Gospel Story Finder

During the tears and other hubbub of leaving from the airport, I paid little attention to all the words of advice and caution everyone was giving me. All I could see was the jet pulling up to the gate and visions of converting the entire countries of Guatemala and El Salvador. Finally, we were told to board. There was a rush of last minute hugs, kisses (from my parents and sisters), and, of course, that special handshake from a smiling beauty with a quivering chin.
When I reached the door leading to the boarding area, my father said, “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” I nodded a hurried “Sure, Dad” and was off. As I walked to the plane, I laughed to myself. “Dad, you got your ‘mords wixed’ again. You meant to say, ‘Obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy on your mission.’” With that, I tossed his advice into the oblivion of my memory, filed under “Parental Counsel.”
Seven months later, my father was dead.
In those first wavering hours after my mission president told me of the tragic plane accident, I found myself much like the cartoon character who has a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil said: “What are you doing here? All that life after death bit is a bunch of bunk. You go on a mission and what happens? You break your foot; go to the hospital; come to a strange land, with strange people and strange customs; and your father gets killed. Sure it’s the happiest two years of your life. Two thousand miles away from home, and you’re all alone.”
Such thoughts were foreign to me. I had been a faithful member of the Church all my life; yet, the thoughts were there.
The angel on my other shoulder said: “Stand tall, Elder. You had a great father you can be proud of, a mighty patriarch who taught you the gospel in all things. You know eternal life is a true principle of the gospel, and you know your father will be waiting for you. You’ve had a testimony of the gospel since you were old enough to cry. This is no time to start doubting.”
In the midst of this struggle between doubt and reality, my father’s last words at the airport came echoing into my mind: “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” Dad hadn’t mixed his words up at all. Those final words to me were inspired counsel that would guide me for the rest of my life. My father lived as he taught, and a few weeks following his passing, the full testimony of his life was made manifest to me.
Finances became a major concern. I had enough money in the bank to cover 11 of the remaining 15 months of my mission and hoped Mom could get enough together for the remaining four. My plans for college were now pushed back into the realm of hopes and dreams. However, the Lord takes care of his missionaries.
I received a letter from my mother telling me that I needn’t worry about finances anymore. A man had contacted my bishop and asked if he could support me for the rest of my mission. This is not too unusual, since there are many good-hearted men in the Church, but the twist in this instance was in what the man told my bishop: “I’m not a member of your church, but out of the love and respect I have for Horace Rappleye, I’d like to support his son for the rest of his mission.” And he did. For 15 months the money was placed regularly in my bank account by the anonymous benefactor.
He remains anonymous to this day.
My father’s life of obedience brought blessings to him even after he died. His death became the highlight of my mission. That may be a strange thing to say, and I wish my father were still alive, but my mission thereafter became a living testimony to my father’s life. I soon found how precious it is to live “all the rules.” No matter how small or insignificant the rule seemed, if I obeyed, I was happy.
We are told by the Lord, “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—
“And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130:20–21.)
This scripture is true. Whenever I find myself slipping into depression or unhappiness, I usually find it is because I am not being obedient in all things as I should. At these times a comforting echo reverberates in my head: “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.”

An apostle of the Lord made me a promise. “The Lord God will not leave you alone, nor will he be in debt. This you can count on.”
Those were the comforting words of Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve as he spoke at funeral services for my young husband. The “compensation” he spoke of was beyond my comprehension, and the thought remained in my memory for years. I could not see the end from the beginning.
That we are not alone, however, and that a loving Father in Heaven hears our prayers was more tangible. Our five children, ages four through sixteen, understood this. Their father, whose career had been in broadcasting, had often taught that their voices and thoughts are audible to the Lord, that they could reach the Lord through prayer if their lives were tuned in to the right frequency. Little David, the youngest, prayed at his grandmother’s knee on that first lonely night, “Please bless my daddy, so he will be well when I get there.”
We were on a family vacation in Utah when my husband died of a sudden heart attack. Still numb from shock, I faced my first major decision. Our home was three thousand kilometers away in Washington, D.C. “What do we do now?” I wondered. “Do we move back to Utah among family and old friends, or do we stay is Washington where we had established our home?” My ninety-two-year-old grandfather, a wise patriarch of a large family, offered good counsel. “Go back home to Washington for the present,” he said. “It is not wise to uproot your family until you think it through for at least a year.”
It was not a difficult decision to make. Our home, with its familiar surroundings, was a haven, and there was a memory in every room. It would have been more difficult for us to start over somewhere else.
Also, the Church in the Washington D.C. area was strong and growing fast. Members from adults to grade-school children felt a strong sense of identity with the Church. The opportunity to identify oneself as a Latter-day Saint promoted awareness of doctrine and practices and, through commitment to covenants, helped build strong testimonies of the gospel.
There was a feeling of missionary excitement. Our neighborhood is filled with beautiful churches of various Christian denominations. In the months and years after we returned to our home, school friends who were members of those churches invited our children to speak to their youth groups about Mormonism, and the interest and questions of the young people and their religious leaders challenged our children to expand their knowledge and test their faith. Many close friendships and several conversions resulted.
Looking back, I see the wisdom of remaining among supportive neighborhood, school, and Church friends. The great loss we had suffered did not disrupt the stability of our lives.
There was little time for grief that first year. The awesome responsibilities of my new role as sole parent were overwhelming. Ralph had been very much in charge, and I relied heavily on his judgment and leadership. Attempting to establish my authority was of prime importance. The children thought they were very funny when they made birthday and Mother’s Day cards depicting me in a general’s uniform. However, I knew my authority was finally recognized when I overheard one small child say to another, “What are Mother and Daddy going to do when they get together again, now that Mother’s the boss?”
But there was a special presence in our home. Father was considered to be out of reach but not out of touch. I realized this one day when teen-aged Alison said, “Mother, I can always get out of your range, but I can’t get out of Daddy’s.” This was a positive moment that reminded me of Elder Evans’ promise.
Our youngest child insists that he never felt fatherless. His departed father was always a real person to him, and he intuitively understood the eternal nature of the family unit long before he learned about the covenants and promises that can ensure its endurance. This awareness also translated into a desire on the part of our children to prove themselves so as not to disappoint the father they had come to idealize. As for me, I was determined to succeed in my stewardship. I could not fail my eternal partner or my Eternal Father. Our purpose bound us even closer together as a family as we shared our trials and successes.
Temple marriage was a subject of special interest. It was an anchor to which we could hold and a prize that all would one day attain. Our primary motivation was that we might all serve the Lord’s purposes so as to be reunited as a family once again.
A second major problem that had to be resolved soon after Ralph’s death was how to provide for my family. This is probably the most crucial and frightening reality that most newly-widowed mothers face. My options were whether to use our insufficient financial resources until they were gone, and then decide how to support the family, or to find employment in the near future and keep some funds in reserve. I chose the latter. Fortunately, it was possible for me to be away during the day because all the children were in school, and an older daughter was responsible until I arrived home. The children’s acceptance of this new situation and their faith in me was viewed as “God’s in his heaven and Mother will provide.”
I had limited qualifications, having married before completing college. But after a refresher course in business English and typing, I was ready to start at the bottom. I became a receptionist. It was a good beginning. Further training brought additional employment opportunities and added responsibilities. These experiences, along with subsequent years in the field of corporate communications at one of the government banking agencies, have broadened my interests, supplemented my education, developed my skills, strengthened my self-confidence, contributed to my financial independence, and provided for my future security. This is compensation I had never dreamed of.
When I first accepted employment, I came to a decision that accounts in great measure for any success I may have had as a single parent: giving prime time to the children. Prime time meant every evening, with few exceptions. Since I was away all day, I decided that I should be home at night. This was a marked change from former days when my husband’s position as a television network executive involved us both in a busy business and social schedule in and out of town. Time and again as I had appeared to be all attention during a conversation, I had been worrying about the children’s homework or how dinner was progressing at home.
As we had traveled, I had thought about where the children were. At length, after Ralph’s death, I concluded that the next year would be different. I was needed at home more in the evenings when the children were there.
All decisions that shaped our future were not mine alone. The children had choices to make, too. They learned to cook through trial and error and became quite adept at cleaning the house. With their mother at work during the day, they went places by themselves on foot, bicycle, or bus. “Ask not what your mother can do for you, but what you can do for your mother,” became the watchword in our home. All children worked at summer jobs as soon as they were old enough. We even caught the littlest one selling his carefully scrubbed rocks from door to door in the neighborhood. Self-sufficiency, they soon learned, was the way to live.
Although I found myself widowed at a relatively young age, I was blessed with a generous measure of faith and hopefulness. I tried to convey this feeling to my children. The entire family felt a strong sense of opportunity and of the Lord’s hand in our lives.
Friends and family members also contributed their suggestions and ideas for our welfare. There was valuable advice and assistance regarding summer jobs, schools, scholarships, and many other things. Friends were there in times of illness, trouble, and teenage crises. They included us in family activities, fathers and sons’ outings, and other events. Our bishops and priesthood leaders were always available for counsel. Being on the receiving end of so much kindness is often difficult, but it has taught me and my children that blessings from the Lord are not just dropped on our heads. They are brought to pass through the hearts and hands of others.
A woman in the role of single parent, whether widowed or divorced, has a very special calling, and she will be held accountable before the Lord for what she does with her stewardship. Although her spouse is absent, she stands nonetheless commissioned by the Lord to perform the charge he issued to all parents: “And they shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord” (D&C 68:28; see also D&C 68:25–27 and D&C 68:29–32). She may feel at times that she carries a disproportionate share of that responsibility, yet she has the Lord’s assurance that he will prepare a way for her to accomplish her task. (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
The principal lessons a parent must teach are those of spiritual values. Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve has suggested that when children are interested or teachable we should immediately take advantage of that moment and teach them. (See Boyd K. Packer, Teach Ye Diligently, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1975, page 110.) When they are spiritually hungry, feed them. Without really knowing it, I followed this precept. We discussed gospel concepts freely while preparing the salad, walking to school, or sitting around the dinner table. It was not unusual for us to talk about the Atonement or the Second Coming any more than it was for us to talk about what was happening in the government or in the school classroom.
Through the years, I have proved the following scripture many times: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Prov. 3:5–6).
We view eternity through the small window of mortal time: “For now we see through a glass, darkly” (1 Cor. 13:12). The day will come when we shall each see our lives with clear vision and an eternal perspective. We shall then have a full knowledge of what we understand by faith now: That the Lord does not leave us alone when we seek him, that he is never in debt to us, and that he always compensates. By showing us our weaknesses and providing an opportunity to turn them to strengths, he exchanges our dross for gold.

Another member, Miguel Samudio, joined the Church while studying in Buenos Aires. He made the difficult decision to leave his girlfriend behind and serve a mission. “Her parents wouldn’t let her get baptized, and she didn’t want me to go,” he explains. “But I had to. I had found a great treasure.” Six months later he received a photograph of her dressed in white and standing with two missionaries; he realized she had been baptized. When he returned, they were married in the temple. He was called as second counselor in the Jujuy stake presidency less than five years after his mission.

Another member, many miles away, shared the gospel in correspondence to a friend in Richmond, Virginia. A wonderful experience followed. Two missionaries were tracting one day in Richmond. One had been ill; the other felt uneasy as they walked the streets, knowing that his companion was not at his best. Both desired to persevere, however.

After two hours of having little success, they knocked on a door and introduced themselves as missionaries with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Oh, yes,” the woman replied, “Ann Smith sent you.” The elders looked at each other, shook their heads, then told her they were just knocking at the doors in the neighborhood and that no person in particular had sent them to her. She invited them in; the husband and other family members were present in the room.

She then told the missionaries something that caused them to marvel. She said, “Just an hour or two ago I finished reading a letter that I had received today from my dearest friend who lives in California. A year ago her husband and she were converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were recently married in the temple. When we last heard, their marriage was falling apart, and she confided in me the sad situation. But today I received this ten-page letter telling me all about your church and the marvelous change it has made in their lives.”

She allowed the missionaries to read the contents of that letter, which covered Relief Society, Primary, Sunday School, MIA, and much, much more. Then they read a short note at the bottom, which said, “I will be sending two missionaries to your house to teach you more about the Church.”

After hearing the elders’ message, she said, with tears streaming down her face, “I believe the Lord sent you to us.”

When members and missionaries work faithfully together, they become as one and the Lord can use them to achieve his purposes among his children. The Lord had united as one the efforts of this faithful member and these diligent missionaries, to bring this family instruction which, if followed, will bring them joy and peace beyond measure and lead them back into the presence of our Heavenly Father.

Has one of your friends ever said or done something to hurt you? That happened to the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Not long after William W. Phelps joined the Church, he became one of the Prophet’s close friends. A well-educated man, he was appointed printer for the Church. He moved his family to Missouri and became a leader in the Church there.
Later, because of some faults he thought he saw in the Prophet Joseph, William left the Church. He became a bitter man and an enemy of the Prophet. He signed a certificate defending the actions of one of the enemies of the Church. Because of William’s and others’ actions, Joseph not only lost a loved and trusted friend, he and some of the other leaders of the Church were sent to prison! Joseph suffered for many miserable months in jail.
Two years later, William Phelps realized that what he had done was wrong. “I am as the prodigal son,” he wrote in a letter to the Prophet. “I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me. … I have done wrong and I am sorry.”
He begged for Joseph’s forgiveness and asked to be received again as a member of the Church.
Joseph answered immediately with love and forgiveness. He wrote: “Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal. … ‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, / For friends at first, are friends again at last.’”*
In spite of the terrible things that William did to hurt the Prophet, Joseph forgave his friend, and William became a valiant servant of the Lord once more. He wrote the words to fifteen hymns; many of them were included in the first LDS hymnbook. One of them, “Praise to the Man,”† was written especially about his forgiving friend, the Prophet Joseph.
Sometimes our friends say things or do things that hurt us. We can forgive them, just as the Prophet Joseph forgave his friend. Joseph told William that he wanted to follow the example of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He wanted to be as kind and forgiving as They are. We can do that, too. As we follow the example of Jesus Christ, we will be happy. We will be keeping our baptismal covenant, and we may be able to help our friends keep their covenants, just as the Prophet Joseph Smith helped his friend, William.

When I went to youth conference one year, I had no idea of the impact it would have on me. We had three days packed full of fun activities, and I was excited to see old friends, meet new ones, and get involved. But my favorite part was the testimony meeting. The Spirit was strong as we bore our testimonies of the gospel, and many of us were moved to tears. For me this beautiful feeling lasted for days after the conference, and I wanted it to stay. I didn’t even watch TV or listen to non-Church music. This experience truly strengthened my testimony of the Church.
The Spirit is the only way for us to know the Church is true. We must do things to allow the Holy Ghost to be with us, like studying the scriptures, praying sincerely every day, and thinking of times when we have felt the Spirit. When we live with the Spirit, we can feel His warmth and know the Church is true. I love the gospel; it has answers and direction. I wish that everyone in the world could know what we know.
Tahnee H., age 20, South Australia

Radmila was fourteen years old when her family moved from Yugoslovia to Switzerland. She didn’t think that it would make any difference whether she went to school in Switzerland or in Yugoslovia. But, four years later, in Switzerland, missionaries from the Church knocked on her door.
“I was an only child and my parents didn’t want to send me away to Yugoslovia,” says Radmila. “When I look back on those years, I think Heavenly Father must have wanted me to stay in Switzerland. I was being prepared to receive the gospel.”
Radmila was born and went to school in Sarajevo, in central Yugoslovia. There she was taught that religion was not necessary. Her father didn’t believe in God, and her mother was not an active member of her church. “I didn’t even know what the Bible was,” Radmila laughs. “I had heard of David and Goliath, but I thought that they were characters out of Greek or Roman mythology.”
But at school in Switzerland, Radmila met people who were active in their religious faith. Now she began asking herself questions about God, Jesus Christ, and the purpose of life. During this time, she began writing to a pen pal she found through a Finnish organization. Her pen pal was a girl in New Zealand who was a member of the Church. Although she never mentioned religion in her letters, she told Radmila that she had some friends in Switzerland who would come and visit her. Radmila was excited.
A few months later, in September of 1974, four neatly dressed young men appeared at her door. Radmila said, “Oh, yes, I have been waiting for you. Come in.” Radmila smiles as she remembers their excited faces at her welcome.
When she finally realized that they had never been to New Zealand and that they represented the “Mormon” Church, she told them she had no interest in their message. They surprised her by politely beginning to leave. But as they were going out the door, one of the missionaries asked, “By the way, do you know Kresimir Cosic?”
Well, that changed everything. “Everyone in Yugoslovia knows Kresimir,” she says. “He’s a real sports hero in Yugoslovia.”
In the early 1970s, Kresimir Cosic played basketball for Brigham Young University, was baptized into the Church, and then returned to Yugoslavia. There he played for the Yugoslav national basketball team, helping them win a world championship and a gold medal in the 1980 Olympics.
“I wondered how the missionaries had heard of him,” says Radmila. As they discussed Brother Cosic, the missionaries mentioned his relationship to Brigham Young University and the Church. They invited Radmila to a presentation at the local branch, and she agreed to come.
When Radmila walked into the small chapel in the basement of an apartment building, the first thing she noticed was a sign that said The Glory of God Is Intelligence.
“I was immediately impressed and moved,” she says. “I had always been taught that religious people were not intelligent and that they didn’t ever seek to learn. I wanted to learn.” The presentation was on the Book of Mormon. “Everything in the presentation seemed to focus on the fact that I could learn for myself whether or not what I was hearing was true,” remembers Radmila. “I didn’t need someone to tell me it was true—I could study and ask God for myself.”
She accepted a German-language Book of Mormon, took it home—and put it on a shelf.
A few months later, during Christmas time, Radmila began to hear more about Jesus Christ. There were shows on television about his life, and people talked about him more. She wanted to learn about him, and she remembered the Book of Mormon. She began to read it. “I couldn’t understand a thing,” she recalls. “It wasn’t that the German was too difficult for me, it was just that I didn’t understand words like repentance because I had never heard of them before.”
She decided she would call the missionaries for help. At the same time, two new missionaries were praying for inspiration about which investigators on their list to visit. They both felt that Radmila needed them. When they knocked, she opened the door and said, once again, “Oh, come in—I’ve been waiting for you.”
She still didn’t want to hear the missionary discussions, but she set up a study schedule with them. Each week she would read ten chapters in the Book of Mormon, write down her thoughts, and then discuss them with the missionaries.
“They were so patient with my sometimes provoking and unimportant questions,” she says. “One time I told them not to come in because I hadn’t read that week. They suggested that we read together. We started reading about Ammon, and then they said they had to leave. I couldn’t believe it. For the first time, I was beginning to feel the Spirit and get excited about the book. As soon as they left, I went to my room and finished the story.”
Then Radmila began to pray about the Book of Mormon. One day while she was reading in 3 Nephi about the Savior’s visit to the American continent, she suddenly felt very strongly that it had all happened. She felt that the Savior was real, and she couldn’t deny it any more. “Everything made sense,” she says. When the missionaries returned, they helped her understand how the Holy Ghost answers prayers, and she accepted their baptismal challenge. “Now,” the missionaries said, “we have to teach you the discussions.”
“Since I knew it was all true, I was able to accept all the commandments—tithing, the Word of Wisdom, everything—from the beginning,” says Radmila. “For example, from that moment, I never had a desire to smoke again.”
Radmila was baptized on 22 February 1975 in Zurich, Switzerland. She later moved back to Belgrade, Yugoslovia, where the Church was just being organized. In 1981 she served a mission to Montreal, Canada, the first missionary to be called from Yugoslovia. Now she is finishing a graduate degree in physical therapy at Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah. She also helps translate Church materials into Serbo-Croatian, the Yugoslav national language.
As she look back, Radmila says she feels Heavenly Father performed many miracles in her life. Once she questioned the existence of God. Now she knows that God has a strong love for her, and she wants to serve him any way she can.

My older brother, Gary, is two years my senior and was born mentally retarded. He attended public schools until about fourth grade. Part of my early years were spent defending him from the teasing and taunts of his classmates. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling of his situation. Because of my experiences with my brother, I developed a sensitivity to people who are different in any way. We all need to be like Jesus and reach out to those who are different from us. Thinking about the Savior and making Him a part of our lives helps us develop compassion. Jesus ought to be our best friend. Through prayer and thinking about Jesus, we can develop a greater sensitivity to other people and their needs.

As the mourning doves cooed, most of her tribe awakened happy for this day. But Little Twist’s lips trembled as she leaned against the wall and pulled at the bark and grass thatching that layered the dome-shaped hut.

“I won’t go today,” she muttered defiantly to herself. “I’d rather be alone, even though it is a feast.” She reached down and tried to rub the ache out of her twisted foot.

Squanto, the Pilgrims’ friend, had brought the message: All Wampanoag Indians were invited to the Plymouth village for a big feast. Chief Massasoit had accepted the invitation for the tribe. She especially remembered that day because her father, one of the tribal leaders, had stroked her loose black hair as he said, “Even you, Little Twist, she who hides from strangers, shall go. We shall show our friendship for our white friends.”

The morning sun warmed her skin, but even the colorful autumn beauty failed to warm her spirits. Standing, Little Twist briskly brushed the dust from her soft deerskin skirt, causing the bottom fringes to dance and swing about her legs.

Looking up, she saw Spotted Fawn walking past the red maples toward the creek. Spotted Fawn was small and graceful, the image of her name. Oh, how Little Twist hated her own name! It never let her forget her deformity for a minute. It was bad enough that she could never join the other children in their games—they weren’t unkind about it, but they ignored her and left her alone.

Why can’t I have a new name, she wondered, one that describes something good about me instead of calling attention to my foot? She tugged at her wampum belt. The touch of the polished beads made her feel better as her fingers traced the intricate pattern. With great patience she had carved the white and purple shells into beads, then strung them carefully under Grandmother’s instruction. When the belt was finished, she was proud of it, and Grandmother had even said that it was the best wampum belt in the village.

In the distance the men of the tribe had gathered. As Little Twist watched them, she noticed that Running Fox, her brother, was helping prepare for the feast with the Pilgrims. She smiled as she saw her father dressed in his new deerskin clothes for the occasion. He truly looked like a tribal leader, and Little Twist was proud as she remembered how she had helped her mother prepare the skins and stitch them together.

“Daughter, why aren’t you helping Grandmother?” Little Twist’s mother interrupted her happier thoughts. “Must I always coax you?”

Her mother’s reprimand hurt, adding to the hurt that she already felt. She could not hold it inside any longer. “I will stay here,” Little Twist told her mother. “I cannot endure the stares that will come when they hear my name and see that I am crippled. It is hard enough to bear the stares of my own people.” With desperation in her eyes, she asked, “Cannot I have a new name? Then maybe people won’t stare at me so.”

“A new name must be earned,” Mother chided her gently. “We will talk about it later. Right now we must think of other things. Please go and help your grandmother.”

Little Twist limped over to where Grandmother stood waiting. Baskets of multicolored Indian maize, green beans, and golden squash lay on the ground next to her feet. “Ah, little one,” she said, “it is time to carry the three sisters to the feast.”

Little Twist couldn’t help but smile back as she gave her usual reply: “Corn, beans, and squash are funny sisters.”

Grandmother’s eyes twinkled, but she just nodded and slowly bent to pick up one basket. “It will be good to give thanks for them and for all the harvest with our new friends.” She squinted against the glaring sun, then walked toward the white man’s village.

Reluctantly Little Twist picked up the other two baskets and shuffled after her. Upon reaching the feast site, she put down her burden where it was sure to be found, then returned to the edge of the clearing and let the dimness of the forest hide her. Resting against a cool boulder, she massaged her tired foot.

The crisp breezes brought her fragrant odors of roasted wild turkey, duck, venison, and other succulent dishes, and hunger rose inside her. Even so, she would rather be hungry than join the feast.

Suddenly Running Fox was standing next to the boulder. Little Twist smiled, always surprised at how her brother found her secret places.

“Our hunters shot five deer for the feast,” he bragged, kneeling next to her and massaging her still-throbbing foot. “Come, little sister. It is time to eat. Afterward you can watch me win the race.”

“I want to stay here,” she told Running Fox. “And races are no fun for me. But I wish you luck.”

“Thank you for your kind wish, Little Twist. But you must come. Father sent me for you. He says that it would be rude for you to stay away.” Standing, Running Fox carefully helped his sister to her feet and steered her to a place where she could feel relatively unnoticed. She flashed him a grateful smile when he brought her a plate of food before leaving to compete in his race.

As the hours passed, Little Twist watched many games and competitions. Finally she began searching for her mother. Approaching the Pilgrims’ cabins, she found her among the women who were laughing together while putting away the leftover food. Their happiness sounded like a flock of songbirds clustering in a berry bush, and Little Twist forgot her foot for a while as she enjoyed their gaiety.

Soon a number of women gathered in a circle at one side of the clearing. Grandmother and Mother and Little Twist went over to see what was happening.

Within the circle, a white woman stood holding an iron kettle. Several fur pieces, moccasins, and shelled necklaces had been placed before her in offering for a trade. The white woman examined them carefully but seemed dissatisfied.

Seeing how long her mother gazed at the iron kettle, Little Twist pulled closer to her and whispered, “A kettle like that would be useful.”

Her mother nodded, then shrugged. “I brought nothing to trade. To interest the white woman one must present something of value, for surely that kettle will not go cheaply.”

Little Twist had only one thing of real value—her wampum belt. But how could she give up her treasured work? And even if she were to offer it in trade, she’d have to walk into the circle, exposing her limp. Pressing her lips firmly together, she unconsciously tried to hide her bad foot behind her good one as she waited to see if anyone’s offer would be accepted.

Unexpectedly Spotted Fawn stepped forward. She carefully stretched her own wampum belt across the grass, displaying her beaded artwork for appraisal.

While everyone else admired the white and purple beads glistening in the sunlight, Little Twist saw that the beading was not as evenly tied as hers. The pattern was a bit unbalanced, and the beads were irregular because the seashells hadn’t been carved small and round enough.

“Ah, little one, what do you think?” Grandmother whispered in her ear.

Little Twist turned and saw Grandmother’s eyes dancing and sparkling as they challenged her. Drawing in her breath for courage, the girl’s fingers shook as she untied her belt, hobbled forward, and placed it next to Spotted Fawn’s.

Silently the white woman studied Little Twist’s belt. Then she reexamined all the trade offers one by one. Finally she made up her mind. With a warm smile she extended the iron kettle to Little Twist and picked up her beautiful wampum belt to complete the trade.

Little Twist was proud and happy as she turned to give the kettle to her mother.

Her mother was equally proud and happy. She stepped into the circle and announced, “My daughter has earned a new name. No more shall she be called Little Twist. Now she shall be known as Seashell.”

For three days the Wampanoags stayed and feasted with the Pilgrims. And during that time the people forgot Little Twist and her crippled foot. Instead, they spoke to and about Seashell, the tribe’s best wampum maker.

Years later I received a similar call late at night in a hotel in Japan. I was then the new commissioner of education for the Church. I knew that President Gordon B. Hinckley was staying somewhere in that same hotel on his separate assignment to Japan. I answered the ringing phone just after I had lain down on the bed to sleep, exhausted by having done all I thought I had the strength to do.

President Hinckley asked in his pleasant voice, “Why are you sleeping when I am here reading a manuscript that we have been asked to review?” So I got up and went to work, even though I knew that President Hinckley could give a better review of a manuscript than I could possibly do. But somehow he made me feel that he needed my help.

Kevin watched as his older brother and sister got ready to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Kevin wanted to go too.
Dad, can I go?
You’re not old enough yet, but I’m glad that you want to serve. When you turn 12, you can go too.
Kevin helped his sister pack her bag. Then he helped his brother pick out a tie.
They left, and Kevin stayed home with Mom and his baby sister, Erin.
When Erin cried, Kevin gave her a teddy bear. When she fell, Kevin helped her up.
I know Heavenly Father is happy with the way you are serving Him today.
But I didn’t go to the temple.
Yes, but you helped your brother and sister get ready. And you are helping me take care of Erin.
When you help other people, you serve Heavenly Father.

“A friend in my ward was less active. He was having family problems and stopped coming to church and Mutual. One week, another friend and I went to invite him to church. He said he didn’t want to come, but we kept at it every week. More people from our quorum started joining us and we had 2–5 people every week inviting him to church. After a year of invitations, he came with us! He has been coming to church more than before and back to Mutual activities! Never give up because the best things take time!”
Trent D., 16, Utah, USA

After Viacheslav Efimov’s father died from injuries suffered in World War II, his mother worked hard to provide for her son’s physical and spiritual needs, instilling in him a love of God. To lessen his mother’s burdens, Viacheslav began working full time in a Leningrad factory when he was 15. To further his education, he attended evening school. Though busy, Viacheslav made time to pursue his spiritual yearnings.
“I read the journal Science and Religion, in which there were passages from the Bible,” he writes. “I sincerely wanted to acquire a knowledge of God. And there in the journal where they attacked religion, I found out about the Bible’s truth.”
After marrying his wife, Galina, in 1971, Viacheslav avoided discussing his spiritual feelings with his in-laws. He recalls, “No one in my wife’s family ever talked about God.”
When Viacheslav and Galina’s daughter, Tamara, turned five, she and Galina were baptized in the predominant church in Russia. “We began to attend services, … but we always had the feeling that God did not hear us, that we were hardly noticed,” Viacheslav writes. “We would go home disappointed, where we would sit down at the table and drink a glass of vodka and start to feel warmer.”
In the spring of 1990, Tamara met the full-time missionaries at a friend’s house. At first Viacheslav ignored the missionaries, who taught his daughter, “because I wondered what these young men could tell me about God. … But what I heard at the following discussions gave me the opportunity to receive answers to my own questions and, most important, to understand that God loves each of us. We are his children, and he has given us a Savior, his Son, Jesus Christ.
Life soon changed for the Efimovs. “Although we had lived in the same house, we had been involved in our own activities and spent little time together,” Viacheslav writes. “The cares of everyday life drew us apart. Then for the first time in 10 to 12 years we began to spend more time together. We began to read the Bible and the Book of Mormon. For three months we waited for an answer to our prayers and then made our decision to be baptized. On 9 June 1990, we were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a family.”
The Efimovs began sharing their gospel joy on a full-time basis in July 1995, when Brother Efimov was called as president of the Russia Yekaterinburg Mission.

At breakfast when Mom reminded everyone about their family temple trip on Saturday, Carly frowned. She had completely forgotten about that. Usually she loved going to the temple, but Saturday was the day of Jennifer’s party!
Jennifer was Carly’s best friend, and on Saturday she was having a Halloween party. Carly could hardly wait. But now she didn’t know what she should do.
“Mom, Jennifer’s party is Saturday too,” she said. “Would it be OK if I stay home and go to the party?”
Mom smiled. “You are 12 years old now,” she said. “I think you can make up your own mind.”
Carly sighed.
All week Carly worried about Saturday. The temple was far away, so her family didn’t get to go very often. But Halloween parties didn’t happen that often either.
I can just go to the party, Carly decided.
But that didn’t feel right.
“Why do the party and our temple trip have to be on the same day?” she asked at dinner.
“You’ve got a tough choice to make,” Dad said. “What do you think you should do?”
Carly didn’t see anything wrong with going to the party. All her friends from school would be there, and it would probably be a lot of fun. But it wasn’t a question between right and wrong, and that made it harder. Going to the party was good, but Carly knew that serving others in the temple was better.
“I guess I’ll go on the temple trip,” Carly said. Immediately her heart felt lighter.
The next day at school, Jennifer ran up to Carly. “I can’t wait for the party,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”
Carly took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry, Jennifer,” she said. “But I can’t come to your party. My family is going to the temple that day.”
Jennifer crinkled her nose. “What’s a temple?”
“It’s a special place where we go to worship God,” Carly said. “It’s important to me, but I’m sorry I’ll miss your party.”
“It’s OK,” Jennifer said. But she looked sad.
“How about if you come over after school on Monday and tell me all about the party?” Carly said.
Jennifer smiled. “OK!”
Early Saturday morning Carly took her pillow and backpack out to the car. Mom put her arm around Carly’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re going with us.”
“So am I,” Carly said, and she meant it.
At the temple Carly listened carefully to the words of the baptismal prayer. When she thought about how each name was for a real person, she was sure there was no place she would rather be than here, being baptized for them.
On the way home, Dad said, “Because of our family, 15 people had baptisms done for them today. I know these ancestors are grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel.”
Carly settled down for the long drive home. She couldn’t stop smiling.

My brother and I were very close when he was in high school. We often had long talks and confided things we’d never tell anyone else. We were constantly teasing each other and playing games together. When he went on his mission, we wrote often, but it was during this time that my illness was discovered. My parents kept him informed about me and let him know of all the changes to expect in me when he got home, but I know I was still a complete shock to him when his mission ended in the spring. For a while I was afraid that our closeness had been destroyed, but now I know I was wrong. Over the summer we had some honest talks, and our love was strengthened. He is learning sign language so he will be able to better communicate with me, and our joy for teasing one another and playing games together has returned. We are also able to confide in each other again. It must be hard on him to have his playful little sister so changed, but he doesn’t show it. He just lets his love for me overflow all the more.

John Weir goes to an international school and had the opportunity to do humanitarian service in both Tanzania and Nepal. He feels that he gained as much as he gave from his efforts to help others.
He went to these countries thinking he would see only death, pain, and misery. He says, “I was completely wrong. The people of Tanzania were the most joyful and loving people I have ever met. They were so grateful for everything they had and were always looking out for each other no matter what the conditions were. I had never seen so much joy in someone’s eyes when they received a pencil or a journal from their teachers. I was amazed that something so simple and common in my eyes could be so treasured in someone else’s. I was happy that I could be one of the people who brought them joy.
“The following year I was excited to serve in a children’s hospital in Nepal. The hospital in the mountains of Nepal was a beautiful place except for the injured children with missing limbs and no family. I wanted to turn these children’s frowns upside down. As we talked and played games with them, I discovered that they were strong-willed, fun, and intelligent. This was a surprise to me, because in their circumstances they could be crying every day and looking at the bad things in life. Instead, they did the exact opposite. They were optimistic and tried their hardest to learn and to find enjoyment in life. This taught me to look at the good in life and not dwell on the bad.”

On Sunday, 26 November 1990, I was on the bus, on my way home from our Asian branch in Lynnfield, Massachusetts. I sat by an eleven-year-old girl and her six-year-old brother. I had seen them at our branch, but I didn’t know their names. I did know they were not members of the Church yet.
In her hands, the girl was holding a children’s book of Bible stories. She was flipping through the pages, looking at the wonderful pictures. “Look!” she said with surprise, pointing to a picture of Jesus kneeling by a rock, praying, with a look of deep pain on his face.
Turning to me, she asked, “Why does Jesus look like that?”
“Because he is suffering for the sins of the people. He is full of pain.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
So I said, “Here, do you want me to read to you?”
I started from where Jesus was kneeling and praying. And as I read, I explained the stories to them. I knew the children were understanding the stories, because when they saw Jesus nailed to the cross, they were sorry for him. And when they saw he was resurrected, they were happy.
I explained the entire story to them from the book and in my own words. And when I asked them questions, they both kept raising their hands as fast as they could.
Finally, the little girl looked up at me and asked, “Is it true?”
I looked down at her and said, “Yes, yes, it’s true.”
As I nodded my head, I knew myself that it was solid truth. I realized right then and there that I did have a strong testimony of Christ. I bore my testimony of the things that I knew in my heart were true. I know the Spirit was with me. I felt it. I felt the sensation of it—the warmth, the peace, the love.
From then on, I wanted to tell the whole world about Jesus Christ. I wanted everyone to feel that happiness, too.

“Just meet me at 6:30 tomorrow night,” she tells her friends, being purposefully vague about what she’s planning. Aarika has invited 20 nonmember friends to participate in something she promises “will get you into the Christmas spirit.”
That something is a night of caroling to people in a rest home and a visit to the Los Angeles Temple grounds. Aarika thought this would be a great missionary tool to help introduce her friends to the Church.
It isn’t her first missionary experience, and it certainly won’t be her last. If there’s one thing Aarika knows, it’s how to tell people about the gospel. Then again, she’d never done anything like this with this many people.
So Aarika went to work. A week before Christmas she arranged for her friends to meet at the home of Bruce and Kathryn Ghent. He is Aarika’s stake president, and Sister Ghent volunteered to prepare a light dinner in her home.
Of the 20 friends invited, 12 came, and none of them knew what they’d be doing. They showed up because they were curious and because they liked Aarika.
“I had prayed before I did this. I was scared to death,” Aarika recalls. “You have to know how scared I was to do this. I had fasted and prayed that the girls would feel the Spirit, so I knew I needed something to get them in the spiritual zone.” That’s where the caroling came in.
After dinner, the group drove to a rest home to sing to the residents. But instead of “Jingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland,” Aarika borrowed hymnals from her ward, and the girls sang Christmas hymns about the Savior’s birth. “Some of my friends had never been caroling. We sat with the people; we sang to them. And my friends were saying, ‘I love this.’”
Aarika was too.
After the rest home visit, it was time to go to the Los Angeles Temple to see the grounds decorated with Christmas lights. Aarika gave a short explanation about why the Church has temples; then she took them into the visitors’ center to watch The Lamb of God.
The group also saw another short film, Luke 2, followed by a walk around the temple while drinking hot chocolate and looking at the lights.
“My friends asked me tons of questions and kept asking me, ‘What am I feeling? I love this feeling.’” It was then that Aarika took the opportunity to bear her testimony.
“The best part was seeing my friends look at the Church in a different way. I think that night they actually felt why I love the gospel so much,” she says. “We grew close that night, and it strengthened my testimony.”

I remember a conversation I had with a friend who is not a member of our faith. He was surprised to learn that any worthy man in our Church could receive the priesthood. He asked, “But how many priesthood holders do you have in your ward?”
I answered, “Between 30 and 40.”
Perplexed, he continued, “In my congregation, we have only one priest. Why do you need so many priests on Sunday morning?”
Intrigued by his question, I felt inspired to reply, “I agree with you. I don’t think we need that many priesthood holders at church on Sunday. But we do need a priesthood holder in every home. And when there is no priesthood holder in a home, other priesthood holders are called upon to watch over and minister to that family.”
Ours is not just a Sunday church. Our worship continues each day of the week, wherever we are and in whatever we do. Our homes in particular are “the primary sanctuaries of our faith.” It is most often in our homes that we pray, we bless, we study, we teach the word of God, and we serve with pure love. I can testify from personal experience that our homes are sacred places where the Spirit can abound—as much as, and sometimes even more than, in our formal places of worship.

I am Brooke Ellis. When I was six, my dad went over to meet the neighbors, who were just moving in. They had a minivan, and it was filled with kids. He noticed that there was a girl who was just about my age. Her name was Clarissa Shinn. He brought me over to meet her. At first we were kind of shy with each other. But one day while my mom was still at Girls Camp with the Young Women, Clarissa and I were running over to my house and I glanced down and saw something gold and green on her finger. I stopped and so did she, and I noticed it was a CTR ring. I said, “Clarissa, are you LDS?” She said, “Yeah.” I told her that I was, too. I later found out when my mom got home that she had been fasting and praying for a girl my age who was also a Latter-day Saint to move into one of the three houses that were empty in our block. Clarissa and I are still great friends, and I know that Heavenly Father loves me and answers prayers.
Clarissa Shinn and Brooke Ellis, ages 9 and 10West Lafayette, Indiana