Gospel Story Finder

Michael Garfield, a priest in the Plymouth Ward, stood his ground last summer when his soccer team was about to go into the state tournament. His coach wanted him to return the next season, but that would mean Sunday matches. The state tournament was also on Sunday. Michael had told his coach he could not play on Sundays already, and he was about to explain to him the importance of the Sabbath day. But before he could explain, one of his nonmember teammates, whom Michael had explained the Sabbath to before, jumped in and told the coach about the importance of the Sabbath day. “My coach understood better because he heard it from someone else,” Michael says. He was glad he had explained to his friend the sacredness of the Sabbath.
Michael has decided not to continue playing on the soccer team because of all the Sunday games. Keeping the Sabbath holy and having family time is more important to him, he says.

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” her dad said. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her that I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

A few years ago, I was extremely depressed. The only thing I could find a little motivation for was my best friend and her children. We went for walks on weekends, which I enjoyed. Over time, however, we began to go on walks less and less frequently. I began to miss my friend and her family. I later learned that our walks became less frequent because my friend and her family had resumed a practice they had stopped many years before—attending church.
One day they invited me to lunch. Seeing them again made me feel very happy. I told them how much I missed them. My friend’s six-year-old daughter suggested that we solve that problem by going to church together. So without thinking twice, she invited me to go.
Oh, no! How could I make this family understand that going to church was right for them but too boring for me? I hadn’t gone to church for years, but how could I say no to a child? I said I would go, but the truth was that I didn’t have the least intention of keeping that promise.
That Sunday, I went to breakfast with my dad. My cell phone constantly rang, reminding me that I had promised a little girl that I would go to church with her. I ignored my cell phone until my dad asked me why I wasn’t answering it. I admitted that I had been invited to go to a church meeting but didn’t want to go. He smiled and said, “Lluvia, never make a promise to a child if you are not willing to fulfill it.” I decided I would keep my promise.
When I arrived at church, I felt something different, something that I can’t describe. I still can’t explain how it happened, but the next Sunday, I found myself there again, and the next and the next, until I understood what I was feeling: the Holy Ghost.
The Church members began to make me feel at home. Without any doubt, I was curious about the Church. I began meeting with the missionaries, and I also began to gain a testimony. The missionaries’ visits became more constant, and my understanding of the gospel grew until I felt an immense desire to be baptized. I was baptized a short time later, and now I enjoy the blessings of the gospel. Because of this, I’m so grateful I kept my promise to a six-year-old girl.

In the late spring of 1967, our ward was asked to choose 16 youth to dance in the All-Church Dance Festival. For our little town in rural Idaho, this was an adventure. The festival was to be held in the giant University of Utah stadium with thousands in attendance. I was not a dancer and was reluctant in our initial practices, but I soon came to enjoy being together with good young men and women preparing for the dance festival. The thought of going to the large city of Salt Lake and staying at a hotel with a swimming pool motivated us.
We arrived in Salt Lake City on the appointed day and began to dress for our performance. I suddenly realized that I did not have the black trousers I was to wear for our ballroom dance. I had left them at home. We did not even consider going to the store to buy a pair of pants, because it would have been too expensive. I did not know what I would do.
The solution came as my Young Men leader, Brother Lowe, offered to let me wear his dark pants. When I put the pants on, I was happy that they were about the right length. However, I quickly realized that I had a problem: the pants were several inches too large in the waist. “What am I going to do?” I thought. I was grateful for the kindness of Brother Lowe but felt very embarrassed to wear the large pants. Brother Lowe and my friends assured me that no one would know because the pants would be mostly covered with my suit coat and I could use a belt to cinch them up tightly.
I still remember the feeling of arriving at the stadium and seeing hundreds of young men and young women from all over the country who shared my beliefs and convictions. It was a great moment for me to realize how important the Church was to so many.
When it was our turn, we moved onto the field. As the dance began, much to my horror, I could feel the big ballooning trousers slipping. There was no time to fix the situation; the music had begun. The dilemma added new steps to my ballroom experience. Not only was it necessary to remember all we had been taught, but I also had to invent some new movements to keep my trousers in place. At times these steps dismayed my talented partner, but they saved me from a more troubling conclusion.
I have never forgotten my brief precarious moments of ballroom dancing. More important, I have never forgotten the feeling that we were all part of something extraordinary—not simply a dance festival—but the restored Church and gospel of Jesus Christ.

Géoffroy wanted to go on a mission. He didn’t have enough money, so he sold his farm. A few months later, he received a mission call to the Ivory Coast. He was the first missionary from Benin to get a mission call!
His dedication helped him for years. Because of his faith, and that of other members, many more people were baptized. His branch became a ward. That ward is now part of the first stake in Benin!
Géoffroy Koussemou continues to work hard and rely on God. He knows that great things can happen with God’s help.

Just before this meeting started, Brother Stapley, with a twinkle in his eye, asked me to answer for a story he heard I had told to the All-Americans at BYU last night; and in keeping with my inward response to Brother Petersen’s great sermon on honesty today, I must tell the truth.
The story, Brother Stapley, was mythical. It was reportedly the statement of a man who golfed with you and Brother Tanner and who, when he came back, said, “Have you ever played golf and been the only one rained on?” I can testify to you that Brother Stapley gets rained on, and was snowed on two days ago, as I observed. As we went from the place where he had snow deposited on him from a tree limb, just as we came out from a meeting into that beautiful storm, I drove up streets that were littered with limbs of magnificent trees. I was fearful of what I would find when I got home, and my apprehensions were justified. Some of our lovely trees were broken. In our backyard a fence we had built to protect the neighbors while our children grew up was flattened. And I would like to tell you something serious and truthful. I haven’t worried a minute about that. I have been thinking about tonight and what we are here discussing.
We are talking about casualties, some that have happened and some that are happening, and some that we want not to happen in the future. God has from the beginning been very interested in his children, those safely in the fold, some who have strayed, and those not yet in.
We are talking primarily tonight about those who are in, or some who may not quite be in as much as they should be and as we would like them to be. I read again with joy what Alma the prophet wrote about some people who were far from the fold, who had once been in. He took three of the sons of Mosiah, two of his own sons, and two other converts and went to teach the Zoramites, who are described as having fallen into great error, for “they would not observe to keep the commandments of God, and his statutes. … Neither would they observe the performances of the church, to continue in prayer and supplication to God daily, that they might not enter into temptation. Yea, in fine, they did pervert the ways of the Lord in very many instances; therefore, for this cause, Alma and his brethren went into the land to preach the word unto them.” (Alma 31:9–11.)
As that happened, Alma offered to the Lord the kind of prayer that is in our hearts as we listen to these great servants of youth speak tonight. “O Lord, wilt thou grant unto us that we may have success in bringing them again unto thee in Christ. Behold, O Lord, their souls are precious, and many of them are our brethren [I suppose we might parenthetically assume he was thinking that many of them are the wives and children of our brethren now and in the future]; therefore, give unto us, O Lord, power and wisdom that we may bring these, our brethren, again unto thee.” (Alma 31:34–35.)
I recently had called to my attention by Brother Joe Christensen an excerpt from Church history that I would like to share with you in part. In the Documentary History of the Church (vol. 5, pp. 320–21) is “A Short Sketch of the Rise of the ‘Young Gentlemen and Ladies Relief Society’ from the Times and Seasons.” You will observe, as the annotator says, that this has more to do with youth than with the Relief Society, but that was the heading.
“In the latter part of January, 1843, a number of young people assembled at the house of Elder Heber C. Kimball [you realize that the Prophet Joseph Smith is writing this] who warned them against the various temptations to which youth is exposed, and gave an appointment expressly for the young at the house of Elder Billings; and another meeting was held in the ensuing week, at Brother Farr’s school-room, which was filled to overflowing. Elder Kimball delivered addresses, exhorting the young people to study the scriptures, and enable themselves to ‘give a reason for the hope within them,’ and to be ready to go on to the stage of action, when their present instructors and leaders had gone behind the scenes; also to keep good company and to keep pure and unspotted from the world.”
The Prophet then notes that the next meeting was held at his house, and though the weather was inclement, there were many there, to overflowing.
“Elder Kimball,” he writes, “as usual, delivered an address, warning his hearers against giving heed to their youthful passions, and exhorting them to be obedient and to pay strict attention to the advice of their parents. …”
The Prophet then says something that has touched me and I think will touch you who work with youth: “I experienced more embarrassment in standing before them than I should before kings and nobles of the earth; for I knew the crimes of which the latter were guilty, and I knew precisely how to address them; but my young friends were guilty of none of them, and therefore I hardly knew what to say. I advised them to organize themselves into a society for the relief of the poor, and recommended to them a poor lame English brother … who wanted a house built, that he might have a home amongst the Saints; that he had gathered a few materials for the purpose, but was unable to use them, and he has petitioned for aid. I advised them to choose a committee to collect funds for this purpose, and perform this charitable act as soon as the weather permitted. I gave them such advice as I deemed was calculated to guide their conduct through life and prepare them for a glorious eternity.”
You see, our efforts to reach youth today are not original. They are about the same, motivated with about the same sense of their need, and certainly by the same spirit that directed those of old. This statement of the Prophet moved me because I have had that same feeling when I have stood before them. As a teacher for years, I have pondered their future as I taught them, and I have lived long enough to see the fulfillment of my fondest hopes, or the beginning of the fulfillment of them, for many of them, and, I am sorry to say, the realization of some of my apprehensions. They are, in fact, a great and remarkable generation, yet like many of you I am well aware of the major problems confronting all of our young people, and that many of them desperately need help.
It would be an interesting experience for some of you to walk through a few days of our relationships with youth as we visit with them in person, by telephone, in interviews, by mail. It is just a few days ago that I deplaned at a major airport, met some of you leaders there, and a beautiful young college-age lady who was waiting for me. She had left her home against the wishes of her parents and others and had hitchhiked to a rock festival. On her way home from that adventure, hitchhiking now with a male companion, she was picked up by officers of the law, arrested for possession of drugs, tried, and sentenced to five years in prison. Through the intervention of our local brethren, who were reached by a distraught mother through the bishop, she was given parole freedom, but the record has been made and her life is hanging in the balance. She has some decisions to make.
On my desk is a current letter, one of many, from an anguished girl crying for help. Three times the words are repeated, “Please help me.” Within hours there has been a call, another call, from a disturbed young man seeking guidance for his friend who questions a Church position which he feels he cannot accept, which he thinks makes his position in the Church tenuous or untenable.
In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
What can we do? How can we help this great young generation meet the challenges of their time? I am certain that we must thoughtfully examine not only their needs and their problems, and what we have to give them, but how we undertake to give it, and what we appear to them to be as they observe it. I have been rethinking my own experience and will give you just an example or two quickly. May I do it in the spirit of a statement that to me for a long time has been very choice: “Neither laugh nor weep, nor loathe, but understand.”
What are some of their problems? These basic observations have come from experience with youth and from their own lips and lives. I can sum them up in four or five needs.
First, they need faith. They need to believe. They need to know the doctrines, the commandments, the principles of the gospel. They need to grow in understanding and conviction. They need to worship and to pray, but they live in a time when all of this is so seriously questioned, when doubt is encouraged.
Two, they need to be accepted as they are, and to be included. They need a family, the most important social unit in this world; and even if they have a good family, they need the supportive influence outside their home of others, of neighbors, of friends, of bishops, of brothers, of human beings.
Three, they need to be actively involved, to participate, to give service, to give of themselves.
Four, they have to learn somehow that they are more important than their mistakes; that they are worthwhile, valuable, useful; that they are loved unconditionally.
I knelt with my own family, at the conclusion of a great family home evening, the night before our lovely daughter was to be married in the temple. I think she wouldn’t mind my telling you that after we had laughed and wept and remembered, she was asked to pray. I don’t recall much of her prayer, the tears and the joy and the sweetness, but I remember one thought: she thanked God for the unconditional love she had received. This life doesn’t give one very many chances to feel exultant and a little successful, but I felt wonderful that night, and thank God that she really believes and understands what she said. We cannot, my dear brethren, condition our love by a beard or beads or habits or strange viewpoints. There have to be standards and they must be enforced, but our love must be unconditional.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!
We need to understand their needs. They need to learn the gospel. They need to be accepted, to be involved, to be loved; and they need, my brethren—my fifth and final point—the example of good men, good parents, good people, who really care.
I went to the funeral of my cousin a few weeks ago, and I pass on to you something that touched me deeply there. Maybe it is the message I can share with those of us who can do something, if we will, for our great young generation. A man who served as his counselor, now himself the bishop, said of my cousin: “Every boy in his lifetime has the right to know a man like Ivan Frame.”
God bless us to love them, to accept them, to give to them what they need in order that they may be what they want to be and give what they want to give, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

In 1989, Robert M. and Lola Walker, a missionary couple in Ghana, were transferred to Ivory Coast. They could speak no French, so they were instructed to hire a translator and seek help from American families living there.
The Walkers accepted their assignment with some trepidation but with faith that the Lord would help them meet their new responsibility. At Church meetings in Abidjan, the Walkers initially understood only what the Spirit helped them understand. During one meeting, a young man approached them and asked in fluent English if he could help. That young man, Adolphe Mande Gueu, was the first of four translators the Walkers hired, taught, and baptized during their 14 months in Ivory Coast.
Before his baptism, Adolphe quickly became acquainted with the gospel through his translation of lessons and talks. His translation work for the Walkers prepared him to understand and gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon, which he read in three days. He says the Holy Ghost bore such a strong witness to him of the book’s truthfulness that he read it almost nonstop.
“This book testifies to me that your message comes from God,” Brother Gueu told the Walkers, “and my family and I must be a part of the gospel.”
Brother and Sister Gueu, along with their four children, have been stalwarts in the Church ever since their baptism in 1988. He was a branch president and later became the first teacher for the Church Educational System in Ivory Coast. Today he is the regional director for CES. Sister Gueu also has served in many callings, including president of the district Young Women organization.

Janarthn liked going to church each week. He didn’t want to miss a single Sunday! He was the only child in his family, so his friends in Primary were like his siblings. He liked learning about Jesus with them and singing with them. His mom went to church with him, but his dad never did. Dad wasn’t a member of the Church.
One night at dinner, Janarthn asked, “Dad, why don’t you come to church with us?”
Dad looked up from his plate. “I’m pretty busy on Sundays.”
“But, Dad, it’s important to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Janarthn said. “It says so in the scriptures.”
Mom looked surprised. “You really listened during your lessons at church. But it’s OK that your dad doesn’t come with us. He helps us in many other ways.”
While Janarthn got ready for bed, he thought about what it would be like if Dad came to church. He sometimes felt a little sad when he saw his friends sitting with their parents. He wished Dad could be there with him and Mom.
Before bed, Janarthn knelt to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “please let my dad have time on Sundays so he can come with Mom and me. I’d really like to sit with him at church.”
One Sunday a few weeks later, Mom called Janarthn to her room.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t go to church today,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Janarthn frowned. “But I will miss my friends and the lesson today. I really want to go to church.”
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “It’s just one Sunday. And if you want, we can call your Primary teacher so you know what the lesson is about.”
Janarthn kissed Mom’s forehead. “It’s OK. Just rest, Mom. I know Heavenly Father will know why I can’t come to church today.”
Janarthn went to his room and grabbed a copy the Friend magazine. Even if he couldn’t go to church, he could still read the stories to keep the Sabbath holy.
“Janarthn!” Dad called.
Janarthn came out of his room. “What is it, Dad?”
Dad was smiling. “Get dressed. I know how much you like church, and I don’t want you to miss it. I’ll go with you.”
Janarthn’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it! He had a big smile while he hurried to get ready.
At church Janarthn introduced Dad to his friends. Dad sat beside him during sacrament meeting. Janarthn felt so happy to be with his dad at church!
After the meeting, Dad said, “I need to go somewhere. I will pick you up after your Primary class, OK?”
“OK,” Janarthn said. He wished Dad would stay, but he was glad he had come. It really was a great Sunday surprise!
Illustrations by Nadiyah Suyatna

My daughters, ages 8 and 10, seemed to be growing farther and farther apart. As their mother, I ached inside to see the bickering between them and the mean looks they often directed at each other.
During this time I was praying earnestly to the Lord to help me with my own weaknesses. I prayed that He would help me learn what I needed to learn about charity, and I was led to some beautiful passages of scripture.
One night things came to a head with my daughters. I lost my temper and, after ranting and raving at them, stormed outside to cool down and think. After a few minutes, the Spirit began to soften my heart, prompting me to go inside and apologize to my eldest daughter, who had caught the worst of my temper.
As I entered her bedroom, I saw my 10-year-old daughter kneeling beside her bed, weeping. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I don’t know what to do.” She told me she wanted to pray and read her scriptures so she would feel better, but she couldn’t because she felt so bad.
When she told me how sorry she felt for her part in our quarrel and then said I was not to blame, oh, what shame I felt. We talked a while and then turned to the scriptures, where I read to her about charity, “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47), and shared some of the things I had learned. At that point her younger sister looked in the room, and we invited her to join us. I then explained, in words an eight-year-old could understand, what we had read about charity.
After I had finished, both girls turned to me with big eyes and expressed a desire to be filled with this great love spoken of in the scriptures. We then knelt and, as Mormon counseled, humbly asked the Father to fill us with this love (see Moroni 7:48).
Touched by the Spirit, we could not help but weep. We rose from our knees, embraced, and expressed our love for each other. At that moment I saw an eternal sisterhood and friendship begin to bloom between my daughters, and I was comforted.
Their relationship has continued to grow since then. They have a greater desire to work out their differences, show more patience, and share their belongings. I am grateful for their righteous desires and efforts.
I will always treasure that experience, and I pray that there will be more like it as we continue to strengthen the bonds of charity and love in our home.

In 1993, after I had served as president of the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission, we traveled as a family to see my parents, who lived in northern Mexico. During the trip we talked about the joy of serving the Lord and seeing the change in people who had accepted the gospel during the three years we were in the mission. We were commenting about those people who were baptized, confirmed, and had received the priesthood and the ones we knew had entered the temple and were sealed as families for eternity.
My youngest son asked a question that made me reflect: “Dad, are you sealed to your parents?” I told him that because my father had been less active for many years, he and my mother were not sealed in the temple. To help him become active, I thought up a plan. It involved my children, and I explained to them how we would do it: Every Sunday my father would get up early to take my mother and sister to church, only to return home, wait for the services to end, then go back to pick them up. So I assigned my children to go with him and say, “Grandpa, would you do us a favor?” I knew his answer would be, “Whatever you want, my children.” Then they would ask him if he would go with them to church and stay with them so he could listen to their testimonies. It was the first Sunday of the month. I also knew my father would give any excuse not to go, so I planned to enter the room to help my children convince him.
The time soon came for executing the plan. My daughter, Susana, approached my father and asked him about the favor. Sure enough, my father told her he would do anything he could for them. Then came the invitation to go to church, and just as we had predicted, he used this excuse: “I can’t because I haven’t even showered.” That’s when my wife and I, who were hiding behind the door, shouted, “We’ll wait for you!”
When we realized he was not making a decision, my wife and I entered the room and, together with our children, began to insist: “Shower! Shower!” Then what we expected happened. My father came with us, he stayed for the services, listened to the testimonies of my children, his heart was softened, and from that Sunday on he never missed church. Months later, at the age of 78, he and my mother were sealed, and we, his children, were sealed to them.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifest in the ordinances of the temple, I can now be reunited with my parents for all eternity, even after death.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”

I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.

He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.

After I earned my black belt in tae kwan do, I went to a special ceremony for all the new black belts. Before it started, my instructor told us what we would do during the ceremony, which included drinking tea. I knew Heavenly Father said not to drink tea. I explained to my instructor why I could not drink tea. He let me drink water instead. My mother said she was proud of me for honoring my baptismal covenants and sharing my beliefs. I know following Heavenly Father’s commandments will always make me happy.
Joseph R., age 10, Texas, USA

When Friederike started school, she didn’t like it and wanted to stay home! However, before first grade was over, her parents and her teacher decided that school was too easy for her. They promoted her to the second grade, in which Friederike found the challenge she needed. Now she is in the fourth grade and doing well. Her teacher said that even though this sweet child is two years younger than most of the children, she adds a great deal of sunshine and enthusiasm to the class.

“The Family: A Proclamation to the World” teaches my family the importance of work. Have the children hold up fingers to count each of the nine principles while you read paragraph 7 from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” beginning with “Successful marriages and families” and ending with “wholesome recreational activities.” See if they can remember the eighth principle (work). To teach the importance and value of work, tell the following story about President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency. As a young boy, he worked at his parents’ laundry business, delivering laundry before and after school. For many years he had to ride a big, heavy bicycle, pulling a laundry cart up and down the streets of their town. He said: “Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath. Nevertheless, I did my part because I knew we desperately needed the income as a family, and it was my way to contribute.” Dieter knew his hard work as a delivery boy was helping his family. But it wasn’t until many years later that he learned how his hard work helped cure him of a lung disease he never knew he had. He said, “My regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness” (“See the End from the Beginning,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 43).

In Belfast I had two roommates—Carol and Anne. None of us had any extra money. Our apartment was dismal, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, we decided to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. I had seen some of the miseries of the slums and wanted to help.
Our Christmas tree was only two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The food was simple. The gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games, and a package of molding clay.
The children arrived in their best clothes, which were ragged. They stood in a group at the door, afraid to come in. But we coaxed them inside and we played games, told stories, and sang songs until we were decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath dress and high heels that were much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
Then we served the food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating. Most had never had that much food on their plate.
“Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced after we had passed out the toys. “I felt right at home.”
The older girl in the high heels I noticed had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the car for a baby’s picture book. She was trying to rewrap it, but the cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“Would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?” I produced them, wondering. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and explained “Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.
(December 1973, p. 14.)

Hanna twisted the dish towel and snapped it at the imaginary enemy in the middle of the kitchen. “Take that, Black Knight!”
Her friend Ashley leaned against the counter, holding her sides. “That towel makes a silly sword, but I’m sure you finished him off,” she laughed.
Hanna made a cape of the dish towel and put her foot on the imaginary evil knight.
Her mom peeked in. “Speaking of finishing things, girls, if you want me to drop you off at the skating rink, you’ll have to hustle. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”
Ashley jumped. “Let’s hurry.”
“Don’t worry,” said Hanna. “We’ll let the rest soak and drip dry.” She dumped the silverware and utensils into a bowl, squeezed in some soap, and turned on the tap. The mess was soon lost in bubbles. Hanna and Ashley turned over the clean, wet dishes and pots to dry.
“That looks better,” said Hanna. She doubted whether her mom would get angry in front of Ashley.
Hanna’s mom reappeared. She scowled at the dishes, but then smiled. “Well, let’s go.”
In the car, the girls talked about skating backward and about rounding corners on one leg. Hanna stopped in the middle of a sentence when her mom pulled to the curb, reached across their laps, and opened their door.
“What are you doing, Mom? We’re only halfway there. We’ll be late for our lesson.”
“I know,” said her mom.
Hanna looked confused, but Ashley tugged at her friend’s arm. “Come on, we’ll walk the rest of the way.” Then she thanked Hanna’s mom for the ride.
The car pulled away. Hanna stared at Ashley. “Why did you say thank you?”
“That’s just the kind of thing my mom would do. She calls it a ‘consequence,’” answered Ashley. “Remember, we only did half the dishes.”
“Yes, but we were counting on my Mom’s help,” objected Hanna.
“And she was counting on ours.”
“Now you sound like a parent,” Hanna said. She looked betrayed. “Consequence sounds like a fancy word adults would use instead of punishment.”
“In our family it isn’t. We have meetings where everyone decides what rules will make us a good family.” Ashley found it hard to explain. “Come to our family meeting tonight, Hanna. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Right after I do the dishes,” joked Hanna.
That evening Hanna cleaned up quickly. She was curious about family meetings. As she slipped through the gate that separated their yards, she thought about Ashley’s comments.
Ashley invited her in and told her that the family knew that she was there to watch. Then she led her to the kitchen, where the others had gathered. Beth, the oldest of the four children, had a notepad and pen. John was combing his hair, and Eric tapped the table edge as if it were a drum. Ashley’s mom and dad greeted her with smiles.
It doesn’t exactly look like a courtroom, thought Hanna. She took the empty seat and leaned forward.
After a prayer, John started. “Beth borrows my basketball and doesn’t let me know. I don’t mind sharing, but I’d like to be asked.”
“I know how you feel,” said Beth. “Ashley borrows my T-shirts without asking.”
Hanna waited for an argument to start.
“Sometimes we all forget to ask before we borrow. Let’s talk about consequences that would remind us to ask first,” Eric said.
“How about fifty lashes with a wet dish towel?” Ashley winked at Hanna. Everyone laughed. “Seriously,” she went on, “how about, whoever you borrow from gets to claim something of yours for a day?”
Everyone nodded. “That was easy,” said Beth, jotting down the decision.
“Here’s a problem that doesn’t seem simple,” said Ashley’s mom. “What should we do about people being late for dinner?”
“That seems easy to me,” snickered John. “The people who are on time get to eat it all.”
“That’s a consequence,” admitted Ashley’s dad. “But it’s too tough. We could keep a plate of food warm in the oven.”
“Then it would seem like my consequence,” said Mom, “especially if I want to clean up right after dinner.”
“The late person could have to settle for a cold sandwich,” suggested Eric.
“That doesn’t sound like a bad consequence to me.” Hanna wasn’t sure she should participate. Her face reddened. “I love peanut butter sandwiches.”
“Hanna is right,” said Dad. “Sometimes that consequence would seem more like a reward.”
“Mom did say that cleanup is harder if there are stragglers,” said Beth. “I think the consequence should involve cleanup.”
“That’s logical,” agreed John.
Mom smiled too. “How does this sound: anyone who is late for dinner will be responsible for putting away leftovers and clearing the table. And whoever misses the meal does the dishes alone.”
Everyone liked the idea. Beth added it to the family notebook.
“Does anyone else have a problem to work on today?” asked Dad.
“Just one,” said Eric. “I made a carrot cake and some cocoa. Now I have to find someone to eat them.”
“I think,” Hanna said, smiling at Ashley, “that we should get ready for an enjoyable consequence.”

When I was a young boy growing up in a little port town in Normandy, France, I remember reading a book about “Le Far West” that told of the settling of the United States. It described the faith and courage of the Mormon pioneers who had pulled all their belongings across the plains in handcarts. I had seen men on the docks pulling handcarts full of fish, and sometimes it took four or five of them to move the wooden cart. I felt an admiration for the Mormon settlers from that time on.
Little did I know that one day two young Mormons would actually knock on my family’s door. It happened after we had moved to southern France, while I was in high school. These Mormons didn’t look like pioneers at all. They had short hair. They shaved. They even wore suits and ties! They invited me to the English class at their meetinghouse. My parents gave me permission to attend.
I soon found out that these, too, were men to be admired, not necessarily for physical stamina, but for spiritual strength. They would occasionally visit our home, and though my parents made it clear from the start that they were interested only in “social” visits, I quizzed the elders more and more about their church, and I devoured every word of their answers.
My mother was Catholic, my father Jewish. They had always encouraged me to live a good life, to call upon God, and to believe in him. But these young men seemed to know him. I gleaned many ideas from their conversations with my parents, understanding more and more as time went on. If any of my friends laughed at the missionaries or criticized the Church, I sprang to its defense. I don’t think I fully realized it at the time, but I knew in my heart that the missionaries were telling the truth.
Many sets of missionaries visited our home during my high school years, but my parents, though always polite, were not interested in the Church. And I felt too young to take the discussions on my own. I drifted through periods of varying faith. We moved from Nice to Cannes, and I finally lost track of the elders.
Some time later, during a period of intense personal struggle, I found myself once again calling on the Lord. This time I understood that I had to rely on him totally. I felt a warm glow, a real confirmation that there was an Eternal Father watching over me who knew me personally and loved me. Not long after this experience, I was taking a letter to the post office when I saw two missionaries and rushed up to them. “You’re the elders, aren’t you?” I exclaimed, and then I told them about this marvelous feeling I had about my Father in Heaven. They understood completely. “It’s the Holy Ghost bearing testimony to you of the truth,” one of them said.
Then it hit me. I could talk to others about what had happened, I could tell them about my intellectual ideas and spiritual testimonies, and they wouldn’t understand. But the missionaries knew exactly what I was describing, experience by experience. We talked for a long time.
I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briançon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Jean A. Stevens, first counselor in the Primary general presidency, told a story about a boy who had missed the last bus of the day and was walking home (page 81). With many miles left to go, he got scared and knelt to pray. Minutes later, Sister Stevens was prompted by the Spirit to stop and help him. Can you think of times when Heavenly Father answered your prayers? How have you helped answer someone else’s prayer?

Spiritual healing is illustrated in the story of Warren M. Johnson, pioneer ferryman at Lee’s Ferry, Arizona. As a young man, Warren Johnson came west seeking his fortune in gold in the summer of 1866. He became very ill, and his companions left him under a tree in the yard of a family in Bountiful. One of the daughters found him and reported there was a dead man out in the yard. Although he was a complete stranger, this kind family took him in and nursed him back to health. They taught him the gospel, and he was baptized. He eventually ended up as the ferryman at Lee’s Ferry.
In 1891 the Warren Johnson family suffered a great tragedy. Within a period of a short time, they lost four children to diphtheria. All four were buried in a row next to each other. In a letter to President Wilford Woodruff, dated July 29, 1891, Warren told the story:
“Dear Brother …
“In May 1891 a family residing in Tuba City, came here from Richfield Utah, where they … spent the winter visiting friends. At Panguitch they buried a child, … without disinfecting the wagon or themselves, [and] not even stopping to wash the dead child’s clothes, they came to our house, and remained overnight, mingling with my little children. …
“We knew nothing of the nature of the disease, but had faith in God, as we were here on a very hard mission, and had tried as hard as we knew how to obey the word of Wisdom, [to] attend to the other duties of our religion, such as paying [our] tithing, family prayers, etc. etc., that our children would be spared. But alas, in four and a half days [the oldest boy] choked to death in my arms. Two more were taken down with the disease and we fasted and prayed as much as we thought it wisdom as we had many duties to perform here. We fasted [for] twenty-four hours and once I fasted [for] forty hours, but [to] no avail for both my little girls died also. About a week after their death my fifteen year old daughter Melinda was [also] stricken down and we did all we could for her but she [soon] followed the others. … Three of my dear girls and one boy [have] been taken from us, and the end is not yet. My oldest girl nineteen years old is now prostrate [from] the disease, and we are fasting and praying in her behalf today. … I would ask for your faith and prayers in our behalf however. What have we done that the Lord has left us, and what can we do to gain his favor again[?]
“Yours in the gospel
“Warren M. Johnson” (in P. T. Riely, “Warren Marshall Johnson, Forgotten Saint,” Utah Historical Quarterly, Winter 1971, p. 19; spelling modernized).
In a subsequent letter dated August 16, 1891, to his friend Warren Foote, Brother Johnson testified that he had found a spiritual peace:
“I can assure you, however, that it is the hardest trial of my life, but I set out for salvation and am determined that … through the help of Heavenly Father that I [would] hold fast to the iron rod no matter what troubles [came] upon me. I have not slackened in the performance of my duties, and hope and trust that I shall have the faith and prayers of my brethren, that I can live so as to receive the blessings you having authority … placed on my head” (“Autobiography of Warren Foote of Glendale, Kane County, Utah,” vol. 2, 16 Aug. 1891; in LDS Church archives).