Gospel Story Finder

One winter when I was 12, Christmas seemed to be coming too quickly for my family. I know that is hard to believe, especially coming from a 12-year-old, but my father had been out of work for two years and the holiday season was just magnifying the stress for my parents.
Then, on December 1, my family was surprised to find an enormous, red, elaborately decorated Christmas stocking hanging on our front door. Our family name was at the top, and a note was attached to it that said, “On the first day of Christmas, a giant Christmas to stocking to get you in the mood.” Naturally we were all bewildered about our secret friend, but we had no idea how he would change that Christmas for us.
The following evening, two large loaves of pumpkin bread magically appeared. They were devoured by our happy family of seven in just a few minutes. We kids decided that the third day wouldn’t pass without discovering who our secret pal was. But on that third day, just as the lookout checked the doorstep, he found a three-car gingerbread train waiting for him. We were baffled as to how it had been delivered without discovery. For the next nine days our house radiated excitement as we waited and watched for the day’s surprise. We received ornaments, dinner, and fruit, but the greatest gift came on the 12th day.
On our doorstep we found a 12-piece, handmade nativity scene, just perfect for keeping the Christmas spirit in our home. It was also a little confusing, however, because the note with this last present didn’t reveal our friend’s identity. It just told us thank you for making this holiday season one of the best. I couldn’t understand that note for a long time—not until I was able to give some service myself.

Julia wiped her brow. Then she picked up her shovel and started digging. Right now, the ground around her was a patch of dirt. But soon it would become a beautiful garden.
Times were hard for Black people in South Africa. Laws there kept Blacks and Whites separate. Many Black people had been forced to leave their homes and live in certain areas away from White people, and they couldn’t vote. There had been violence in the township where Julia lived, and the schools were closed because of it. Sometimes it was dangerous to be outside.
But that didn’t stop Julia. She wanted to do something to bring goodness to her community. That’s why she was starting a garden.
Some children saw Julia working. “Can we help?” they asked.
“Of course,” said Julia. She handed them each a shovel. She showed them how to loosen the soil and dig up weeds.
“Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us,” she said. “Love comes only by forgiving others.”
Weeks passed, and more plants grew. Other people came to work in the garden. They pulled tall weeds. They planted more seeds. They watered the plants. It made Julia happy to see so many people helping.
One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”
Thirteen years after Julia’s baptism, the laws separating Black people and White people in South Africa ended.
There are almost 70,000 members of the Church in South Africa today.
South Africa has 11 official languages.
Julia helped start Women for Peace, a group to promote unity and peace in South Africa.
She was one of the first temple workers in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
Julia was a teacher. She taught children to read when they worked in her garden.

In this picture, I’m reading a story to my brother. I like reading a lot! I am in the third grade. I also like mathematics and drawing. One of my classmates is not a member of the Church, but I taught her about the Word of Wisdom and told her to drink milk instead of coffee or tea. I also taught her how to pray to Heavenly Father, since she didn’t know. I also invited her to family home evening at my house.

One bright, fall afternoon when my BYU classes were over, I was rummaging through the freezer, searching for something microwavable, when I heard footsteps tromping up the iron staircase just outside the front door.
With three tremendous blows and before waiting for a reply, Paul swung open the door.
Paul lived in the apartment directly below mine. He was one of those professional study types who always had some interesting project going.
“I’ll be feeding the snake in about five minutes,” he reported.
Here I was at college where I thought everyone was supposed to be studious and intellectual, and this guy was asking me if I wanted to watch a python named Monty devour a live rat.
“I’m on my way,” I announced. I was only 18. I figured I was entitled.
I followed Paul down into his apartment. Five or six other guys were already huddled in a circle like a football team waiting to get the next play. The subject of their attention was a large aquarium about the size of a bathtub. There was some sand and a few sticks propped up against the glass walls, and a winding, multicolored figure piled in one corner. This was Monty.
“Are you sure he’s hungry?”
“Yeah, just wait,” Paul reassured us.
He armed himself with a thick ski glove and reached for a wooden box sitting on the desk. Gently opening the lid, Paul slipped his gloved hand in, grabbing the rat by the tail. Nobody said a word during this procedure.
As Paul let the rat dangle over the serpent, I felt almost disappointed in myself for being so anxious to witness such a gruesome thing. But I kept on watching.
“Here it goes,” he said. As the rat bolted to the opposite end of the cage from the snake, our huddle squeezed a little tighter in anticipation of a terrible struggle.
Nothing happened.
One of the spectators shook the cage a bit, another blew on the snake in hopes of arousing it. Still nothing.
I could feel the disappointment of everyone as Monty remained motionless. A small murmur of dissatisfaction grew into loud exclamations of “he’s not even hungry!” and “I knew he couldn’t eat that big rat!”
“Be patient!” Paul said. “It takes time.”
So we dug in, watching and waiting. The huddle broke up. Some sat down on the bed, others on the floor.
Finally, after about ten minutes the python showed signs of life. The rat remained in the opposite corner trying to jump out, but the walls were too high. Slowly, Monty raised his head and turned smoothly toward the rat. With his forked tongue working methodically, the serpent began inching his way to his victim.
The audience’s interest was again piqued.
When the python had come within a foot of its prey, the rat dashed to the other end. We again formed a circle, thinking that now the real chase would begin.
But Monty was patient. He slithered around so he would again be facing his goal, and with determination made his serpentine way at a slow, calculated pace toward the defenseless rat.
This continued for about the next 20 minutes—the snake would advance until the rat was sufficiently threatened to bolt to the other end. I noticed though that each time the python advanced, the rat would allow it to get a fraction closer. Because Monty did not appear violent or vicious, but gentle and soothing, the rat seemed almost hypnotized into believing that the snake wasn’t so bad.
Some of the guys began to leave, claiming to have studying to do or papers to write. But I was fascinated with the drama. It was no longer just the violence of watching a snake kill its prey. There seemed to be something personal about the whole encounter.
Forty-five minutes had passed from the time Paul dropped the rat into the aquarium. Monty was now getting within an inch of the rat’s pink nose before it scampered away. Each time, with unrelenting patience, the serpent turned and followed. His forked tongue still lashing, Monty went right up and touched the rat, nose to nose. It had made a new friend.
ZAP! In a split second, he seized the rat’s throat, twisted around its body, and squeezed out its life. We watched in awe as he swallowed it whole.
Not much was said when the group broke up. Some thanked Paul as they went out the door. I was the last one to leave, still watching the lump in the snake’s side.
As I made my way up the iron staircase, I didn’t feel like eating much any more. The whole thing had been so devious and crooked. I thought about it the rest of the day. In bed that night, I began to draw some parallels between the rat and some of my friends—and more frighteningly between the rat and myself.

I especially remember one occasion growing up in Hong Kong. My brother and I were returning from school during the aftermath of a severe tropical storm. The trail that we usually followed had been covered by a mud slide. Being the resourceful young boys that we were, we decided that nothing could keep us from going home. On a nearby steep hillside was a drainage pipe situated quite high above the rocky ground. If we were to get to our village, we would need to walk along that pipe. The pipe was suspended over a stream which, although normally small, had turned into a rushing torrent of mud and water. Carrying our school bags, we went up the hill and continued our expedition.
We both began cautiously treading along the narrow, slippery drainage pipe. As I approached the other side, I looked back to see how my brother was doing. I was startled to see that he was only halfway across and had come to a complete stop. He, being older and wiser, had realized what a precarious perch we were on and had instinctively frozen in his tracks, unable to continue. It was a terrifying moment for us as we realized the danger he was in, paralyzed by fear, perched there on a slippery, narrow drainage pipe suspended above a torrential river.
Then I got a big surprise. I heard the loudest scream for help I have ever heard in my life. His incredible bellow echoed through the hills and valleys. Luckily, Aunt Gu Ma was working in the fields below and heard us. She came quickly to his rescue. She lovingly guided him along and led us both home to safety.

There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him. And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”12 The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.

One woman felt she had little or no light in her life. Her husband spent three days of each week traveling out of town because of his work. This left her home alone to manage their house and two small children. She was just nineteen when they were married. She had almost no experience in caring for young children, and certainly felt no confidence in handling her own. She often found their demands and the pressing household duties overwhelming. In her frustration, she grew increasingly harsh with them until her abusive behavior became frightening, even to herself. Feeling alone, ashamed, and inadequate, she was often in the depths of despair. What light did the gospel offer to her?
She and her husband considered themselves good members of the Church. But what difference did that make when the children were crying, the laundry piled higher and higher, the letter from her mother remained unanswered, and the dress she was to make this week for her husband’s company party lay unfinished on the sewing machine? All these frustrations spoke so loudly the discouragement of the present. They made the blessings of the gospel seem very far away.
Fortunately, there were those who helped her learn to apply the principles of the gospel in solving many of her problems. Her visiting teachers, responding to her anxiety over her children, brought a special toy for each child. They had carefully selected playthings that an adult could use with a child in a delightful but problem-solving way. They took time to show the mother how to relate to her children through activity. She was surprised to find how happy and responsive the children were. They began to look forward to a playtime association with their mother. She realized that she was providing for their needs through play, and that they were becoming more relaxed with her.
Because of the relationship they were establishing through their activities together, the children were more willing to do as their mother asked—to pick up their clothes, put their toys away, and take their naps. This, in turn, helped her have more time to organize her other responsibilities. She learned to be considerate of her children and sensitive to their concerns. She has continued giving the children this special attention each day. Love in this home is now more than a concept; it is the way they respond to each other’s needs.

Sister Puati T. Odile from Kinshasa, DRC, saw this principle unfold in her life. After completing a self-reliance course, she says “I had the idea to expand my Congolese restaurant.” She decided to take a cooking course. “I deepened my knowledge of gastronomy, so I learned more about international cooking. I can now offer Asian, American, European, and African cooking,” says Sister Odile. “The class helped us because we can earn more money.” Nowadays, “We are autonomous; we lack nothing. We pay our tithing and offerings and help all our families,” she says.

“I ran a 5K last Saturday with some of the most wonderful women and men at the Utah YSA conference ‘Together in Christ.’ I was touched by the Spirit of that evening. We had so much fun and felt energized as we gathered together and talked of Christ and ran near His holy house. Several analogies stood out to me that I wanted to share with you.
“First, we were meant to run at our own pace.
“My goal for this 5K was to keep running, don’t stop, and finish (keeping the pressure low!). As I prepared, I realized I could go much farther if I ran at my pace and was consistent. In this beautiful run, some people ran fast, some ran slow, some walked, and some pushed friends or family in wheelchairs. It was not about who came in first or last, but it was about encouraging each other to keep going, doing it together, and finishing.
“Your pace and progress is between you and the Lord. And I think He’s not so much concerned about your placement in comparison to the person ahead of you or behind you. Rather, I think He’s focused on helping you to keep going wherever you are in your personal journey back home to Him. So find and enjoy the pace that works for you, and let Heavenly Father and the Savior strengthen and enlighten your steps!
“Second, we run better together!
“I loved meeting and running with so many incredible disciples of the Savior! With others beside me, I felt motivated to keep going, and the distance didn’t feel as long. One sister said to me, ‘I can run so much better with you!’ I loved that we cheered each other on. Helping others along the way actually gave us the motivation to keep going. I somehow had the breath to visit while running and felt as though I could’ve kept on going. I think that was because of who I was running with and Who we were really running for. We were gathering together in Christ.
“And just as we lifted and encouraged each other in this 5K run, the Savior often works through others in this mortal run to lift our burdens and give us strength, encouragement, safety, comfort, and increased joy. He gives us relief through those that run beside us.
“The last leg was long and uphill and directly toward the Saratoga Springs Utah Temple, which was glowing in the night. I won’t soon forget the comradery and love offered and received as we pressed our way to the finish. May we strengthen each other and feel increased joy as we run this journey together in Christ.”
Sister Kristin M. Yee, Facebook, Aug. 18, 2023, facebook.com/RS2ndCounselor.

My mom took my little brother and me to a fun water park. While we were playing, a boy kept throwing a ball at my brother and me. We tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t stop throwing the ball at us. We played somewhere else, but he found us. I decided that I would try to make him stop. I found the boy, said hi, and stuck out my hand. “Peace?” I asked. The boy looked a little shocked and shook my hand. He said “Peace” back to me. He did not bother us anymore. I felt good that I made the decision to be brave and to be kind to the boy, just like I imagined Jesus would have done.

When Dale was 11, his father, a skilled carpenter and builder, was called to serve as a building missionary in Sweden for three years. The family spent time in Helsinki, Finland, and Gothenburg, Sweden. They attended a small branch of the Church, and the children attended Swedish public schools. Dale’s sister Anita M. Renlund, who is one year younger than her brother, recalls one of the difficulties in the transition: “This was initially a shock to us because, even though we spoke Swedish at home, we did not know the grammar or spelling of the language.” As a boy Dale had a testimony-strengthening experience after reading the Book of Mormon. The mission president in Sweden had invited the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood to read the Book of Mormon, so Dale’s older brother, Gary, who was 12 at the time, accepted the challenge. Eleven-year-old Dale also took the challenge. After reading the Book of Mormon, he prayed and asked if it was true. Elder Renlund recalls, “I had a distinct impression: ‘I’ve been telling you all along that it’s true.’ And that was an amazing experience.” Dale and his siblings—Gary, Anita, and Linda—remember that when the family moved back to the United States, they continued to speak and pray in Swedish. They also recall their parents’ remarkable emphasis on scripture knowledge. They said, “The best way to make a point with our parents was by using scriptures.” Anita jokes, “Knowing the scriptures in our family was a survival skill; it was not optional.” Remarkably, both Gary and Dale were called to serve in the Swedish Mission at the same time. They were never companions, but both were able to use their Swedish-speaking skills to serve the Lord as missionaries for over two years. Elder Renlund describes his mission as a lot of work but a wonderful experience: “It was life-changing in terms of commitment and deciding to do the best one can to be a disciple of Christ.”

“When I was young, I felt a lot like you do right now. I wanted to do something really important in my life.
“My pa, your great-grandfather, died when I was about your age. This old Bible was his. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I opened it and for the first time noticed certain scriptures he’d underlined. One in particular made me do some hard thinking. I thought you might like to read it.”
He handed the old Bible to me. It was opened to the second chapter of Luke. I recognized it immediately as the Christmas story. In the light from the fire I could see that the pages were yellowed and wrinkled from years of use. My eyes went to the underlined verses, and I read: “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. …”
As I read on, the familiar words began to take on new meaning. At last I closed the book and carefully handed it back to my grandpa.
He fingered it lovingly. “My pa was a sheepman, and his pa before him,” he said. “I’m proud to have followed in their footsteps.”
Grandpa rose then and left me. I sat alone for a long time, gazing up at the sky. Those were the same stars that had shone that night so long ago, along with that one very special star.
The rest of that summer passed swiftly, and before I knew it, I was back in school. My friends teased me a lot about being a sheepherder, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew something they’d probably never know.
Not long before Christmas Grandpa had another heart attack, and a few days later he died. I was devastated. Never again would I be able to go with him to the summer sheep camp.
Christmas morning at our house was quieter than usual because we were all thinking about Grandpa. I, for one, knew I’d never forget him. As we gathered around the tree, Dad handed me a package. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I wasn’t in the mood for presents. I think he could tell, because he urged me to open it.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was the old Bible. Inside was a brief note from Grandpa. “I thought you might like this,” was all it said. So simple, and so like him.
As I stared at it, I had the feeling that Grandpa was there, watching me, waiting for my reaction. I smiled and pressed the Bible close to me. There were other presents waiting under the tree for me, but I knew none of them would top Grandpa’s Bible.

May I tell a little story? More than half a century ago, I was standing on a little railway station platform in Cardston, Canada. I was leaving for England on a mission. My saintly mother stood there with me and held my hand. This is what she said. “Hugh, my son, do you remember when you were a little boy you often had bad dreams, nightmares, and you called out to me as I was sleeping in the next room: ‘Mother, Mother, are you there?’ Do you remember I always said, ‘Yes, my son, I’m here. Just turn over and go to sleep. Everything is all right.’” She said, “My boy, five thousand miles must now separate us, across a continent and an ocean. You are not going to have bad dreams only at night, but many times, in the daytime, you are going to want to call for help and comfort. Son, when you are beset with difficulties, when you meet temptation, when you are confused and don’t know where to go, call out and say, ‘Father, are you there?’” She said, “My boy, I promise you He will always answer and you need not fear.”
My dear sisters, through the intervening years, countless occasions have arisen where men could not help me much, when I felt alone, where I had a nightmare with my eyes wide open. I have taken the advice of my mother and have said, “Father, are you there?” Now He has not spoken to me audibly; He has not appeared to me personally; but He has always answered me. There has come into my heart a quiet peace which enabled me to know that I could, figuratively, turn over and go to sleep.
Hugh B. BrownThe Abundant Life (Bookcraft 1965) pp. 202–3.

When I was about six or seven, I wanted to know if the scriptures were true. My mom said I needed to pray and find out for myself. I did, and I felt really warm inside. I know that the scriptures are true. I have a testimony that Jesus Christ suffered for our sins and that He helped many people. I also have a testimony of Joseph Smith. I know that the Church is true. I will always be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I was born and brought up in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. As a young child, my family and I attended church and I was an altar boy. (This is where I learned to speak English.) We attended regularly, but over time I became discouraged with religion and promised myself that I would never be a part of an organized religion again.
As an adult I lived on the streets. I ate and clothed myself from items I found in rubbish bins. I worked at recycling but became deeply involved in the slum culture of drugs—selling and smoking marijuana on a regular basis. I married but struggled to care for and provide for my wife.
One day, as I was going through the recyclables, I came across a book. It was the Book of Mormon. It was dirty and soiled, so I threw it back into the bin and went on with my work. Sometime later, I was going through a different recyclables bin and came upon the very same book. It was still in poor shape, but I thought it might have some value if I were to sell it to someone—so I threw it in with my pile of recyclables.
Then the rainy season came—and one day, when returning to my pile of goods, there was the Book of Mormon sitting right on the very top, rinsed clean by the rains. The pages had been washed and were fluttering dry in the breeze. It was in much better condition than I had first found it. At that moment it struck me that this book was in some way “self-preserving”—especially since it had crossed into my life now three times. I decided to take it home, where I put in on a small shelf in my shack. There it sat for almost a year.
One day as I was spraying insecticide in my shack, I moved a few items and again noticed the book. This time I opened it and read the cover page. Then the next page and the next and the next. I was intrigued by the story of the angel Moroni appearing to the young boy Joseph Smith. I read a little further and found myself completely engrossed. For the next ten days I read the book, and for some curious reason I felt a strong urge to stop smoking marijuana. Reading the book took my mind off my need for the drug. My skin started itching and burning—and I could not sleep. But as I read the Book of Mormon, this agony was relieved, and I kept reading.
I got to 3 Nephi 27 and read: “Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.
“And how be it my church save it be called in my name? For if a church be called in Moses’ name then it be Moses’ church; or if it be called in the name of a man then it be the church of a man; but if it be called in my name then it is my church, if it so be that they are built upon my gospel” (3 Nephi 27:7–8).
That’s it I thought! I must look for a church that goes by the name of Jesus Christ. But no matter how long I searched, I could not find it. For seven years, I continued my quest. My friends kept trying to get me to return to my old lifestyle and smoke with them, but I refused—for I had given that life up for good!
By this time, I had become employed as a security guard. One Sunday—on election day—I went to vote during my lunch hour. As I got to the Catholic Church building where the voting was being held, I noticed a placard directing members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to meet at a certain location for transport to a conference some distance away. I literally ran to this place and caught the last man getting on the bus. “Where is this church?” I asked him. “I want to be a member!” The man gave me contact information for the missionaries and took my telephone number. He said he would pass my information along to the elders.
A few days later, I received a call from a good missionary, Elder Egbert Brandin. He and his companion came and taught me about the plan of salvation—and I knew immediately that this is the true Church of God. Shortly afterward, I entered the waters of baptism and was washed clean—just like my copy of the Book of Mormon.

by Elder Craig BarrOhio Columbus Mission
Every year there is a big celebration down in Elkins, West Virginia, called the Forest Festival. To take part in the festival missionaries in the past have set up a display about some aspect of the Church. This year we decided to really do a good job.
Our display consisted of a giant painting of the Washington D.C. Temple. In fact, it was 8-by-12 feet and was painted by an artist in the branch in Elkins. To go with the painting, we obtained a tent 20-by-40 feet from the Army Reserve Depot at Charleston, West Virginia. We set up the tent behind the painting and showed movies to festival visitors. We ran Man’s Search for Happiness, Meet the Mormons, and The New Landmark, a film on the Washington D.C. Temple. On each side of the entrance we placed a display board and pamphlets. These were centered on the family, the family home evening program, and temple work. Floodlights were also set up. There was a blue light in front of the painting to enhance the beauty of the temple and white lights on the side to offset the color and light the display boards. The title of our booth was Why Families and Why Temples?
For four days we had from two to four missionaries at the booth. The response that we received was tremendous. We were kept busy day and night. Many people stopped and commented on the painting, and many others asked for pamphlets and wanted to see the movies. Others requested to hear the missionary lessons or signed our guest register and asked us to come and see them after the festival was over.
The last day there was a parade, and the special guest was President Gerald R. Ford. He stopped and waved to us when he saw the painting of the temple.
We closed down the booth that same evening. When we reflected back over those hurried days, we could see what a great success the booth had been. We had received over 40 referrals and many other verbal referrals. We had come in contact with people who requested that the missionaries come to their homes. Now we are busy teaching and are very grateful for the response that we had. We are especially grateful to those who donated time and talents to help make the display a success.

We had a Young Women’s conference, and a sister talked about this very subject. She had us walk into a messy room with pictures that were not uplifting. Then she took us into another room that was organized and had uplifting pictures and sayings. The difference in atmosphere and feeling in each room was amazing. A clean, organized room can bring the Spirit of the Lord.
Heather Holmes, 15Milan, New Mexico

It was the second day of the Wyoming state track and field meet, and I was a nervous wreck. I could barely eat my breakfast that morning, and I had never been so nervous in all three years of my high school track career. I was one of the favorites to win the 2A girls’ 800-meter dash, along with Patricia. She had the fastest time of the season and was my main competition. If anyone was to beat her, it was me.
As I warmed up for my race on a nearby practice field, I silently prayed to my Father in Heaven for help with my race. I also thanked Him for all my blessings before silently closing my prayer. Saying prayers before my races had become a habit when I started racing in high school. I knew if I put forth my best effort, the Lord would extend a hand and help me.
I continued warming up but still felt nervous and sick to my stomach. A few minutes before my race, I fervently prayed again. This time I only asked the Lord to let me know that He loved me and that He would be there for me.
Almost simultaneously, I felt as if the Lord wrapped his arms around me and gave me a warm hug. Tears began stinging my eyes as the Spirit touched me. I realized that the Lord really did love and care about me. It was one of the most wonderful feelings anyone can ever experience.
I didn’t win the race that day, but I was taught an important lesson. I now know that God hears and answers prayers, and that He loves me very much.

A New Dawn(Deseret Book $7.95)Jack Weyland

In his delightful way, Jack Weyland brings another unforgettable character to life in his new novel. Dawn a prize-winning, eccentric graduate student and physicist, finds answers to problems that even Einstein couldn’t solve. But the harassment of news-hungry reporters sends her fleeing for cover. She hides behind a new identity at Brigham Young University, where she falls in love, finds a new faith and learns to cook spaghetti.

Some time ago several outstanding teachers were honored at the general Sunday School conference. It was my privilege to pay a tribute to a Sunday School teacher of my boyhood days—Lucy Gertsch Thomson.
Lucy was lovely and ever so sweet. She was deserving of a worthy companion. Yet such success evaded her. The years flew by, and Lucy reached the worrisome 20s, the desperate 30s, even the frightful 40s—and then she met Dick. It was a case of love at first sight.
Just one problem—Dick was not a member of the Church. Did Lucy succumb to the age-old fallacy of marrying out of desperation, with the fleeting hope that one day he would become a member? Not Lucy. She was wiser than this. She simply told Dick: “Dick, I think you’re wonderful, but we would never be happy dating together.”
“Why not?” he countered.
“Because you’re not a Mormon.”
“How do I become a Mormon? I want to date you.” He studied the gospel.
She answered his questions. He was baptized.
Then he said, “Lucy, now that I’m a member, we can be married at last.”
Lucy replied, “Oh, Dick, I love you so much. Now that you are a member of the Church, you wouldn’t be content with anything but a temple marriage.”
“How long will that take, Lucy?”
“About a year, if we meet the other requirements.” One year later Lucy and Dick entered the House of the Lord. Lucy lived the truth of the verse:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone;
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
Plan your future with purpose.