Gospel Story Finder

One of these enduring frontierswomen, Lucy Hannah White Flake 1 received her basic education in the home from her schoolteacher mother. The eldest of eight children, she also assumed many responsibilities in caring for the younger children. Lucy was baptized in the Missouri River at a time when the ice had to be broken to perform the ordinance. Then, along with her parents, she walked every step of the way from the Missouri River to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, arriving there in August 1850.

Lucy spent her childhood in Cedar City, Utah. There, at the age of sixteen, she met William Jordan Flake, and they were married in 1858.

After years of hard work and many disappointments, William found a ranch he could buy in what is now called Snowflake, Arizona. There the Flakes lived in a four-room adobe dwelling called the “White House.” For many years this house served as a courthouse, post office, meetinghouse, and school. Lucy eventually bore thirteen children—nine sons and four daughters—five of whom died in childhood.

Sister Flake made her life tolerable by her many religious activities and by the pleasure of doing for her family. She was an officer and teacher in the Primary, Sunday School, and religion class, and had been stake president of the Primary for five years at the time of her death in 1900 at the age of fifty-eight. Among the activities that she chronicled one spring were whitewashing her home; gardening and irrigating; gleaning wool from carcasses along the trail over which sheepmen were, by this time, making a seasonal circuit to and from the Salt River Valley, and picking, washing, and cording it to make a mattress; sewing, including making underwear, shirts, and carpet rags; tending her grandchildren; and feeding her husband and growing children. On one occasion she set down in simple detail her morning tasks, which were typical of pioneer women generally:

“I will just write my morning chores. Get up, turn out my chickens, draw a pail of water, water hot beds, make a fire, put potatoes to cook, brush and sweep half inch of dust off floor … , feed three litters of chickens, then mix biscuits, get breakfast, milk besides work in the house, and this morning had to go half mile after calves. This is the way of life on the farm. …”2

Tony loved trucks. He would sit on his front porch step and watch them pass his house. He saw a big yellow _________ carrying somebody’s furniture. Then he saw a green _________ pass by with its mixer turning. Mr. Jones drove by in his orange _________ loaded with firewood. A red _________ raced by, screeching its siren. Soon a letter carrier came down the street and stopped his white _________ in front of Tony’s house. The letter carrier walked up to Tony, holding a big brown box.
“Are you Tony Brown?” asked the letter carrier.
“Yes,” said Tony.
“Then this box is for you.”
Tony took the box into the house and opened it. Inside was a big blue _________ that he could use to haul and dump sand in his sandbox. He also found a card that said:
“Happy Birthday, Tony.Love, Grandma.”

I believed the words of the prophet Malachi when he said that the Lord pours out blessings to those who pay tithing (see Mal. 3:10). I had no problem believing that. But when it came to actually paying my tithing, I had trouble.
On payday I would set aside money for tithing. However, my payday often came in the middle of the week, and when I needed money later in the week I would “borrow” money from my tithing. I always told myself I would replace the money and give my tithing to the bishop on Sunday, but this plan didn’t work. Usually I was unable to return the money, so I would plan to pay the tithing I owed from my next paycheck. I tried to do this, but then very little would be left of my paycheck! Things went on like this for almost the whole first year I earned my own income.
Then one day I had a realization. A sales representative came to our house. He explained that I could pay for an appliance on an installment plan—receiving the item now and paying for it later. As he spoke, a question entered my mind: “Does the Lord give blessings on an installment plan?”
The next day in my institute class, a verse of scripture we discussed answered my question: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
Every commandment brings blessings—and always in full. But we must keep the commandment, not just plan to keep it. That night I prayed for forgiveness for paying my tithes in such a lazy manner.
Now that I am paying my tithing faithfully, my life seems better. And I have found that I am happier living on 90 percent of my money with the Lord’s blessings than I ever was living on 100 percent of my money without them.

In France, military service is obligatory. My 20-year-old younger brother, Loïc, decided to go to reserve officers’ school to become a lieutenant. At the end of his schooling, there was a swearing-in ceremony for new officers. Each in turn is to recite the regimental slogan. Then he is to drink a glass of champagne containing a rose—consuming both. This tradition started with Napoléon Bonaparte, and no officer since then had failed to participate.
Loïc told the colonel that his religious principles did not allow him to drink alcohol. An icy silence followed Loïc’s request for an exemption. The colonel stood up. Instead of forcing Loïc to drink the champagne, he congratulated him for keeping his principles despite the pressure, saying he was proud to welcome this man of integrity into his regiment. They replaced the champagne, and Loïc participated in the swearing-in ceremony.
Pierre Anthian, France

Some of her greatest contributions to her community began in 1976, when riots erupted in Soweto. It was a dangerous time to be out and about in the community, but Julia was concerned about the hatred expressed by the youth. “I knew what it was like to feel isolated because of your own confusion. So I started a project in Soweto to bring young people into doing things, trying to find a message in what they did.”

Her project was to involve the youth in organic gardening—a passion she had developed a decade earlier while using natural foods to help her daughter heal from a congenital heart defect. As most families did not have enough ground for even a tiny garden, she arranged to clean up a rodent-infested plot of land. “As others watched us struggle with the overgrowth of stubborn weeds,” Julia recalls, “they too became involved, and we moved from corner to corner of Soweto replacing the useless and the ugly with the beneficial and beautiful.”

Part of the beauty Julia planted was in the hearts of the young. “When I was planting with them, I would say, ‘Now look, boys and girls, as we see this soil down here, it is solid and hard; but if we push down a spade or a fork, we will crack it and come out with lumps. And then if we break those lumps and throw in a seed, the seed will grow.

“‘This message is my message to young people. They should have it in their hearts. Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits it can give. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there has been a blood stain, a beautiful flower must grow.’ Her efforts helped repair not only the physical damage but also the moral damage caused by the riots.

In the same year as these terrible riots, Julia began working with women’s groups. Feeling an urgent need for all races to unite in solving the present and future problems, she helped found Women for Peace, an organization devoted to protecting her people and helping her nation avoid civil war. She currently serves on the organization’s national executive committee. She has also repeatedly been elected the president of the National Council of African Women.

Anna sat quietly in the backseat of the van next to her older sister, Sara. It was taking a long time to get to the family reunion. Anna watched the canyon trees fly by, and every now and then she spotted a silvery mountain stream snaking its way down the hill. The sky was as blue as Anna’s eyes, and the clouds looked like white puffs of popcorn.
“Are we almost there?” she said, knowing it hadn’t been long since the last time she had asked.
Mom shook her head and pointed out the window. “We have to go over this mountain, and then you’ll see the lake. About another hour, I’d guess.”
Anna sighed. It was hard to sit still and wait when they’d been planning for months to come to the reunion. All her favorite cousins would be there, and so would dozens of others whom she didn’t know at all. Mom said there were relatives coming from New York, California, and even Hawaii! Suddenly Anna’s three-hour drive didn’t seem so long.
“There’s the lake!” Sara shouted. Anna strained her neck to look. Beautiful Bear Lake stretched out before them like a bright blue carpet. From the mountaintop, sailboats and motorboats looked like tiny toys on the surface.
“When your great-great-grandparents got married in the Logan Temple,” Dad said, “they came down this same road in a wagon. Great-Great-Grandpa looked out at Bear Lake and said, ‘Let’s take a swim before we go home.’ And even though it was early June and the water was freezing cold, they waded in at the north beach and had a nice brisk swim!”
Anna loved that story, even though Dad told it every time they came over this hill. Mom said one of the aunts was bringing 95-year-old Great-Great-Grandma to the reunion and that this might be the last time they were all together.
Finally the houses and farms started looking familiar, and Anna didn’t have to ask if they were almost there. Just past Great-Great-Grandma’s white frame farmhouse, Dad turned onto a dirt road and drove to the community center. It had once been an old church with hardwood floors and wooden benches, but now it was just a place for large groups to gather.
Anna spied Aunt Laura’s car and wriggled out of her seatbelt to go find her cousins. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the old church, and there were games set up on the lawn outside. Mom and Dad were already hugging people and talking excitedly. Even Sara had spotted one of her pen-pal cousins and was running to meet her.
It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad were calling Anna and Sara to “come meet someone.” Anna tried her best to smile and be polite. One after another, she shook hands with and hugged cousins, uncles, and aunts until their faces and names were a blur. Over and over again, she heard, “Why, Anna, you look just like Great-Great-Grandma! You two could be twins!”
What? Anna couldn’t believe it. Even Mom and Dad were nodding their heads in agreement. She glanced over at a shady spot under a cottonwood tree where an old, feeble, white-haired lady sat in a lawn chair—it was Great-Great-Grandma! Twins? No way!
Someone came out on the steps of the old building and began loudly ringing a handbell. “Calling all the family of Heber and Lizzie Nelson! Time for lunch! Come on in!”
Long tables and folding chairs were set up inside, along with rows and rows of food. Anna slid onto a chair beside Sara. “Sara,” she whispered, “why does everyone say I look like Great-Great-Grandma?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because you look like Mom, and Mom looks like her mom, and she looks like her mom. …”
It was true. Anna did have big blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, just like Mom. But they certainly weren’t twins!
Great-Great-Grandma was walking slowly to her seat at the head of one of the tables. Mom was helping her, and Anna stared again at the old, wrinkled face and snow-white hair. “I do not look like her,” she whispered as she folded her arms for the prayer and blessing on the food.
The man who prayed thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful legacy of Heber and Lizzie Nelson, and the blessing of having dear, sweet, Great-Great-Grandma with them at the reunion. He gave thanks for her testimony, her gentle nature, her willingness to be an example to everyone she met, and for her beautiful spirit. By the end of the prayer, most of the adults were crying. It was clear that Great-Great-Grandma was well loved in this big family.
As Anna munched her chicken and potato salad, she again heard someone say, “Did you see little Anna? She’s the mirror-image of Great-Great-Grandma!”
Mom saw Anna frown. She stood up and held out her hand. “Come here, Anna. I want to show you something special.”
Anna slowly put down her fork and followed Mom over to a large display table by the wall. On it were an old saddle and branding iron that had belonged to Great-Great-Grandpa, the lunch bell that had come across the ocean with the first Nelsons, heirloom quilts, and lots and lots of family pictures. Mom pointed to one picture in a pretty silver frame. The photo had originally been black and white, but it had been colored by a professional photographer. Anna looked at it with wide eyes. “Why is my picture here, Mom?”
Mom smiled and hugged Anna. “That’s not you, honey. That’s Great-Great-Grandma. She’s seven years old in that picture, just like you.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. There were Anna’s blue eyes, Anna’s reddish-brown curls, even Anna’s dimples. The little girl was even missing a front tooth, just like Anna!
“Wow!” Anna exclaimed. “She really does look like me!”
Mom laughed, leaned down, and whispered, “I hope you grow up to be like her inside, too.”
Anna turned around and saw Great-Great-Grandma. She hurried past aunts, uncles, and cousins until she was standing in front of the little white-haired lady. Great-Great-Grandma smiled, and Anna saw the dimples so much like her own. “I’m glad I came to the reunion, Anna,” the lady said in a soft, gentle voice, “just so I could see you.”
“Me, too, Great-Great-Grandma,” Anna said, hugging her tightly. “Me, too.”

Minerva’s spiritual life was guided by dreams and by an increasing ability to rely on the Lord. As a young mother, she turned down an opportunity to study in London, England, with her great teacher Robert Henri when she dreamed of a daughter who would soon be born to her. Laurie, the only Teichert daughter, was born with the next year or so. In the same way, Minerva saw future daughters-in-law in dreams before she met them. She trusted implicitly what she felt the Lord had told her and taught her children and grandchildren to rely on His guidance.

One day in 1862 Henry’s father sent his family some money, and Sister Roberts decided to take two of her children, seven-year-old Anne and two-year-old Thomas, with her on a ship to the United States. At the time, all members of the Church were encouraged to gather to Utah. Sister Roberts didn’t have enough money to take the whole family, so she decided to go to Utah and earn enough money to send for her other two children.
She arranged for some distant relatives to take care of twelve-year-old Mary, but they refused to take Henry, who was five. A husband and wife who were new members of the Church seemed to be good people. They didn’t have any children, and they agreed to be temporary guardians for Henry until Sister Roberts could send for him.
The husband was a stonecutter and thought Henry would be helpful in carrying the buckets of sand and water that were used in stonecutting. Because of the heavy buckets carried on his head, Henry’s head sank low between his shoulders. It wasn’t until he was an adult that his head and shoulders were once again in a normal position.
His temporary “father” was often out of work, and sometimes Henry and his guardians wandered from town to town, sleeping under hedges or in haystacks. They worked at odd jobs when they could, and sometimes they begged. Their only belongings were a Bible, a violin, and a bundle of ragged clothes. They spent many nights in inns, where the husband played the violin, and his wife and Henry sang ballads. Henry sometimes stood on a table to sing, then passed his hat around for coins.
His guardians fought with each other a lot, and sometimes they wanted to be rid of Henry. Once they decided to enlist him in the army as a drummer boy. The night before he was to go, Henry heard a calm voice tell him, “If you are enlisted as a drummer boy, you will never see your mother in America.”
He had promised her that he would go to Utah, no matter what happened, so he left the couple’s cold shack and wandered about for several days. He ate what he could find and slept in doorways and empty boxes. Finally he rejoined them.
While Henry was longing for his mother, she was thinking constantly of him and Mary. In Utah she worked long hours, sewing, tailoring, and making hats. After three years she had earned enough to send for her children.
But Henry could not be found! He was nine years old by the time Church leaders in England found him. On April 30, 1866, he and his sister Mary boarded the sailing ship John Bright with about seven hundred other Latter-day Saints.
The voyage was a mixture of terror and fun. Violent storms brewed at sea, lasting as long as three days. Other days were calm and cloudless. On those days the passengers sometimes sang, danced, and played games on the deck. Henry often played marbles with other children when the ship was steady enough for the marbles to stay in the ring. He and Mary ate food they had brought with them, such as bread and pickled fatty bacon that had turned green.
After the ship landed in New York on June 6, Henry and Mary still had a long way to go. They travelled to Nebraska by boat and train, often riding in cattle cars. The bedding and equipment sent by their mother were not waiting for them in Nebraska, so on July 13 they set off in a Church wagon train with only the clothes on their backs.
To make matters worse, Henry lost his wooden clogs when he crossed the Platte River. Not wanting to wait for the rest of the wagon train to reach the river, Henry got up early and left by himself—something he knew he was not supposed to do. When he reached the river about noon, he was tired and fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw the last of the wagons pulling up on the other side of it.
He shouted, and William Henry Chipman, the captain of the company, told him to swim across the river. Taking off his heavy coat and wooden clogs so he could swim, Henry plunged into the water. When the current carried him downstream, Captain Chipman rode his horse into the water. Henry grabbed a stirrup and held on while the horse swam across.
He was safe, but he had to walk across the remaining plains barefoot. His feet became black, hard, and cracked from the journey; blood often oozed from the cracks. Sometimes at night Mary cried in sympathy as she pulled spines of prickly pear cactus from his feet.
Near Fort Laramie, Wyoming, the Saints lost many cattle in an Indian raid and had little food, but a relief train from Salt Lake City kept them from starving.
When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.
When Henry arrived in Utah, he couldn’t read or write, but he learned very quickly. Brigham, as Henry was now called, helped to support his family by farming, herding cattle, training horses, prospecting, mining, and blacksmithing. One night he and a friend shot a 550-pound (250-kg) grizzly bear. They sold the hide, and Brigham used his share of the money to help pay for his education at the University of Deseret (now the University of Utah). He finished his two-year course of study in one year, graduating in 1878 at the head of his class.
Brigham, or B. H. as he was often known in later life, went on to achieve great things. He served missions in the United States and Great Britain. He presided over the Southern and Eastern States Missions. He wrote many books, including the six-volume Comprehensive History of the Church. He became famous for his eloquence in preaching the gospel. He served in the First Quorum of the Seventy and was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. The poor boy sleeping in doorways, yearning for his mother’s love, had grown into one of the most loved and respected men in the Church.

Years ago in the early spring, my wife and I had occasion to drive through beautiful Star Valley, Wyoming, USA. It was a wonderful spring morning, and the landscapes and scenery were inspiring.
As Jackie and I drove into Star Valley, we enjoyed seeing an occasional flock of sheep sprinkled with dozens of baby lambs. Few things are more endearing than a baby lamb. As we drove down the busy road, we saw a small lamb outside the fence near the roadside. It was frantically running back and forth against the fence, trying to get back to the flock. I surmised that this little lamb was small enough to have pressed through an opening in the fence but was now unable to return.
I was confident that if we didn’t stop to rescue the lamb, it would eventually wander into the nearby road and be injured or killed. I stopped the car and said to Jackie and our traveling companions in the backseat, “Wait here; this will take just a moment.”
I naturally assumed with my total lack of lamb-herding experience that the frightened lamb would be glad to see me; after all, I had the best of intentions. I was there to save its life!
But to my disappointment, the lamb was afraid and totally unappreciative of my efforts to save it. As I approached it, the little soul ran away from me as fast as it could along the fence. Seeing my plight, Jackie got out of the car to help. But even together we could not outmaneuver the quick little lamb.
At this point the couple in the backseat, who had been thoroughly enjoying the rodeo, piled out of the car and joined in the rescue attempt. With all of our efforts we finally corralled the frightened little lamb against the fence. As I reached down to pick him up in my clean traveling clothes, I quickly noticed that he had the distinct aroma of the barnyard. It was then that I began to wonder, is this effort really worth it?
As we picked up the lamb and lifted him over the fence to safety, he fought and kicked with all his might. But within moments he had found his mother and was pressed tightly and safely against her side. With our clothing a little disheveled but with great satisfaction and peace that we had made the right choice, we went on our way.

For many years, I dreamed of serving a full-time mission. But when I returned home after university graduation, I saw how badly my family needed me. My father’s health was challenged, and the family needed financial help. As the eldest of four children, I felt I should stay home and help. Heavenly Father blessed me with a decent job. Though it didn’t pay much, it was enough to get by.
Whenever I was asked about serving a full-time mission, I answered that I would. Every time I said this, however, my mother would look at me with a mixture of excitement and sadness in her eyes. I knew that if I asked to go, she would say yes and quietly keep in her heart her apprehension of losing family income.
A few years passed, and a worthy priesthood holder asked me to marry him in the temple. I said yes, and we were later blessed with three children—two girls and one boy. One of our greatest joys was when our son left for his mission. A spirit of comfort and peace filled our home. It seemed to me that a portion of my longing to serve a mission had been filled.
I was excited when my eldest daughter said she also wanted to serve a mission. Every week in the mission field, she sent me stories of her work. Her testimony inspired me and filled me with the missionary spirit. I prayed for missionary opportunities every day.
One day, I was inspired to ask a friend through a private message on social media if she would be interested in meeting with the missionaries. She said, “Yes!” I filled out an online referral form on LDS.org, and soon the missionaries began to teach her. In three months she joined the Church. Her children followed a few months later. As the Spirit directed me, I invited other friends to listen to the missionaries. When my daughter came home, I too felt that I had completed 18 months of missionary service.
Heavenly Father knew the desires of my heart and what was best for my family and me. I am grateful He granted my desire to serve as a missionary, which had dwelt in my heart for so long.

“Now let’s get started,” I said, a little bit nervous as a new district leader at the thought of performing my first baptismal interview. Nevertheless, I was doing my best to maintain an air of confidence that would put everyone at ease.
“Okay, teacher,” said the middle-aged Cambodian woman seated across from me. The elders in my district had been running a successful school to teach English to the Southeast Asian refugees who had settled in California’s San Joaquin Valley. Because of this school they were able to make a great many contacts, all of whom continued to address them and all other missionaries as “teacher.”
For the last several days I had been studying , and rehearsing the questions, and I was confident that there would be no problem at all with the interview. The elders who had been teaching her assured me that she was fluent enough in English that she would not require a translator. I offered the prayer and began with the questions.
“Have you prayed about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and have your prayers been answered?” The smile on her face widened and she began to laugh. Her head shook back and forth and she said, “I don’t know, teacher.”
Remembering that English could be a complicated language, I restated the question in simpler terms: “Do you know that the Church is true?”
Once again, she looked at me as if she did not understand a thing I had said, began to laugh, and said “I … I don’t know.”
I was stumped. As far as I knew, she had expressed the desire to be baptized, and she was attending the branch in the area that held services in Cambodian. What could I do? There was no way that I could allow her to be baptized without an interview, but she wasn’t understanding any of the questions, no matter how simple I tried to make them.
Not knowing what else to do, I reached for a flip-chart that the elders had given me in case I ran into difficulty. I flipped through the gospel principles that were written out in four or five of the languages used by the transplanted Asian people of the valley. Somewhere near what appeared to be the first discussion I came across a picture of the Savior. In desperation, I showed her the picture and asked, “Do you know Jesus Christ?”
All of a sudden her face lit up and she began to nod her head frantically. “Yes, teacher, yes, yes. I love Jesus Christ,” she cried in obvious recognition of the picture in front of her.
Finally we had struck common ground. Not knowing the ins and outs of the English language, she had summed up all of the words and emotions that convey a positive message into one word—love. Through the same process I was able to determine that she loved Joseph Smith, President Benson, the Ten Commandments, and the law of tithing.
In asking her about the Word of Wisdom, I was able to locate in the flip-chart a picture of some beer cans, cigarette packages, and coffee cups. When I showed her this conglomeration of substances that violated the laws of Jesus Christ, she reacted violently, shaking her head and declaring, “No, no teacher, no.”
When the interview was over, she had satisfactorily answered all of the questions, usually by doing no more than indicating her love for a particular person or concept. That afternoon I received a witness of the Spirit stronger than I have ever had that told me that she was prepared in every way for baptism. I congratulated her and told her that she could be baptized, and her face lit up again as she said, “Thank you, teacher, I love you.”
When she said this, I thought of the answer that Jesus Christ gave when he was asked which was the greatest of all the laws: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” (Matt. 22:37–39).
Although this woman humbly addressed me as “teacher,” her responses during the interview had taught me a great lesson. She had learned the essence of the gospel: she loved Jesus Christ unconditionally, and she loved everyone around her. Nobody had to convince her to keep the commandments of the Savior; this was a natural reaction for her. She loved Jesus Christ and wouldn’t think of knowingly breaking any of his laws.
Since that interview I have heard many powerful testimonies of the gospel. I have listened to people relate fantastic spiritual experiences and the Spirit has borne witness to each one. I have never, however, been affected by a testimony in quite the same way that I was during that interview in a humble apartment when a simple, refugee housewife said to me, “Yes, teacher, I love Jesus Christ.”

I once asked Dad if I would see an angel. He said that he didn’t know, but he hoped so. “They’re all around us, you know.”
Well, I saw one last Sunday, I think.
Before I tell you about it, though, I need to explain something. Sometimes Sundays are hard for me. I don’t understand much of what happens in sacrament meetings, and since my feet don’t touch the floor, my legs hurt from hanging over the bench. I think that parents ought to sit on giant chairs every week, dangling their legs above the ground while listening to someone speaking in a foreign language, so that they understand what it’s like.
Last Sunday was hard. Sacrament meeting had seemed extra long, and the baby behind us cried a lot. By the time I got to Sharing Time, I just wanted to go home to my pet caterpillar, Zipper. Jimmy Pasko and Fred Grey didn’t help, either. They kept talking to me about the movie they had seen on Saturday. It sounded a lot more interesting than Sharing Time.
I kept moving around on my chair, trying to get my legs to quit hurting. Finally I leaned my chair back against the wall and stretched my arms. It was an accident, but I hit the light switch, and all the lights turned off. A lot of the kids laughed. I quickly turned them back on. Then, for some reason, I flipped them off again—but that time it was on purpose.
That’s when the angel came,
I didn’t think she was an angel at first. She looked more like an upset Sister Eisen of the Primary presidency. She came from the front of the room, staring at me with wide blue eyes. She looked like Mom does when she has a headache and I’m pestering her.
Sister Eisen bent down and whispered, “Dan, let’s go outside for a moment.”
I thought that she would talk to me about being reverent and threaten to get my parents if I didn’t behave. But instead, after we left the room, she calmly asked, “Dan, how are you doing?”
I didn’t feel safe, so I shrugged my shoulders.
“Having a hard time today?” she asked then, still calm.
Feeling safer, I said, “I hate it in there. Sometimes I just hate Primary.” After I said it, I thought I had made a mistake. I was sure that she would talk to me about my attitude.
But she surprised me. She said, “Tell me why you hate it.”
I thought for a moment, then decided to tell her the complete truth. “My legs hurt from dangling over the seat in sacrament meeting, I didn’t understand what the speakers said, my chair is hard, it’s hot and noisy in the Primary room, I’m tired of sitting, Jimmy and Fred keep talking to me, and I wish I were somewhere else.”
Then she said, half smiling, “I know. Sometimes I wish that I were somewhere else too. So, what do you need to do, Dan?”
“I just need to walk around.”
“Do you need a drink?”
I thought for a second, then said, “No, not now. Just a walk.”
“How far?”
“Just to the end of the hall.”
She said, “OK. May I walk with you?”
“Sure,” I said. We started walking, but I stopped. I looked at her and said, “Sometimes you hate it here too?”
“Well,” she answered, “let’s say that sometimes I have a hard time being here.”
“Then why are you here? You’re a grown-up. No one makes you come.”
“Because,” she said, “it’s OK to do something we don’t like, especially when we know that it’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Dan, do you remember what happened at the end of Jesus’ life?”
“You mean when they nailed Him on the cross?”
“Yes. And even before that do you remember when He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and it was so painful that He bled from every pore?”
I told her I remembered that and also that they whipped Him and made fun of Him.
She then said, “You know, I don’t think that He liked doing any of those things. But He did it because He loved us and He knew that it was right. Did you know that He even asked Heavenly Father if there wasn’t another way?”
She paused, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So I figure that if He didn’t like doing hard things that were right, it’s OK if I don’t like doing hard things that are right. And it’s OK if you don’t like doing hard things, like being reverent in Sharing Time when you’re hot and tired.”
I noticed as she was talking that she kept putting her fingers on the side of her head. So I asked, “Is it hard for you today?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have a bad headache.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling very different than I had ever felt about Primary. I looked at Sister Eisen and said, “I don’t think I need to walk any farther. I can go back in now.”
She told me that she was glad, and we returned. Before we went in, she said, “You know, Dan, I really like you.”
I told her that most people did after they knew me.
She went to the front of the Primary room, and I sat down in my chair. After she sat down, she looked at me and smiled. Then she touched her fingers to both sides of her head, like Mom does when she has a headache, and winked.
Although my chair still felt hard, the room was still too hot, and Jimmy and Fred still kept trying to talk to me, I didn’t mind so much. I wondered as I watched Sister Eisen if Dad had been talking about her when he said that angels are all around us. I think I’ll tell him that I saw one last Sunday—and that she had a headache.

When Julie accepted an assignment to spend a morning serving in a Church-operated food processing plant, she decided to invite Shawna to go with her. Shawna had only come to church a few times in the years since she had moved into the neighborhood. Julie and Shawna had a great time serving together at the plant. Not long after, Julie and Carl planned a game night for home evening. They decided to invite Shawna’s family to join them. Because Julie had thought to include Shawna in these activities that she was already planning, the two developed a deeper relationship. Later, when Shawna faced some challenges, she reached out to Julie’s husband, Carl, for a priesthood blessing.

Meaningful ministering can happen when we find simple ways to show our love, share our faith in Jesus Christ, and invite others to come to Him and join us—even in things we were going to do anyway.

Dear Reed,
Do you still like your big model airplane—the one that you made with Grandpa? Well, it doesn’t fly anymore. Please don’t be mad at me, Reed. I’m really sorry.
I was on my bed, and Rusty had his head and one paw in my lap. We were thinking about you. I was holding your catcher’s mitt, and Rusty smelled it. His eyes looked sad. So I got your gym shoes from the closet and held them up to Rusty’s nose, and he started to wag his tail. I said, “Reed,” and Rusty barked. He barked every time he smelled your shoes and I said your name.
Then Scooter woke up from his nap, and Rachel came home from gymnastics. They wanted to play my game with Rusty. That was when things got a little wild. We played catch with your shoes, and Rusty chased us across the beds and all around the room. He got too excited. I guess we all got too excited.
Mom fixed the curtains, and Dad fixed the desk chair. They look as good as new. I tried to fix your airplane. But it doesn’t look as good as new. I think that some parts are in the wrong places. I saved the extra pieces in a box. Maybe you can fix it better when you get home.
I’m really sorry, Reed. Maybe Mom will let me make some cookies for you to make you feel better.
Love,Buddy

I still can’t believe this.
It’s a fine morning in June—the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the bees are buzzing—and I’m standing around in the stake center parking lot with about 200 other people, waiting for rides to girls’ camp. One of the 200 other people is my own mother. She’s going to girls’ camp too. With me.
Please!
Mom’s idea of roughing it is staying at a hotel without room service. Now don’t get me wrong. Mom’s great. It’s just sometimes hard for me to believe we’re actually related.
She likes skirts and heels. I like jeans and tennies. She likes her hair sleek and chin-length. I like mine wild and long. She keeps the house (or most of it, anyway) perfectly straight. I keep my room, well, comfortable. She’s interested in art, literature, and the theater. I’m interested in basketball. She wants to teach English at the community college again someday. I want to be a forest ranger. She prefers the great indoors, and I think you know what I prefer.
Which is why I was completely shocked when she made her announcement over Sunday dinner last January.
“Guess what, everybody,” she said brightly as she helped herself to some steamed cauliflower. “I’ve been called to the stake Young Women camp committee. Sister Kaye (she’ll be the camp director) wants me and Sheila Taylor to be her assistants.”
I felt like one of those cartoon characters whose jaw drops and bangs against the dining room table. Sister Kaye, the original outdoors woman and one of my personal heroes, wanted Mom to be her assistant?
My two little brothers started to hoot. “You?”
“Excuse me,” Mom pretended to be very offended. “Do you two have a problem with that?”
Dad laughed, and Mom cracked a sideways grin at him.
My big brother Jared, who’s waiting for his mission call, got up, walked over to her seat, and wrapped one of his big old bear arms around her shoulders.
“Whatever you do, you’ll do better than anybody else,” he said. “You’ll be terrific.”
Me, I cringed inside.
Later that night as I lay in bed, watching the shadow of falling snow through my drapes, I heard my parents talking in the hall.
“I just don’t know if I’m up to it, Glen,” Mom said.
“Of course you are,” Dad answered.
Pause.
“Did you notice Wendy’s reaction?” Mom dropped her voice. “She didn’t say a word.”
“Look, Joyce,” Dad said, “I’m sure the two of you will manage to have a good time together.”
Mom didn’t answer right away. “She doesn’t even want to be seen in public with me. I have to walk ten paces behind her whenever we go to the mall.”
Dad burst out laughing. “She’s just going through a stage right now. You watch, sweetheart. You’ll win her over. You’ll win everybody over.”
I turned over in bed, my face totally flaming.
For the record, I do not make my own mother walk ten paces behind me whenever we go to the mall. And another thing: I hate the way adults dismiss the way you feel by dishing up that tired old line about going through a stage.
I buried my face in my pillow and talked to Heavenly Father in my head the way I sometimes do when I’m upset or scared.
I love my mother just fine. I promise I do. It’s just that camp is my thing, not hers.
So here it is. I’m going. Mom’s going. Right now she’s rotating among the groups of leaders and girls standing in tight little clusters around the parking lot. She’s smiling, cheerfully asking everybody questions about themselves.
After standing around for about 30 minutes, we begin loading up. Finally. My best friends (Melissa and Amy) and I crawl into Sister Kaye’s big orange van. There’s already a group of girls inside, rocking back and forth singing old Beatles’ songs at the top of their lungs. Sister Kaye sits behind the steering wheel while Sister Taylor sits by her in the passenger’s seat.
The only thing I can think is how glad I am there’s still room in Sister Kaye’s van for me.
“Hey there,” Sister Kaye greets us with a smile as warm as an old quilt. “Make yourselves comfortable, okay?”
Sister Kaye is probably about 50. She has short wavy hair, and she has a perpetually tan face (cross-country skiing in the winter, tennis in the summer) full of friendly creases.
Sister Taylor’s okay, too, I guess. It’s just that sometimes I wish she weren’t quite so nice. I think I’d actually like her better if I ever saw her really lose her cool.
“I’ll bet you’re just so thrilled to have your sweet mom going to camp with you, aren’t you, Wendy?” Sister Taylor asks in her whispery voice.
I smile at her politely as I watch Mom crawling into a waiting minivan.
Sister Taylor pokes her blonde head out the window. “Joyce. Wait a minute. Trade me places right this very second. I want you to ride with your cute little Wendy.”
I practically choke on the piece of licorice Melissa has just given me.
Mom blinks. “Really, Sheila. I’m fine.”
“I insist,” says Sister Taylor, who leaps out of the van, then sprints across the parking lot toward the waiting minivan. “I’ll just grab my things out of the van when we get there,” she calls back to us.
Mom hesitates for a second, then joins us.
“It’s lovely to have you with us, Joyce,” Sister Kaye says in a low, friendly voice.
Then we’re off. The drive to Camp Hunt takes about two-and-a-half hours. At first everybody sings and talks and shouts, but the van grows quiet after a while and I realize people are piping down so they can listen to the stories Mom is telling Sister Kaye. She’s talking about the year she lived in Europe when she was 19. Right now she’s telling a story that even I haven’t heard before.
Everyone is fascinated.
“I didn’t know your mom lived in Europe,” Amy whispers in my ear. “That’s so exciting.”
“Welcome! Welcome!” Sister Kaye says after everyone has dribbled into camp. “I’d like to take a few minutes for orientation.”
Sister Kaye breezes through the camp rules quickly, then reminds us of our candlelight values hike later that night. “There will be ward skits tomorrow night, and testimony meeting the next night.”
I cringe a little. To tell you the truth, I don’t really like the testimony part of camp. It’s not that I don’t have a testimony. It’s just that when there are 200 people in a group and they all stand up, there’s just a little bit of pressure on you to do the same thing no matter how you’re feeling inside.
“And now,” Sister Kaye continues, “it gives me great pleasure to introduce my two assistants—Sister Sheila Taylor and Sister Joyce Evans.”
Sister Kaye pulls down a big quilt hanging like a curtain from a tree limb to reveal my mother wearing my dad’s shirt, sitting at a card table covered with cosmetics. Sister Taylor is crouched and hidden behind Mom with her arms stuffed through Dad’s huge sleeves.
“Time to get ready for camp!” Mom trills in her best stage voice. “Maybe I’ll start by taking a look in the mirror.”
Sister Taylor’s hands fumble around the table, sending bottles of perfume and tubes of lipstick flying. Well, it goes on like this for a while, but here’s a newsflash on what happens. Mom hams! Girls go wild! I fake a smile.
That’s the way things have been ever since we got here. Every time I turn around, Mom’s right there, being funny and chummy—everybody’s best pal.
I don’t know what’s gotten into her.
At home she’s always nice to my friends, but she doesn’t sit down for heart-to-heart chats with them. She doesn’t run around home playing practical jokes on Dad and my brothers, either. Up here, however, she’s turned into a regular maniac. Now and then I can tell she’s trying to catch my eye to see if everything’s okay with me. So what am I supposed to do? Lie?
I don’t want to feel this way, but things are definitely not okay with me. I can’t explain it, but I just wish she weren’t here. Do you think that makes me a terrible person?
Mom tries to get my attention as we all file into the outdoor amphitheater for tonight’s skits.
“Wendy,” she calls and waves.
I give her a little wave back, then sit on the front row between Melissa and Amy.
Our skit, which Amy and I wrote, goes pretty well, I think. I’m just glad we go first so I can sit back and relax while the other wards perform. Everything’s great until it’s the stake leaders’ turn. Sister Kaye, Sister Taylor, and Mom wander out onto the stage dressed like that old singing trio, the Supremes, and start singing this truly stupid song about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in breathy voices.
Everybody else seems to think it’s funny, but I feel the back of my neck go hot.
Singing’s bad enough, I say to her in my head. Please just please don’t dance in front of all my friends.
Before I know it, Mom’s flipping her feather boa all over the place.
I can’t stand this. Not another minute of it.
“Pea-nut,” Mom gushes, “Pea-nut buttuh!”
Sister Kaye and Sister Taylor back her up. “And jelly! And jelly!”
Before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet. I look straight at Mom. And then I run, stumbling over startled girls as I go.
I head for the road leading out of camp, and by the time I get there, I already start to feel dumb. You know how it is when you’re mad—you feel completely justified. And then once you start to calm down, you realize what a complete idiot you’ve just made of yourself.
A single hot tear slides slowly down my cheek.
I don’t know how long I’ve been gone—it feels like forever. Amy and Melissa are in our tent when I get back. They grow quiet when I crawl inside. And they don’t look at me either.
“Hey there,” I say.
“Hi, Wendy,” Melissa says in a flat voice.
Amy nods.
I plop down on my sleeping bag. “How’d the rest of the show go?”
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Did, did my mom come looking for me?” My voice quivers a little.
“No,” says Melissa, “she didn’t.”
More silence, then Amy finally speaks up. “You really shouldn’t have done it, Wendy.”
I start crying all over again. Amy and Melissa look at each other, then slide next to me and drape their arms over my shoulders.
“It’s going to be okay,” Melissa soothes.
“Honest,” says Amy.
I take a deep breath, give them both one last squeeze, then draw back.
“I’ll go find her in the morning,” I tell them. Crying gives me a headache, but I manage to go to sleep.
As it turns out, the first person I find in the morning is not Mom but Sister Kaye. She’s walking from the mess tent toward the stake leaders’ tent. I’d give anything if I didn’t have to face Sister Kaye right now.
“Wendy?” At least her voice is friendly.
“Hi, Sister Kaye.”
She steps toward me and gives me a big hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you or your mother. You’re both terrific in your own ways, you know? You, you’re so supportive of everything I do, so helpful and eager to learn. And your mother, she can rally a group around her like nobody else. I needed her so much for that. She’s a real star.”
I know, I want to say. That’s part of the problem.
“Do you know where my mom is now?” I ask.
“I just left her alone in the mess tent.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Mom greets me with chilly eyes when I join her there. She’s sitting at an empty table.
“Here you are!” I say in a cheerful, fake voice.
“Yes,” she agrees crisply. “Here I am.”
I take the seat next to her and notice that she doesn’t even look up. I search for the right words and the right way to say them. But before I can open my mouth, Mom stares straight at me.
“Sometimes,” she says in a high clear voice, “you can be a perfect little brat.”
Then she gets up and walks out.
Remember how I told you Mom isn’t like me—that she doesn’t get mad?
Well, guess what. She’s plenty mad right now. At me. Even after a good night’s rest.
All day long she’s gone out of her way not to look at me. And if by chance we’ve happened to make eye contact, she’s given me the kind of brief, polite smile strangers give one another.
My stomach is rolling, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through testimony meeting. I’m supposed to be helping build the bonfire, but I can’t go. Not until I’ve fixed things with Mom. Not until I’ve apologized.
I left a note in her tent. “Mom, please meet me at 8:00 in the clearing near the camp entrance. Wendy.”
Right now I’m sitting on a log, waiting and wondering if she’ll even come.
“Wendy?”
I practically leap out of my hiking boots. It’s Mom, coming up behind me.
“Mind if I sit down next to you?” she asks.
I scoot over, making room for her, and she joins me on the log. Neither of us says anything for a minute. We just sit there, listening to the wind sing through the tops of the trees.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” I blurt out, tears jumping to my eyes.
“Oh, honey,” she sighs. “We need to talk, don’t we?”
Mom slips an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. I don’t resist at all. “It’s just that last night when you stood up and stared at me, then ran off in front of everybody, I felt so hurt. You embarrassed me, Wendy.”
“You embarrassed me too,” I say in a tiny voice.
Mom looks truly surprised. “How?”
I shrug. How can I explain it to her without hurting her feelings. How can I tell her it’s tough being the daughter of the camp star, especially when the camp star doesn’t even like to camp?
“I embarrass you because I’m your mother?”
Miserably, I nod.
She sits still for a moment, then laughs softly. “You know, when I was your age, everybody always used to tell me how much I looked like your grandmother. Well, she was an enormously good-looking woman, and if I’d had a fifth of her looks, I should have turned cartwheels of joy on our front lawn. But instead I practically died whenever somebody said we looked alike. I wanted …” She cast about for the right word.
“Space,” I fill in the blank for her. I think I understand now. I think I know why I’ve been acting the way I have.
Mom blinks at me, then smiles like I have given an unexpectedly brilliant answer.
“Yes, space. Space to be just you. I’d forgotten all about that,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.
It’s starting to get dark, and any minute now the testimony meeting will begin.
“To tell you the truth, Wendy, I really didn’t want to come here at all. I didn’t want to leave Dad. I didn’t want to sleep in a tent with a bunch of women. I didn’t want to hear Sister Taylor say the word special.”
I burst out laughing, and this time Mom gives me a full-court grin.
“And quite frankly,” she lets out a long, deep sigh, “I didn’t want to feel pressured into bearing my testimony in front of a group of people I don’t know.”
Mom doesn’t want to bear her testimony either? Imagine the two of us having a thing like that in common.
“You’ve done pretty well for someone who doesn’t want to be here,” I point out, not even feeling resentful.
“Well,” she shrugs, “I figured since I was here, I might as well get into the spirit of the thing. Besides, it’s been fun.”
The moon is just beginning to crest. It’s huge and gold, and it begins to rise like some great bird.
“Look at that,” Mom breathes. “Have you ever seen a more gorgeous moon in your entire life?”
I shake my head. Together we sit and watch it climb the sky.
“Maybe we ought to join the others,” Mom says finally, her voice laced with regret. She stands and stretches. “Come on, kid.”
I get up and shake the stiffness out of my knees.
“Fine,” I say, “but you have to walk ten feet behind me.”
She throws back her head and roars out a laugh.
The sound of it plays like music through the evening air.

In 1999, I was serving as the Harare Zimbabwe District president. By that time, I had a good job. Naume and I bought land in Norton, which was about a 40-minute drive from Harare, and we built a nice three-bedroom home on that land. We were excited to begin our new life in Norton. Our plan was to eventually build a bigger home on the property.

When the mission president learned about our plan to move from Harare, he counseled us not to leave. I reasoned that it was too expensive for us to stay in Harare. We continued to pursue our plans to move. A visiting General Authority also counseled us to stay in Harare. He suggested that we rent our house in Norton while continuing to live in Harare. I again said that it was too expensive to live in Harare. If we remained there, we would not be able to build the larger house we had planned.

On the way home from our conversation with the General Authority, Naume asked me why I was being so stubborn. I responded that our leaders did not seem to understand our situation. She said that she would support me only if I was willing to follow our Church leaders’ counsel. We remained in Harare, and we were richly blessed because of that decision.

I’m grateful that Naume had faith to stay.

Recently the Miller family participated in a ward program that helps new converts learn more about the gospel by attending group family home evenings. The Millers transformed their backyard into a stage. While her father, Dan, taught a lesson from Doctrine and Covenants 27:15–18 on putting on the whole armor of God, Angela became a living object lesson. As her father taught that each part of the armor represents a quality that will help guard against temptation, such as the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit, Angela added that piece to her costume. Everyone’s favorite part of the lesson was when Brother Miller taught about the fiery darts of the adversary, and the missionaries got to throw “fiery darts” made out of yellow cellophane and popcorn kernels at her “armor.”
Angela tries her best to set a good example for investigators, recent converts, and lifelong members alike, no matter where she is. In church she does this by always trying to be reverent. “I fold my arms sometimes when I walk down the hall from class to the Primary room,” she said.
As the only member of the Church in her school, Angela has plenty of opportunities to be a missionary there. At a birthday party she attended, the girls began watching an inappropriate movie. Angela soon realized that it was not a movie she should be watching. “I told them, ‘I can’t watch this because I’m a member of the Church.’” She left the room, and another friend who was not a member soon followed. Together they watched a more appropriate movie until the other girls were finished. “When I left, I saw that I was wearing my CTR ring,” she said. She is glad that she was able to choose the right and set an example for her friends.
Her missionary experiences don’t end there. She invited a friend over one night, and as the girls were talking, the friend asked, “What are those books for? They are pretty big.” Angela told her that they were the Book of Mormon and the Bible, and she was able to talk to her about Jesus Christ. Later that evening, she saw her friend reading from her scriptures.
The Miller family often visits nearby historical sites, such as the cemetery and visitor’s center at Winter Quarters, and the tabernacle in Council Bluffs. This tabernacle is a replica of the structure built in only two weeks by the pioneers. Brigham Young was sustained President of the Church there. As she learns more about the pioneers, Angela remembers about how hard they worked and how they used their talents to bless others. She tries to do this, too, by learning to play the piano, taking ballet lessons, and performing in local performances of The Nutcracker.
She and her thirteen-year-old brother, Jake, have chores at home. Angela’s favorite is helping to take care of the family’s birds. She and Jake change the water in the cages every day and make sure that the birds have plenty of food.
Angela has a great love of learning. The Miller family enjoys visiting exhibits in Council Bluffs and Omaha. Recently they attended an Egyptian exhibit, where they learned the meaning of some ancient hieroglyphics. They often visit the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, Nebraska, where Jake works as a volunteer. Angela can name almost any bird in her favorite zoo spot, the Garden of the Senses. She also spends time in the children’s reading room at the new Council Bluffs city library. She works very hard on her schoolwork and likes to talk with Jake about things she has learned.
President Hinckley visited the area in 1996 to dedicate the replica of the tabernacle in Omaha and to celebrate the faith and dedication of the men who fought as part of the Mormon Battalion. The Miller family joined a host of other families there in dressing up like pioneers and doing pioneer activities. Angela even sang in a children’s choir. When she wears her pioneer dress and bonnet, she seems to feel more appreciation for the pioneers.
Life is very different for Angela than it would have been for a pioneer child. But as she has been able to learn about the struggles and the values of the pioneers, she has been able to become a modern-day example of the pioneer spirit. More than anything, Angela seems to live by the motto of John Taylor, quoted on one of her favorite paintings at Winter Quarters: “The Kingdom of God or Nothing.”

When she was five years old, her whole life had revolved around her stuffed animals. They were real to her, and Rosie was her favorite. Unfortunately Ruff the dog liked Rosie almost as much as Annie did, and between the two of them, most of Rosie’s fur had been rubbed off. So she had patches everywhere. She had one green eye and one blue eye, and a well-worn nose. Her dress had been borrowed from a baby doll and was pinned in the front. Rosie hadn’t seemed to mind her appearance, so neither did Annie.

Annie was a pretty little girl with a pixie face and big dark eyes, but she was shy and very quiet. Rosie Bear was everything that Annie was not. She was the leader of all the stuffed animal adventures. She had all the exciting ideas and knew the best games, and she routinely saved everyone from disasters and villains. Annie loved her teddy bear and took her everywhere.

Because her father took their car to work, Annie and her mother had to rely on the big green city bus for transportation. One day they had several things to get. They went from store to store, then stopped at the sidewalk cafe for lunch. With its colorful red-and-green striped awnings, the cafe reminded Annie of the circus. The air was filled with the delicious smell of hamburgers sizzling on a grill, and her joy knew no bounds as she sipped a lemonade and watched little sparrows picking up crumbs near her feet. When they finally piled back on the bus, Annie leaned against her mother and fell fast asleep.

“Come on, honey,” her mother said, gently jostling her awake. “This is our stop.”

Annie sleepily began to search for her things. “Mama, where’s Rosie?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for a while.”

Annie was wide awake now! She looked through their packages and under the seat. Rosie was nowhere to be found! She fell to her knees and frantically searched up and down the aisle until the bus driver turned around to ask what was wrong. Her mother apologized and explained the delay as she pulled Annie to her feet. He was understanding and said that if any teddy bears turned up, he’d be sure to let them know. They thanked him, and Annie reluctantly followed her mother off the bus.

“Mama,” Annie quavered as the bus lumbered on down the street, “I must have left Rosie in one of the stores. She’s just lying there somewhere. What if someone else finds her and takes her?” Terrible visions began to crowd into Annie’s mind. “Mama, I have to go back and find her—I can’t leave her there!”

“Leave her where, honey? We don’t know where she is, and it took us all day to go to those stores.” Her mother glanced at her watch. “We can’t get back on the bus and go look for her now. I’m sorry, Annie,” her mother added quietly.

Annie knew her mother was right, but as she trudged home, she grew more and more upset. Her best friend was lying patiently on a shelf in one of those stores, waiting for Annie to come and get her. She’d lie there hour after hour, and pretty soon she’d realize that no one was coming and she’d start to cry . …

Annie ran the rest of the way home with tears streaming down her face. She burst into her room and threw herself sobbing onto the bed. She needed her daddy. He always understood and made her feel better.

Annie cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, she heard silverware being set on the table for dinner. But she didn’t hear a newspaper rattling. Daddy worked hard loading and unloading heavy boxes from his big truck all day. He always hurried home to be with his family. He’d take a shower, then sit contentedly in his chair and read the paper while dinner cooked. He was never late.

But tonight, when Annie needed him most, he wasn’t there. Annie decided to sit in his chair and wait for him. Finally she heard the car pull up outside. When he walked through the door and held out his arms for a hug, Annie ran into his arms and poured out the terrible story of how she’d left her best friend to perish.

He looked at her solemnly. “That’s a pretty sad story,” he said. “Do you think that if you had another chance, you’d take better care of Rosie?”

“Oh yes, Daddy! I’d never let her out of my sight again. I’d make sure she was tucked into bed every night so Ruff wouldn’t chew her. I’d even make her some new clothes that fit.”

Her father looked lovingly at her tear-streaked face. He nodded. Then with a grin he reached deep into the pocket of his big coat and pulled out a small, ragged, brown bear.

Rosie! How could this be? Annie had left Rosie in a store downtown. Her father had been at work. It just didn’t make sense.

“I guess Rosie got tired of lying on the shelf with the dolls,” Daddy told her. “She must have walked over to where I work and hopped into my pocket so that she could come home.”

Of course! she thought. Rosie wouldn’t just lie there and cry. She would hurry to ask Daddy to take her home. Annie was so happy that she danced around the house all that evening.

A sharp knock on the bedroom door shook her from her reverie. “Annie, are you in there?”

“Come in, Mom.” She grinned at her mother’s happy reaction to her tidy room. “I just felt like cleaning.” She held up her beloved teddy bear. “Mom, do you remember a long time ago when I lost Rosie, and Daddy came home from work with her in his pocket?”

Mom nodded.

“How did he end up with her? I mean, I know now, of course, that she didn’t really get up off the shelf and go jump into his pocket.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Mom said as she sat down on the bed beside Annie. “I felt terrible when I realized just how upset you were about losing Rosie that day. I called your father at work and told him the whole story. Do you know,” she said, laughing softly, “that he went to five different stores that night before he finally found that bear! He loves you, Annie. He’d do just about anything to make you happy.”

“When I think back to when I was a young adult, one of the things that comes to my mind is when I was a missionary in England. It was just after World War II, and the Church of Jesus Christ was just getting reestablished there. I was responsible for being a leader in my mission, and I was only 20 years old! I admit that as missionaries, we were a little reckless at that age.
“One day a man invited me to come to a debating society meeting and represent our Church. I agreed to attend, but I had no idea what I was walking into! I found myself in the position of explaining the Church to a large group of people and answering their questions. It was on that occasion that I had my first realization of the power of the Holy Ghost. I’d taught about the Holy Ghost, and I’d read about it, but on this occasion I experienced it.
“As questions were asked, I had the answer in my mind before they had finished asking the question. I had the ability to move through the scriptures in a way that I had never experienced before. It seemed to me that the pages were being turned by someone else as I defended the Church.
“As I think back to that experience 73 years ago, I realize I learned something that has blessed me all these years. I came to know for myself that the Holy Ghost is in fact the Comforter and that by and through God’s power, He brings to our mind the words of the Lord.
“I hope you’re having the same experience as a young adult. Stay anchored in your study of the scriptures, and say your prayers every day. Start your day with a prayer, end your day with a prayer, and talk to the Lord as necessary throughout the day. Whatever your circumstances, I hope you will have the same experience I had with the Holy Ghost at your age.”
President M. Russell Ballard, Facebook, Apr. 14, 2021, facebook.com/mrussell.ballard.

With the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple in 1987, they became its president and matron. Sister Busche had never been a temple worker, so President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) advised her at a training seminar, “The most important thing is to have love and love and love.” She took his counsel to heart. She asked temple workers to make it their top priority to help patrons feel God’s Spirit.