Gospel Story Finder

When I asked about the bright blue table in the middle of Adriana’s kitchen, I learned that there was a time she had no table at all. Struggling to make ends meet, she took one of the Church’s self-reliance courses and decided that she could bake and sell bread—if only she had a table. She prayed for help and built a table from scrap wood.
One of the things I needed most in that moment was a table. The table I had, had fallen apart. Someone had given me some pieces of wood because they knew I didn’t have money, but I had some little chickens and could possibly use the wood to build a chicken coop. I prayed to know what to do. I felt I should call a carpenter friend to see what we could do with it. He said, “Let’s build you a table.” That’s what I needed.
Everything I have asked from my heart, He has heard me. He has heard me because He knew it was good for me. Now we have two tables. This table is central to our family. We sit here to share. We work here. We teach what we have learned to others here. Through self-reliance, I learned to value myself. I discovered talents that God has given to me to help me and my family. I try to pass on what I have learned to my sisters in Relief Society, to help them to value themselves as daughters of God. I am grateful I am able to bless those around me.
You feel good when you realize all that God has given you and you can turn around and use it to help others. We need to develop every talent we have so that we can share with others.
The day begins early for Adriana as she prepares dough for the bread she will bake and sell. All day long the kitchen table serves as a gathering place for the González family.
Feeding the chickens is part of running Adriana’s small business. Their eggs provide an essential ingredient in her bread.
The loaves Adriana sells help her family become more self-reliant by increasing the family income. She sets a few loaves aside to share with her family.
Adriana delivers fresh bread to her neighbors.

It was then she looked up, and instead of seeing two young men in suitcoats and on bikes turn out of the alley, only one was coming. His white shirt was missing its usual tie, and his bike and coat were gone. With head down and hands jammed hard in his pockets, clenched in fists of frustration, he was kicking rocks and old cans as he stomped toward her. She could see that he was talking to himself, and as the distance narrowed, she caught snatches of the angry words he was saying.

She sat and listened as he began having a mental battle with himself. First he’d mumble a scripture on patience, or brotherly love, or humility, then a quick comeback on patience being gone, and brotherly love destroyed by this or that, and humility nonexistent. The more he talked, the more the scriptures began to win until he was murmuring only pieces of scriptures and phrases of hymns that she had never heard before.

There had been a disagreement of some sorts; that was obvious. By the time he had reached the spot where she sat staring in the chrysanthemums, he had slowed and stopped. He stood looking at his scuffed shoes, totally unaware of her presence, his mind frantically searching for what to do. Pride said go, but love said stop. The hardness of his brow softened, the firmness around his mouth that had kept his gritted teeth solidly in place weakened, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. She became very conscious of her position and wished she were one of her beautiful little flowers blowing in the breeze.

Then from the alley a voice boomed: “Elder, wait! I—I’m sorry!” The young man near her slowly turned and looked where his partner was standing in his stocking feet.

For what seemed enough time to plant and harvest a section of wheat, the air remained empty of human sounds or movement. Then Elder Scuffed Shoes looked at her and, in a rather husky voice, asked if he could please have a flower. “A flower of forgiveness,” he had muttered. Mutely she clipped one for him and watched as he retraced his steps until he stood in front of the other. They were too far off for her to hear what was said, but she saw the flower exchange hands and watched as they walked back to their apartment in the alley, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder.

She had sat there in the flowers trying to figure out how one young man could know so much about love and have such an abundance of it, while another lay lifeless on a mortician’s table because of his gross lack of it. Both had been searching for what life really was. One had found it; the other hadn’t. Why? She couldn’t answer her own question. Finally she got up and left to prepare for a funeral many miles away. Even as she left, she knew she had to find the answer to “Why?” when she returned.

Missionary work was also the emphasis in camp. Chris Johnson had been instrumental in introducing the gospel to her best friend and her friend’s family. Chris had yearned for her friend to grow in the gospel until she could bear her testimony to a group. In a small testimony meeting with the Adventurers, Chris said, “I do have a strong testimony. I love the Book of Mormon with all my heart. Missionary work strengthens you so much. “Then Chris heard her friend bear her testimony for the first time. “She told me that she loved me, and she trusted me. She said she knew she is a child of God. I’ve waited so long to hear that.”

In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of my fondest memories is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball, too. In the winter, when it was too cold to play outside, we’d bend a metal coat hanger into a circle and wedge it above a door. As a ball, we’d use some wadded up stockings. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.

Jamie knew what was happening in the kitchen that very moment. Her parents were waiting for her brother, Alex, to come home. She also knew what would happen later in the night. Maybe she would be asleep when it happened. Once she had slept through it all, but most of the time she woke up when it started and she lay in her bed and listened to the shouting and denials and slamming of doors. She hated it most when her mother cried. It always tied her stomach into knots and made her want to run away. She wondered what it would be like to never wake up listening to people yell at each other.
She was in her room ready for bed. She thought about praying but decided against it because she had prayed so many times that her brother would quit going out and getting drunk and she couldn’t see that her prayers had changed anything.
She slipped between the covers. The sheets were cold. It was November and getting colder every day. She remembered her mother telling Alex about a man who’d been drinking and passed out on the snow and froze to death. It didn’t faze Alex. Nothing fazed Alex.
Sometimes Jamie wished Alex would just go away so they could be a family again like they used to be, but she never told anyone that because she knew nobody would understand.
Jamie also knew what the morning would bring. When she got up, her father would be gone to work, even though it was Saturday. Her mother would be working in the kitchen, her eyes puffy from a night of tears and a morning of trying to figure out why Alex was out of control.
Alex would sleep until two or three in the afternoon and then watch TV for a few hours, take a shower, make a few phone calls, and be gone before supper. Sometimes he didn’t come home Saturday nights. Jamie thought it was because then he didn’t get hassled about going to church.
Jamie knew how it would be and what everyone would say and how it would go. And on Monday Alex would go to work at the auto parts store like nothing had happened. He worked hard through the week because times were tough and he knew if he messed up, he might lose his job.
Alex wanted to move out of the house and get an apartment. But not just any apartment. It had to be one of the best apartments in town. The only problem was that they required a large deposit and two months’ rent. Alex was trying to save the money, but because he partied so much, he never saved anything. That’s why he was still at home.
I know everything that’s going to happen, she thought. The whole world revolves around Alex, what he does, what he says, where he goes.
When she saw people at church, they’d come up and ask how Alex was doing. Alex isn’t the only person with problems, she thought. I have some too.
People talked about how church was a comfort to them when they were going through hard times, but for some reason, it didn’t work that way for her. All that happened when she went to church was that she kept getting more things piled on her. In the past week she had been asked to serve on a youth conference planning committee and had been told she was in charge of planning a fireside. But in all this nobody asked how she was doing; all anyone asked about was how Alex was doing.
Nobody cares about me, she thought. All they care about is Alex. Maybe I should be like Alex, and then people would notice me too.
She hated what was happening in their family. It was like she was being forced to play a part in a play. Her role was to be the good girl with no problems. She had to be perfect so her parents wouldn’t worry about her, so they could spend all their time and energy on Alex.
She felt like she had no one to go to—certainly not her parents. She felt that if she added one more burden to what they were already carrying they would break. She couldn’t even go to her friends because they all treated her like she was perfect and didn’t have any problems.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come to take her away. At 12:30 she heard Alex’s car pull into the driveway, heard him get out of the car and come in the house. “Oh, look at you; just look at you!” her mother cried out.
Jamie couldn’t stand to hear it all over again. She pulled a blanket off the bed, went in the bathroom, shut the door, turned on the shower but didn’t get in, wrapped the blanket around her, and sat down on the floor and cried. She stayed there for a long time. When she turned off the shower, the shouting was over. She returned to her bed and soon fell asleep.
The next morning she slept until her mother came to the door and knocked.
“What is it?” Jamie asked sleepily.
“Sister Bradford just called. She wondered if you’d forgotten you promised to help her make cookies for the fireside tomorrow night.”
“I want to sleep.”
Her mother opened the door. “She said to tell you she really needs your help. Nobody else has shown up.”
The difference between Alex and me, she thought, is Alex does what he wants to do and I do what others want me to do. Nobody calls Alex on a Saturday morning to remind him he promised to help bake cookies.
She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t fair for Sister Bradford to make all the cookies for the fireside by herself. “All right, I’ll get up.”
More out of habit than anything else, she knelt by her bed to say a prayer before she got dressed. She started with her usual routine prayer but then stopped. “Heavenly Father, please help me. I feel so bad.”
Just after Jamie arrived, Sister Bradford’s husband took all the kids for a Saturday outing at the park. It was the quietest Jamie had ever seen their house.
“How are you doing these days?” Sister Bradford asked as they worked side by side, rolling cookie dough into small balls and plopping them on cookie trays.
“Fine,” Jamie said, knowing that people usually didn’t want to know the truth when they asked a question like that. She turned to look at Sister Bradford, who asked. “Really?”
Jamie looked away. “Yeah, sure, I’m doing okay.”
“I’m not asking just to pass the time of day. I really do want to know.”
Jamie paused. “You know about Alex, right?”
“Yes, I know about Alex. I don’t know about Jamie, though. You want to tell me how she’s doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
They talked for two hours, until Brother Bradford came back with the kids and it was time for Jamie to go home.
As soon as Jamie walked into her house, she went to her father. “Dad, I need to talk to you and Mom now. Is that all right?”
“I’ll get your mother,” her dad said.
It was the one thing Sister Bradford had the hardest time convincing Jamie to do. She had not wanted to say anything to her parents because she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they already were.
Sister Bradford had talked to her about it. “They’re not porcelain dolls that are going to break with the slightest bump. They can take it, Jamie. They’d rather have you tell them the truth than hide it. You’ve got to talk to them and tell them how you’re feeling.” Jamie had finally reluctantly agreed.
“I want Alex in here too,” she said.
“I’ll go get him,” her father said.
And so there they were, gathered in the front room. Jamie took a deep breath and began, “I think our whole family needs to talk to someone who can help us. It’s not just Alex. I need some help too. Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I think we all need some help.”
“Who would you suggest we talk to?” her mother asked.
“Well, the bishop to begin with.”
They all looked at Alex. “Count me out,” he said.
“We all have to do it, Alex,” Jamie said. “If all it does is get us talking again, it will be worth it.”
“Who put you up to this?” Alex asked.
“My Laurel adviser.”
“What makes her the expert?”
“When she was growing up, there were problems in her family.”
“And going to somebody made everything perfect again?” Alex taunted.
“No, but it made it better than it was.”
“It’s not going to do anything for me,” Alex said.
“You’re not the only one in this family, Alex. We’re all hurting. It’s not just you. On the nights you come in late, you think I can sleep through all the yelling? What do you want me to do? Hide in my room and pretend nothing’s wrong? Well I can’t do that, at least not anymore.”
Her father was the first to speak. “I think Jamie’s right. We need to go in as a family.”
Later that day Sister Bradford called to ask how it had gone with her family.
“We’re all going to see the bishop next week. Thanks a lot for talking to me. It was just what I needed. I just can’t understand why none of the other girls showed up this morning to help out. They all knew about it.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I have a confession to make. After I found out you were coming, I called the others and asked them not to come.”
“Why?”
“I woke up this morning thinking about you and wondering how you were doing.”
That night when Jamie went to bed, she thanked Heavenly Father for answering the prayer she had offered by giving her a Laurel adviser like Sister Bradford.
Alex was out again. Jamie didn’t know what would happen when he came home—except she knew it wouldn’t be the same as before. At least not for her.

“All right, all you boys, there are lots of girls who would love to dance, so let’s get busy.” Our tour adviser looked directly at Jason and me and then turned on the record player again. A tropical breeze shuffled through leaves in a planter behind us on the hotel patio.
I had only just finished eighth grade and didn’t even know how to dance by myself, let alone ask a girl to do it with me.
“I guess we should go dance, Brad.” Jason was rolling up the embroidered sleeves of his “I’m-a-tourist-in-Mexico” shirt he had bought that afternoon.
“No, not me.”
“But Mr. Jarman said there are girls who want to dance, and anyway this is the last night of the tour and we’ll probably never see them again.” A sudden gust blew Jason’s hair across his eyes. Casually he pushed it back again.
This educational tour through Mexico had been sponsored by our school district, and up to now it had been a great experience. Why did they have to spoil it with a dance?
“Come on.” Jason stood me up. “You ask Joan, and I’ll ask Christie.” He buttoned his top shirt button, moved across the patio, and offered his hand. “Hey, Christie, would you like to dance?”
I stood back and watched in hopes of learning instantly the intricacies of social interaction.
Christie flipped her hair, “Gee, ah thanks, Jason, but not right now.”
“What about you, Joan?” he asked.
From my safe position behind the lines, I noticed Jason’s crooked-tooth smile. I saw my friend for the first time as those girls might be seeing him, and I guess overall he did look kind of unusual.
“I’d really like to dance, Jason, but I don’t like this song.”
He tugged at his gaudy new shirt. “Well, maybe later?”
The two embarrassed girls looked quickly at each other. “Oh, ah … we’re not feeling too well.”
After a moment he came back to me. “Listen, Brad, who should we ask next?”
I still couldn’t believe what Joan had said. “Not feeling well! She felt good enough to dance with Monroe a few minutes ago,” I complained to Jason.
“But he’s a senior in high school. We’re only eighth graders.”
“Ninth grade now,” I reminded. I followed him to the tile fountain in the center of the patio, where Stephanie LeBette stood. With her hand on her hip and her nose in the air, she might as well have been a water-spouting statue.
I realized what Jason was about to do even before he said, “Hey, Stephanie, how about a dance?”
“Jason, don’t …” I turned away with elaborate casualness. Stephanie broke her pose to smile disdainfully and glide haughtily away.
“Well, how about it? You want to dance?” Jason called after her.
“No gracias, señor.” She didn’t even bother to look back.
I pushed a ripple into the fountain pool. “I don’t get it, Jas. I thought girls liked to dance.”
“They do,” he assured. “Look, why don’t you ask Stephanie?”
“No way, not her. I don’t want to get turned down, too.”
With his square fingers Jason jarred the water again, contorting our shadowed reflections.
“Brad, if Stephanie doesn’t want to dance, it’s her problem not yours.”
“But if she said no, why keep asking her?”
“Why not?”
The director turned up the music again. Jason stepped closer to me to be heard. “Why should you let her decide how you are going to act?” He pushed his fingers through his hair again. “I’m going over there and ask some new girls. Want to come?”
I shook my head and sat on the tile rim. It felt cold in the evening. Jason walked away, stepping awkwardly to the beat.
As I think back on the incident, I realize that Jason is one of the few people I’ve ever known who acts toward people. Most of us react to them. He knew what he wanted and how he should behave. If Stephanie had refused me like that, I’d have either crawled off and buried myself in a Mexican pyramid, or said, “You’re not so neat yourself, you goat,” and maybe bitten her ankle or something.
I remember that evening as though I were a character in a cartoon, sitting by that cold fountain thinking but with nothing written in my thought bubble. If I were to fill it in now, I guess I’d write, “No one is more miserable than the dummy who always reacts.”
At that long-ago dance my center of confidence was outside myself, being kicked around that patio like an old can. If Christie had said, “You’re cold,” I’d have sneezed. If Monroe had said, “You’re hot,” I’d have sweated. My feelings toward the whole situation were totally dependent upon a few people who could decide if I were to be embarrassed or proud, rude or gracious, introverted or extroverted. Unlike Jason, whose emotional security was rooted within himself, I had relinquished control of my own personality.
I’m thankful for that skinny, unkempt tourist friend and for the important principle he personified—to act and not to react—for in all the dances I’ve attended since that bomb-out in Mexico, not once have I bitten Stephanie LeBette’s ankle.

In the spring of 1975 my family and I were living among beautiful green farmland in the Rheinland-Pfalz area of West Germany. Driving home from church one rainy Sunday, we stopped to have a look at an automobile that had rolled onto its side in the wet roadbed at the edge of a forest. Inside the forest it was already dark because of the thick canopy created by the trees and the oncoming night.
After looking at the wrecked vehicle, we returned to our car and discovered it was stuck in the mud. I couldn’t back up, but I could drive forward—into the forest. We had previously driven through the forest and found that many forest roads were interconnected and would eventually lead back out, so I decided to move forward into the blackness.
I quickly realized that I had made the wrong decision. The narrow, wet road was filled with deep ruts of mud and kept leading farther and farther into the dark forest. I tried to keep up speed, fearing that if we stopped, we would become mired. I saw a high spot just ahead that looked firm enough to sustain the weight of the car. My plan was to get the car out of the mud to give myself time to think. The car lunged up and out of the mud.
I turned off the car and climbed out. With the headlights off, I couldn’t see a thing. I turned the headlights back on, grabbed our flashlight, and after looking the car over, decided that my best bet was to back into the forest and then make a mad dash out the way we came.
I backed as far into the forest as possible, revved the engine a little, lunged back onto the road, and sank deep into the mud. Now we were really in trouble. Outside the car it was total darkness and silence. Inside the car my wife and I sat with three terrified children.
I asked my wife for any ideas. After a moment she said, “Maybe we should pray.” The children calmed down almost immediately. I offered a humble but desperate prayer for help. As I prayed, a thought came clearly into my mind: “Put on the tire chains.”
Standing in 10 inches (25 cm) of mud in her Sunday dress, my sweet wife held the flashlight while I cleaned the rear tires with my bare hands and put the chains on. With faith and confidence, we prayed again and started the engine. Slowly we drove through the mud and eventually back onto the pavement.
In the excitement of being freed from the mud and the darkness, I almost forgot who had helped us out of the forest. Our five-year-old daughter reminded me when she said, “Daddy, Heavenly Father really does answer prayers, doesn’t He?”

Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her 17-year-old brother Peter is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to put money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And how does that fly with the children?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking the Flinns are ready to be translated. Far from it. They’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive on top of that.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to care for the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re 50 miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives 40 miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t mean that there isn’t temptation all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol. Jenny says there are “quite a few” girls in her year that have become pregnant.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And, of course, there are scriptures, and prayer, and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was sitting exams (taking finals) and needed to study, she walked down to the school to help Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachael would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat.
“You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.” It’s an analogy that isn’t lost on her.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

A number of years ago I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
The senior Aaronic Priesthood committee, as it was called then, was a group of brethren who worked with men who were older than the normal Aaronic Priesthood age. These were just regular men who were doing what the Lord wanted them to do. They took me under their wing, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary gave our class instruction. He taught the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

After our marriage, surgical treatment was necessary to help make it possible for me to bear children. I was afraid of the surgery because during my teens I had suffered problems with my heart; even though I had been given reassurances by my doctor, I feared anesthesia, thinking it might somehow affect me adversely. The night before the operation, my husband stayed at the hospital with me and we read the Book of Mormon together. As I started to feel the effects of the medication I had been given, I prayed to the Lord to help me control my fear. These words of Mormon came into my mind: “Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God? Know ye not that he hath all power?” (Morm. 5:23).
Awakening after the operation was an unpleasant experience. I could not talk. I heard my husband’s voice and wanted to speak, to thank him for his support, but I could not. My physical faculties were so limited that I thought about Alma the younger when he fell down, chastised by an angel, and spent two days unable to talk or move (see Mosiah 27:10–23; Alma 36:5–23). I remembered that Alma was born to a new life at that time, repenting to fulfill his important mission, and I realized that I was suffering through my own experience to fulfill the important mission of being a mother, to participate in providing bodies for our Heavenly Father’s children.

Dear April,
Two days until we get to Oklahoma. I cried so much when we drove away this morning. I don’t know if I’ll have any friends there. I miss you.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
July 14
Dear April,
We got here last night. The moving vans came this morning and there are boxes everywhere. I have six weeks until school starts. I think it’s going to be a lonely summer. I miss you!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
P.S. My dad gave me a blessing that I will do well and make friends here. I am starting to feel less scared.
July 20
Dear April,
How are you doing? There are only two other girls in my class at church! And one of them is already almost 12. But the other girl is our age. Her name is Heather. She is quiet, but nice. She and I will be going to the same school. The kids in the ward here go to three different schools. It’s so different, but it’s also the same—same songs, same lessons. My mom says that’s one great thing about the Church—it is the same wherever you go. I just wish you were here too.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 1
Dear April,
Yesterday I went to Heather’s for her birthday. Some other girls were there who will be in our class when school starts. Heather likes scrapbooking, just like we do. I hope you really do get to come and visit next year. You will be amazed at how flat Oklahoma is! It is pretty in its own way.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 16
Dear April,
How are you? I miss you! Thank you for the birthday card! For my birthday I am going to the movies with Heather and my mom and her mom. I think it will be fun to do that instead of having a big party. Anyway, thanks again! Your card was so cute!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 24
Dear April,
I had such a fun birthday! My mom got me a box of scrapbooking stuff. Heather and I have been having a lot of fun with it. I think it’s neat that you gave a talk on the Holy Ghost at your sister’s baptism. I bet you did great. School starts tomorrow. Yikes! I know you are praying for me, and I am so glad about that. I need it!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 30
Dear April,
I survived the first week of school. It is going to be OK. Heather and I are the only members of the Church in fourth grade. Before I moved here Heather didn’t always tell people about the Church because she is shy, but together we do OK. She’s a good friend. How do you feel about having more than one best friend?
Best friends forever,
Ashley
September 15
Dear April,
I am so glad you understand about Heather. After I sent that last letter, I was worried your feelings would be hurt. I know we are both sad that we don’t get to be together all the time. But I love writing letters! I was thinking today about how nervous I was to move here. But it’s starting to feel like home now. The most important thing is being with my family!
Best friends forever (and best pen pals!),
Ashley

While serving a mission in Bolivia, I was confronted for the first time by extreme poverty. As I saw the difficult circumstances of the people that I taught, I began to wonder how God could demand tithing and needed Sunday work-time from his children. Many of them worked twelve hour days, seven days a week, and still couldn’t pay their bills. I often felt bewildered as I taught the Ten Commandments and the law of tithing. How could they be expected to feed their families on 90 percent of their income, working six days a week instead of seven?
For four and a half months, my questions went unanswered. Then came a transfer to the tropical city of Santa Cruz and, with it, a new companion. Sister Hurtado had dark skin, short black hair, bright eyes, and was well under five feet tall. She had been a missionary for less than a week, and I felt I would need to teach her a lot about missionary work.
During our first week together we taught a family the discussion on the Ten Commandments. Both husband and wife and one son worked in the family store on Sundays. I had previously encouraged them to attend Sunday meetings, and they were sending the son who was not tending the store. They felt they could afford to send only one family member to church.
When we asked them to commit to keeping the Ten Commandments, they began making the familiar excuses. I knew the struggle they had to pay for necessities. How could I explain that some blessings could not be seen or calculated into the month’s budget? I felt confused. Then, humbly, my new companion began to tell the story of her own family’s decision to obey the commandments.
As the weeks went by, my companion repeated her story many times. Gradually, I began to understand why God would require so much of his children. As we exercise the necessary faith to obey the commandments, we actually put ourselves in a position where we can receive God’s blessings. His blessings are not always tangible, but he does help us overcome our problems.

The second counselor spoke first. He talked about his childhood in a small Wyoming town and how he went out of his way to befriend a boy who had been rejected by all the other kids at school. He told us how, 20 years later, that friendless boy, now a successful man, came to him and thanked him for his kindness. He concluded his talk by quoting a scripture about the worth of souls and bearing his testimony of the gospel.

On a day I felt like my life was falling apart, my parents found out about my trials and guided me toward the Savior and His Atonement. It was a turning point in my life. I met with my bishop, and he and my dad gave me a blessing. It was the first time in six years I had felt the Spirit. It felt tangible.
It’s taken time and effort, but because of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I’ve been able to repent and grow stronger as a person. I’ve seen beautiful miracles in my life that are a direct result of the saving power of Christ’s Atonement.
I now spend my time as a public speaker, traveling the country and speaking to youth groups, schools, and communities about the harmful effects of social media and pornography. I teach about the importance of mental health and the need for suicide prevention. I’ve built a platform on social media that I can use for good. I just graduated high school. I’ve built two businesses and strong relationships with those I love. Most importantly, I’ve found God again. I have a sure testimony of God the Father, His Son, Jesus Christ, and Their power and influence.
None of this has happened because I have extra special talents or unusual abilities. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I’ve been able to repent, overcome challenges, and find peace and healing. If you think you’re too far gone, my answer to you is that you’re wrong. I was willing to surrender to the redeeming power of Jesus Christ. You can too.

I live in New South Wales, Australia, where we are blessed with some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Golden sand and crystal blue waters grace our coastlines. A favorite pastime for me and my friends is walking along a nearby beach. While walking we talk and enjoy each other’s company.
One afternoon, when we had enjoyed the day, a friend of mine noticed that a locket I usually wear was missing from around my neck. I was particularly fond of the locket since my grandmother had given it to me as a special birthday present.
I frantically searched up and down the beach looking for my prized possession but to no avail. Soon my friends realized my distress and joined in the search. After searching for a while, one of my friends suggested we have a prayer.
By now it was nearly dusk and the incoming tide was growing higher. Kneeling in the sand, we asked Heavenly Father to guide us to my locket. As we rose one of my friends headed for a part of the beach we had already combed. “It can’t be there,” I said. “We’ve already searched every grain of sand.” Still my friend continued on his way up the beach while the rest of us maintained the search.
The next thing I knew, my friend was running down the beach with a grin from ear to ear. He had found my locket and rescued it from the tide just in time.
It was a simple thing, maybe even a little bit trivial, but Heavenly Father knew it was important to me. Just after we found the locket, I realized something. If Heavenly Father answered a prayer about something as small as a piece of jewelry, surely He would answer prayers about more important things, like times when I need guidance to make good decisions or strengthen my testimony.
Now I know that when I pray, the answers will come. I just have to listen.

Eighteen-year-old Chris Garrett has made a dramatic recovery from drug addiction so severe that he is considered lucky to be alive. He first drank alcohol as a small boy, was smoking marijuana by his early teenage years, and, within a few years, was using anything he could find: marijuana, cocaine, LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide), opium, crack, speed, and many types of prescription drugs. He even grew marijuana among his mother’s house plants. To finance his habit, he burglarized people’s homes, picked pockets, and took money from purses left in parked cars during church services. Three years ago, Chris entered a treatment program that took him fourteen months to complete.
Chris did not look like what most people think a drug abuser looks like, which is perhaps part of the reason his habit escaped his parents’ notice for a time. He was neat, well-dressed, and well-groomed. “You don’t have to look like a drug-user or associate with the ‘bad’ kids anymore to get into trouble,” says Carol White, a community leader in drug prevention. “I know one boy who started using drugs at work, and he used drugs with his closest friends and their parents. Many of those friends were leaders at his school.”

Three weeks after I opened my heart, received the gospel, and made the important decision to be baptized in 2001, I attended a Sunday School class in which we discussed the importance of observing the Sabbath day.
As a successful business owner with a large number of employees, I had been working on Sundays for more than 20 years. But as the importance of this day became clear to me, I decided to tell my three store managers that we were not going to open anymore on Sunday.
A few weeks after I announced my decision, my three managers told me that several insistent customers, mainly schoolteachers, asked whether we might open our stores the following Sunday. I work in the candy business in Papantla, and people needed to buy candy and piñatas to prepare for El Día del Niño (Children’s Day), which would be observed the following Monday. On Children’s Day, held on April 30 in Mexico, schools have parties and games, and children receive candy.
“Tomorrow, on Saturday, I’ll let you know,” I told my managers.
When I got home, I told my wife what had happened. I expected her to say, “Stay open. After all, it’s just one Sunday.” But that was not her answer.
With a firm voice, she told me that I was the head of the family and that it was my decision. But then she asked me, “If someone told you that this Sunday you could receive either a huge fortune or you could receive your Father in Heaven, which would you choose?”
Her question helped me realize the importance of receiving the Lord every Sunday, and I knew I had to stand by my decision. Honoring the Lord is the most important thing we can do on Sunday, and since then I have not missed an opportunity to do so.
If we put the things of the Lord before the things of man, we will be given a testimony of the Sabbath day. For our observance of the Sabbath day, my family and I have been greatly blessed, as has my business. May we all receive the blessings of honoring the Lord’s day.

Later, Grandpa became the owner of a roadside cafe. At Christmas time he gave the widows in our town a supply of coal and groceries. Grandpa took very seriously the admonition of Christ to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction. In fact, no one who came to him for help was ever turned away. One cold winter’s day, a couple with five young children came to the cafe. Despite the freezing weather, they wore only lightweight summer clothing.
The family was travelling through to another state where a job had been promised. Their car had broken down, and they had walked many kilometers into town through the snow. Grandma fixed them a hot meal in the cafe while Grandpa drove the father to town and bought winter clothing for all of them. Then he paid for a mechanic to tow in the car and repair it. The next morning, as the family prepared to leave, Grandpa pressed a helpful amount of money into the father’s hand. The man cried and embraced Grandpa, asking God to bless him.

I faced a lot of challenges after my baptism. The changes I needed to make in my life were significant. On top of that, sometimes I felt that I had no friends in the Church, and it was tempting to go back to my old friends. But my desire to feel joy—and my understanding that we can be happy regardless of external circumstances—helped me keep coming back to church. I knew I couldn’t “lay aside [my] faith” (Alma 32:36). Over time I made friends within the Church who helped me during the transition. And as I continued to live the gospel, my testimony and my happiness grew (see Alma 32:37).

And Sister Catherine A. Price of the Ammon Fourth Ward, Ammon Idaho Stake, reported that her husband, the Varsity Scouting coach for the ward, saved the life of a small girl at a baseball game. The girl had fallen backward, hitting her head and swallowing her tongue. Brother Price, a hospital corpsman at that time, said that after resuscitation attempts, the girl began to breathe and cry. “I kept praying that the Lord would help him to help her,” Sister Price said. Brother Price went with the girl to the hospital to make sure no further injuries had occurred.