?” she burst out. “What about your coat? You’ve waited so long and worked so hard.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said. “At least I’m sure that it isn’t as important for me to have a new coat as it is for Uncle Joe to get well.”
Papa placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. For a few seconds he was silent When he spoke, the tone of his voice was low and unnatural for he was touched by the courage his 14-year-old daughter had shown in deciding to part with her savings.
“You are very unselfish, Emily, and you are filled with sweet compassion for others.” He stopped and swallowed hard before he went on. “And since you have given this considerable thought and this is what you want to do, then I think it would be nice if you gave the Andersons the money yourself.”
The next morning mama brought in Aunt Hattie’s coat that she had been altering as a surprise and gave it to her daughter. Emily’s eyes portrayed a quick preview of a smile that was coming. If she couldn’t have a new coat, this was next best, and her happy expression mingled gratitude with admiration at mama’s insight.
Emily wore the coat that night to a special school program. She arrived a little early, and the prelude music was being played softly when two classmates, Nadine and Lucille, neared the bench that she was sitting on. Emily heard their voices as they approached, but she wasn’t prepared for the shock she received when she looked up to speak to them, for Lucille had on a new wrap. Emily caught her breath sharply as she recognized it as being the beautiful blue coat from the sale catalog.
The program became a blur as Emily kept looking at the coat she had wanted so much, and after the closing song, she slipped quickly out of the building and stood for a moment, her hand pressed tightly on the jar of coins concealed in her large patch pocket. As Nadine and Lucille came out they were laughing and whispering. They didn’t see Emily hidden by the shadows.
“Did you see Emily’s made-over coat?” Lucille asked her cousin in a low tone.
“Did I ever!” Nadine giggled. “I have never seen such an ugly mess in my entire life.”
“Did you see how it bagged and how it sagged?” Lucille pulled at the hem of her coat in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize her meaning.
The two girls burst out laughing as they walked away. Emily waited until they were out of sight; then she turned and ran toward home, her tears keeping fast tempo to her running steps. She kept her hand tightly gripped on the small jar in her pocket while the decision to give her money away stood on rocky ground.
When she came to the Andersons’ residence, she stopped abruptly. Joe was propped in a chair in front of the window, and he looked pale, even at a distance. She saw him cough harshly, and his wife hurry to his side. Emily thought of Sam and how Uncle Joe had come immediately to the rescue when he had been needed. After the coughing subsided, Emily opened the gate and went up the walk to the door.
As she left the Andersons’ home, the piercing stab of hurt that had come from Lucille and Nadine’s cruel words began to fade from her memory. Instead she recalled the mist that had come to Uncle Joe’s eyes when she had handed him the money and his raspy voice thanking her again and again.
The crisp December air was near freezing, but Emily stopped for a moment in the darkness before she reached the cabin and looked at her secondhand wrap. Then a soft smile touched her lips, for in a sense, the coins were serving their purpose after all. True they hadn’t been used to purchase a new coat, yet because of the giving, Emily was aware that something new and beautiful was hers, and it was wrapping her in a feeling of warmth she had never experienced before.
Her smile broadened, and she hugged her made-over coat closer around her as she hurried on.

My first contact with the Liahona was when a friend—who later became my husband—brought me a copy when he returned to the United States from serving a mission in Argentina and Chile. Later when I served a mission in Chile, I loved the magazine and was grateful that the members had it to help them build their faith. Now as a senior missionary in Tonga, I use it in the classes I teach at church. Thank you for the Liahona!Sister Mary Lou Ellsworth, Tonga Nuku‘alofa Mission

Karen and her cousin Amy lived more than 1,200 miles apart. Karen knew Amy needed comfort, and while she couldn’t physically be there, the missionaries in Amy’s hometown could! Karen used the referral tool to tell the missionaries in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, about Amy. “They called me, and I explained Amy’s upbringing, current situation, and that she felt God was mad at her,” Karen says.

Before long, the sister missionaries reached out to Amy. While on the phone with her, they prayed for her. That night, sobbing, Amy called Karen to tell her about the missionaries who prayed for her. “She was so touched by their kindness,” Amy says.

Even though Amy hasn’t started attending church, she has started praying daily to Heavenly Father. Karen doesn’t know what the future holds, but she says, “Amy is coming closer to Christ.”

I just had to write and tell you of the most fantastic thing that has happened since Prince Charming kissed Sleeping Beauty and woke up the whole town. I’m a full-time missionary (have been for 21 months now), and I’ve had the usual share of ups and downs, neat experiences, and even baptisms during my mission.
Well, having been out in the mission field so long, I found things becoming sort of routine, and I wanted to “give it my best shot” these last few months. But I didn’t know how. One night right after my companion and I had said our prayers and were about to retire to bed, it happened. I saw the August and September issues of the New Era. I couldn’t help myself—I took them into my room and read and read and read until my eyes were bloodshot. I finished devouring both issues before the sun came up the next morning.
During the night, a miraculous transformation had taken place. I was so different, even my companion didn’t recognize me at the breakfast table. I was smiling! He ate his breakfast warily, keeping an eye on me. Then we went out to work. It must have become contagious, because everywhere we went that day, others caught it too. Now many more people in this small Iowa town are smiling (and they don’t even know why). All because of the New Era!
A MissionaryIowa Des Moines Mission

My father was a customs official, but he was also an enthusiastic dancer and operated his own dance school. A few years after my parents’ divorce, my father met Gretl at the dance school. Their relationship was short, however, because my father died from a ruptured appendix when he was only 35 years old. As he lay dying he must have hoped that Gretl would take me on, knowing that my mother did not look after me. For this reason, my father married Gretl just three hours before he died. Gretl, however, was extremely young and still under her parents’ influence. There was no way she could look after me, so I grew up in foster homes.

The man a few desks from Steve had laid out his work on two of the desks and worked steadily, ignoring the noise around him, writing on an order form, stopping occasionally to add up figures on his pocket calculator.
"Excuse me," Steve asked, "do you have any aspirin?"
"Sure do, my friend. Carry them all the time." He gave Steve two.
"You sure work hard."
"Got to stay ahead of the competition."
"What do you do?"
"Sales representative for Mity Fine Foods. I travel half this state visiting grocery stores."
"Why can’t you just take the orders over the phone?"
"I have to see how our products are being displayed, make sure Mity Fine has good shelf locations. People don’t buy from the bottom shelf, you know."
"Oh," Steve said.
"There’s a war going on and I bet you don’t even know it."
"What?"
"Yes sir, it’s a war all right. Last Memorial Day weekend, the man from Eat More Foods covered up my catsup with his signs. If I hadn’t been on the road that weekend, he’d have gotten away with it too, but I found out and ripped his signs up. Yes sir, it’s a war. But I’m staying one step ahead."
"Are you married?"
"Not any more. My wife couldn’t take my being gone all the time."
"Why didn’t you just quit your job?"
"A man my age can’t just quit any time he feels like it. Besides, I’ve got a lot built up with the company. Mity Fine has been good to me."
The man returned to his order form.
"What do you usually do on Christmas?"
"I’m staying at a motel—I get winter rates. On Christmas everything’s closed so I have this little hot plate in the room and I heat up a few cans of soup, Mity Fine, of course, and have some crackers. Then I might watch a little TV and work on New Year’s specials. We’ve got a good buy on chip dip and eggnog this year."
...
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.