Gospel Story Finder

Justina sat extra tall in her seat. She placed her new pencils right at the top of her desk. Today was the first day of school. She’d met her classmates and drawn a fun picture.
Then Mrs. Werner said, “Time to work on writing!” Mrs. Werner handed out papers to the class. “You have 30 minutes to work on this. Then we’ll go to recess.”
Justina gulped. “Oh no. Writing already?” she thought.
Last year Justina had a hard time with reading and writing. All of her friends seemed to like it. It wasn’t so hard for them. What if this year was like last year all over again?
Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach sank. All the other students were writing. Except for her.
She wanted to talk to Mrs. Werner. Would she be mad that Justina was having trouble? Even if she was, that still sounded better than writing.
Justina walked to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Werner? This is harder than what I did last year. I don’t think I can do it.”
Mrs. Werner didn’t look upset. She smiled at Justina. “Do what you can. You might be surprised at what you can do! You can’t always choose what you’re good at. But you can always choose how hard you try.”
Justina walked back to her desk. She thought about what Mrs. Werner said. “I can choose to try.” That was like what she learned in Primary. Her class read a scripture that said we are “free to choose.” That meant we could make our own choices. Heavenly Father trusts us to make good choices. He promises to help us when we make mistakes.
Could school be different this year? Maybe she could choose to make it different! Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach relaxed. “OK. I’m going to do this,” she thought.
The recess bell rang. Justina wasn’t finished yet. But she was more than halfway done! She raised her hand. “Can I stay and keep working? I’m so close to being done!”
Mrs. Werner smiled and nodded.
Justina finally handed in her paper. Her hand ached a little bit. Even her brain hurt! But she was smiling. She had never worked so hard on writing before.
The next day the class worked on reading. Mrs. Werner asked everyone to read for 20 minutes. Justina tried again. She opened her book and sounded out the words.
Justina started making choices every day. She chose to read. She chose to write. Maybe reading and writing weren’t so bad!
She even chose to go to the library. She checked out books. Last year she would have never done that. Soon she was reading all the time. And it was actually fun! And the more she read, the better she got at writing.
When Justina got older, she was glad she chose to work hard in reading and writing. Because now those were some of her favorite things to do.

I am reminded of a little village called Panacaxtlán, situated where the coastal plains meet the mountains of central Mexico, just a few kilometers off the Vía Corta (the short route) between Mexico City and Tampico, Tamaulipas. The village is situated in a lush, green, humid area known as the Huasteca, and the inhabitants are sons and daughters of Lehi. In 1979, while I was serving as president in the Mexico Mexico City North Mission, missionaries began proselyting in the Huasteca. Fifty-two people joined the Church in Panacaxtlán, along with about 400 others in nearby communities that formed the new Tempoal Mexico District.
A short time later, a meeting was called in Panacaxtlán at which Church members were given the following options: denounce the Church, leave the village, or be killed (not an idle threat).
The members, particularly the women, said they knew the Church to be true and would not denounce it. They also indicated they had worked just as hard as the rest of the community to secure their homesteads, and they would not leave. Boldly stepping forward, they told their taunters if they were going to kill them, to get on with it. The moment grew tense as machetes were raised, then finally lowered while the Latter-day Saints stood up for that which the Spirit had testified to them to be true.
These Saints eventually learned, as most of us do, that it is harder to live the gospel day by day than to die for it in an instant, but their early commitment came because the Spirit had touched their hearts and changed their lives. Their conversion had taken place as the Book of Mormon helped build their faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. They learned that Christ had visited their ancestors in the Americas after His Resurrection, and they were grateful for the blessings available to all our Father’s children because Heavenly Father had sent His Son. Like the Saints of New Testament times, those members in Panacaxtlán had developed faith sufficient to withstand the persecutions of people whose minds were closed.

Isabelle was happy that it was spring. She liked to listen to the birds. She liked to play in the green grass.
Isabelle was happy it was time for Easter. She knew Easter was a special day. On Easter we celebrate when Jesus came back to life.
In Primary, Sister Martin gave crayons to all the children in class. She asked them to draw the greatest gift Heavenly Father gave them.
Michael drew a picture of his family.
Eliza drew a picture of her friend.
Anthony drew a picture of his house.
Isabelle looked at the drawings. They were very good.
Isabelle thought about what she should draw. She was happy to have a family. She was happy to have friends. She was happy to have a house.
Then Isabelle thought about another gift that Heavenly Father gave all people. He gave everyone the gift of a Savior. Isabelle picked up her crayons. She drew a picture of Jesus Christ.
Sister Martin asked Isabelle what she drew.
“I drew a picture of Jesus,” Isabelle said. “He is the greatest gift.”

“He grew up on a farm where one of his main chores was tending the pigs his father raised. He has many ribbons from the state fair that were won by his prize-winning pigs. One time, however, these pigs caused him some embarrassment. While he was at school one day, some of them got out of their pen and his mother was very upset about it. She called the school and had them announce the pigs’ escape over the school’s intercom system. She asked that her son be sent home immediately to find his lost pigs. Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy about everyone in the school hearing about his wayward pigs.”

On another occasion the Spirit came to my assistance as I was editing a casebook on a legal subject. A casebook consists of several hundred court opinions, together with explanatory material and text written by the editor. My assistant and I had finished almost all of the work on the book, including the necessary research to assure that these court opinions had not been reversed or overruled. Just before sending it to the publisher, I was leafing through the manuscript and a particular court opinion caught my attention. As I looked at it, I had a profoundly uneasy feeling. I asked my assistant to check that opinion again to see if everything was in order. He reported that it was. In a subsequent check of the completed manuscript, I was again stopped at that case, again with great feelings of uneasiness. This time I went to the law library myself. There, in some newly received publications, I discovered that this case had just been reversed on appeal. If that opinion had been published in my casebook, it would have been a serious professional embarrassment. I was saved by the restraining power of revelation.

Many years ago, our 15-year-old son Eric suffered a serious head injury. Seeing him in a coma for over a week broke our hearts. The doctors told us they were uncertain about what would happen next. Obviously, we were thrilled when he began to regain consciousness. We thought now everything was going to be fine, but we were mistaken.
When he awoke, he could not walk or talk or feed himself. Worst of all, he had no short-term memory. He could remember most everything before the accident, but he had no ability to remember events after, even things which had happened only minutes earlier.
For a time, we worried we would have a son locked in the mind of a 15-year-old. Things had come very easily to our son before the accident. He was athletic, popular, and did very well in school. Before, his future seemed bright; now we worried he may not have much of a future, at least one he could remember. He now struggled to relearn very, very basic skills. This was a very humbling time for him. It was also a very humbling time for his parents.
Honestly, we wondered how such a thing could happen. We had always strived to do the right things. Living the gospel had been a high priority for our family. We couldn’t understand how something so painful could happen to us. We were driven to our knees as it soon became apparent his rehabilitation would take months, even years. More difficult still was the gradual realization he would not be as he was before.
During this time, many tears were shed and our prayers became even more heartfelt and sincere. Through the eyes of humility, we gradually began to see the small miracles which our son experienced during this painful time. He began making gradual improvement. His attitude and outlook were very positive.
Today, our son Eric is married to a wonderful companion, and they have five beautiful children. He is a passionate educator and contributor to his community, as well as the Church. Most important, he continues to live in the same spirit of humility he gained long ago.

Years later, at the far side of Oslo, Norway, a tall, fair-haired Otto Monson could see his destination a stately mansion. The day was pleasantly warm, and it felt good to be out.
After half an hour Otto decided the walk to the mansion would take longer than he had time for. Not wanting to be late, he turned off the main road and cut through a maze of narrow back streets in the poorer part of the city. A short distance from the mansion he came to a lone row of houses.
It was a rule in the mission that missionaries were to speak Norwegian, and it had been over a year since Otto had heard a word of spoken English. He was passing close to one of the small houses when he heard a commanding voice in English:
“Go into that house,” it demanded.
Otto stopped, his face a little pale. He looked around; there was no one in sight. The streets were vacant. Why go in there? he thought. He seriously doubted if anyone could live in that rotting shack. Looking around he continued walking. As he walked, the voice, now small but strong, repeated the command.
“Go into that house.”
I have another appointment, he thought. Besides, what could be more important than an appointment with the wealthiest man in Oslo, an educated man, a man of importance, a man of influence?
Two days before, the man had contacted President Christopherson, the president of the Norwegian Mission, and asked if someone could come and explain the principles of the LDS doctrine to him. Otto, a clerk in the mission offices, had felt a sense of pride when President Christopherson asked him to go. How could he stop now? He couldn’t be late.
“Go into that house,” the voice repeated.
Otto could see the gate of the mansion when he stopped and turned back. I must be crazy, he thought. I’ll bet no one even lives there.
He knocked on the door of the shack. From inside the building he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of boards. His skin shivered. The door swung inward on leather hinges, and the sallow face of an old, old woman appeared. She looked as old as time itself, he thought. She smelled of sickness and old age, and he knew from her appearance that she was near death, but she looked up and smiled at him, a little painfully. He could sense a terrible loneliness in her. A loneliness that pricked at his conscience so deeply and painfully that he wanted to turn and run, to get away from her sight, from the warm, brown eyes.
“Yes?” she said; her voice was weak but pleasant sounding.
Otto wondered what he should say or do.
“I’m from America,” he said. It was all he could think of.
“I once knew a boy who went to America,” she said.
“What was his name?” Otto asked politely, wondering what he was doing here when he was late for another appointment, an important appointment. He wanted to tell her he had made a mistake, that he had knocked on the wrong door.
“His name,” she said, with a warm, faraway look in her eyes, “was Christian, Christian Monson, but that was a long time ago, nearly 50 years.”
Otto felt a burning humbling excitement flood unexpectedly over his body at the sound of the name. Breathless, he asked what her name was. It couldn’t be, he thought, not after all these years!
“I am Mrs. Hotvedtvien,” she answered.
Otto felt an indescribable pleasure deep inside, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks.
“I am Otto Monson; Christian Monson is my father, and I know you well, Ann Hotvedtvien, very well.”
The street was quiet. It seemed to Otto that time stood still. Then, suddenly, he felt the boney arms of the old woman embrace him, heard her crying softly, and felt the terrible loneliness leave her.
Later Otto learned from her that not long after Christian left for America, the Hotvedtviens moved from Drammen to Oslo. The letters Christian sent from America never found them. Five years after they moved, Moen Hotvedtvien became ill and died. Since then his wife had been alone, and for the last few years she had been sick and unable to earn a living. There was no one to help. She said she had been afraid she would die alone and had prayed for help.
Otto visited the old woman often, saw that she was cared for, arranged for her to have a good house to live in, good food, and medicine. Several months later she died, but she didn’t die alone or without love.

A few days later Richie loaded up his pillow and sleeping bag into the backseat of the station wagon. He ran into the house. “Come on, Mom. It’s time!”
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Mom, Uncle Dave said five thirty, and it’s five twenty-seven now. Let’s go!”
“OK!” Mom smiled. “I think someone is excited about his first camping trip.”
Mom dropped Richie off at his cousins’ house and gave him a hug and kiss good-bye. “Now, be sure to tell Uncle Dave thank you for letting you join them. Dress warm tonight, and be careful.”
Richie waved good-bye, anxious to leave for the camp-out. Soon he and his cousins were traveling up the narrow road that wound through the green canyon. Once they reached the camping ground, they all worked together to set up the tent and build a fire.
Richie marveled at the green fir trees that reached up into the sky. The sky grew dark, and twinkling stars appeared. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” he told his cousin Todd. “It’s like I just took a pair of dark glasses off and can really see what’s in the sky.”
“You can see so many stars now because we’re away from the lights of the city,” Todd explained. “City lights usually drown out most of the stars.”
After a tinfoil dinner of hamburgers and potatoes, everyone gathered to sing around the fire while Uncle Dave played his guitar. The smell from the campfire clung to Richie’s sweatshirt. The soothing sound of the music and a full stomach made it difficult for him to stay awake. He had to fight to keep his eyes open.
“It looks like you are all having a hard time staying awake,” Uncle Dave said. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Come on, Richie, let’s hit the sack,” Todd called. Richie followed him and Douglas into the tent. He snuggled into his fluffy red sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep.
A few hours later Richie awoke with a start. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness, then remembered that he wasn’t in his bedroom but in a tent. The only sound was the steady hum of the crickets outside. His stomach felt queasy as the dream he had just had came back to him. I wish I was home, he thought. I wish I was in my own bed and that I could go get Dad.
He looked around. No one else in the tent was awake. Richie shivered. He didn’t want to wake Todd or Douglas. They were older, and he didn’t want them to think he was a crybaby. Still, the gnawing in his stomach didn’t go away, and the darkness seemed to surround him.
Thoughts of black bears and hungry mountain lions with fiery eyes filled his mind and added to the fear he already felt from his dream. If Dad were here, we could …
Richie quietly pulled himself onto his knees. “Heavenly Father,” he whispered into the darkness, “please help me to not be afraid. …”
When he finished his prayer, he felt warm and safe. As he climbed back into his cozy sleeping bag, he thought, I’m so glad that even if Dad isn’t here, I have another Father who can help, a Father who is always just a prayer away.

A mother of a son with special needs says: “When we moved to a new ward, I called the bishop to see if there was a class for Adam. I called back several times, but no one ever contacted me. My visiting teachers and home teachers began to ask why we weren’t attending. Again we asked if someone could help us with our problem. But as time went on and no one responded, we began to drift away from the Church. My husband and I were divorced, and I began to go to another church because they had a class each Sunday for special children. Anyone of any faith was welcome.”

Fortunately, this good woman later met and married a man who was contacted by the missionaries and joined the Church. The family moved to a new area where the leaders responded to the needs of the son, and the whole family has now been sealed in the temple.

This story happened in the USA.
Kat rubbed her prosthetic arm nervously as Mom drove down the dirt road. “Mom, I’m scared.”
Mom gave her a soft smile. “I know. But I think you will like summer camp, honey. Think of all the new kids you will meet.”
Kat said nothing, but inside she thought, That’s what I’m afraid of.
Soon they arrived at the day camp. Mom went with Kat to talk to her camp counselor, Brian. “Kat had her arm amputated as a baby,” Mom told him. “It won’t affect how she plays, but sometimes it makes meeting new people a little hard.”
“Don’t worry, Kat,” said Brian. “We’re all happy to have you here.”
Kat had fun meeting the kids in her group. They named themselves the Purple Tigers. They went on a hike, ate cheese and crackers, and had foot races. Kat was one of the fastest in the group.
At the end of the day, Brian announced that they would compete against another group in a sack race. Kat hoped the Purple Tigers would win!
When it was her turn, Kat pulled the sack around her knees and began to jump. But the sack was hard to hold up with one hand, and she tripped over the heavy fabric. Kat fell and rolled onto the grass. By the time she got back up, the other team had finished the race. Kat’s team had lost.
That night at dinner, Kat told her parents about the sack-race disaster. “I don’t want to go back to camp,” she said. “The team lost because of me. They won’t want me to come back.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Mom gave Kat a hug. “I’m sure your new friends still love you. And you know who will always love you no matter what?”
“You will.” Kat smiled a little.
“Yes. We love you! And so does your Heavenly Father. You’re His child too, remember?”
“It sounds like you had fun before the sack race,” said Dad. “Why don’t you give camp one more try?”
Kat nodded. “OK.”
Dad smiled. “Try to notice when people are kind to you. And look for ways to be kind to others. That always helps me when I’m having a hard time.”
The next day at camp, the kids from Kat’s group greeted her with high-fives and hugs. No one mentioned the sack race, and Kat forgot how worried she had been. She told jokes with her new friends while they waited for the activities to start.
Then Counselor Brian walked over to the group. Next to him was a boy Kat’s age. “Attention, Purple Tigers,” said Brian, “we have a new friend today. His name is Rodrigo. Rodrigo only speaks Spanish, so we are trying to find a counselor who speaks Spanish to help him.”
Kat was learning Spanish at her school, but she only knew a little. She was too scared to try to talk to Rodrigo.
Then she looked at him. He looked scared too. Not speaking the same language as the other kids must be hard, she thought. She knew how it felt to be different.
Kat remembered how all her new friends had welcomed her to the group. They made her feel loved, just like Jesus would. She wanted to do that for Rodrigo too.
Kat remembered how to say “hello” in Spanish. So she took a deep breath and walked up to Rodrigo. “Hola,” she said with a smile.
Rodrigo’s worried look went away, and he smiled back. Kat held out her prosthetic hand.
“¿Amigos?” she asked. Friends?
Rodrigo’s smile got bigger. He took her hand and shook it. “Amigos.”
How did Kat follow Jesus?
Illustration by Flavia Drago

Sometimes the lessons will come quietly. A while back I was visiting a sacrament meeting at a care facility in Salt Lake City. The priests at the sacrament table were sitting quietly when the opening hymn was announced. A patient near the front of the large room had difficulty opening his hymnbook. Without so much as a question, one of the young men slipped to his side and, gently turning the pages to the correct hymn, placed the disabled man’s finger at the beginning of the first verse. They exchanged an understanding smile, and the priest returned to his seat. This modest gesture impressed me. After the meeting, I congratulated him and said, “You are going to be an effective missionary.” Some missionaries are gifted with the power of expression, while others have a superior knowledge of the gospel. Some, however, are late bloomers who day by day become more proficient and successful.
Entering the mission field can sometimes be an overpowering and frightening experience. President Harold B. Lee counseled, “Remember, whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies.”

When Elder Ballard was in his late 20s, he was called to be a bishop. “I faced great anxiety,” he recalls. “I’d never been a bishop before. Both of my counselors were old enough to be my father. I thought about all the bishops I’d ever had and tried to glean from their examples those things that I admired and thought were worthwhile. But ultimately doing the assignment, whatever it is, helps you overcome that fear.”

Some years ago I had the opportunity to address a business convention in Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches.” After the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride about the city’s suburbs. Our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church,” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady from the rear of the bus asked, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?” The driver steered the bus to the side of the road, turned about in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything about the Mormons?”
I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. I found nothing—not a sign. Then I realized the truth of the statement, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” For the next fifteen minutes I had the privilege of sharing with others my testimony concerning The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

We continued our march through the forest, day after day getting closer to home. From the mountain path, we could look down and see the American tanks passing by. Just a few days after our first encounter with the Americans, we were making our way along when suddenly I had a funny feeling. I told my friends I had to go down—right down there where the tanks were. “You’re crazy!” they said. “Can’t you see the tanks down there? They’ll cut you right away.” I told them that didn’t matter. I had to go down.
“Heinz, did you pray about that?” Günther asked me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Just like that. He didn’t think twice.

The other three stayed behind. “We’re not going with you because you’re crazy!” they said. “You’ll walk right into their arms.”
We marched down the hill as fast as we could. Günther, who was more than six-feet, five-inches tall and weighed 250 pounds, would put his arm under mine and nearly drag me along. After awhile, the other three came running behind us. They didn’t know why, they said, but they wanted to come with us. We came out of the forest.
Off to the left was a little farmhouse. As we came through the trees, the door of the house opened and a man said, “Come in fast.” We ran inside, and he slammed the door shut. Then he put us in the cow stable because it was forbidden to hide soldiers.

We had hardly crawled under the straw when the Americans came rolling through with tanks and trucks and went up into the mountains. It was the first time they had gone up there. Hours later they came back, their trucks filled with German soldiers who were taken to camps.

As any sailor knows, however, sailing isn’t always that smooth. Like life, there are dangers to watch for. Sharks, for instance. Richard can tell you that just the sight of those big jaws will make you run for the other side of the boat. Storms are more common, though, and the crew of Polaris has weathered a few.
“There’s always some kind of storm coming,” says Jared Case, 16.
Their biggest one hit last summer as they were anchored overnight off Santa Cruz Island. During the night, the wild weather caused the anchor to come loose and sent Polaris hurtling toward some nearby rocks. But though the waves were high, the wind strong, and the deck slippery and dark, the Scouts knew what to do. Calmly and professionally, they worked together to reset the anchor and save the ship.
Several factors contributed to the boys’ safety that night, but the most important was their ability to work as a team. They will all tell you that without cooperation and everyone doing his job, their ship would have been in pieces.
“You depend on each other the whole time you’re on the boat,” says Joey Scrivens, 14. “Without each other, it won’t work. It won’t come together.”

Zavannah Vaaulu and Keri Robinson are walking from class. They’re also in the familiar yellow and blue colors of the Church College’s uniforms. When you begin talking to Zavannah and Keri, you notice right away that their friendship resembles Justina and Melinda’s. The fact all four are friends isn’t surprising.
Although Zavannah and Keri aren’t busy growing bacteria, Zavannah, at 14, and Keri, at 15, are also top netball players and members of the Church College’s intermediate school championship team. They take many of the same classes together, they both play the saxophone, and they, too, are in the Apia Fifth Ward. And if you see Keri, you can usually find Zavannah nearby. Keri is usually the one laughing, while Zavannah tends to be a little more serious. While Zavannah is a lifelong Church member, Keri was baptized less than a year ago.
“Keri’s also the better saxophone player,” Zavannah says.
“Yeah, but Zavannah is better at tennis,” says Keri.
The words volley back and forth until Keri talks about her baptism last August. Now it’s her turn to get serious as she talks about Zavannah’s friendship and influence.
“Zavannah kept bugging me to come to church,” Keri says, “She always helped me come to church. She always invited me to Church activities. She wanted me to see how fun it would be. It really has been.”
When asked about her role in helping Keri join the Church, Zavannah starts by saying, “I do feel a certain responsibility.” Then Keri finishes Zavannah’s sentence with “to set an example for Keri.”
They look at each other and start laughing. They spend so much time together that they seem to know what the other is thinking. As they both sit there, Zavannah makes sure Keri knows a little bit more of what she’s thinking.
“I just want [Keri] to be happy the way I am because of the Church. I want her to know the true meaning of happiness is in the gospel, something I’ve come to learn and appreciate.”
Zavannah’s voice trails off, and it suddenly gets very quiet.
It’s been five days since you first met Justina, Melinda, Zavannah, and Keri. Here’s what you know: They’re like girls anywhere in the world. They love to laugh, talk about boys, eat pizza, and play sports.
But when it comes to these four young women, this is what you really know. They’re devoted friends and very serious about the gospel. They help each other and want to see each other’s testimonies grow.
“Some days I have doubts about the Church, and then I look at Melinda and I see her and see how happy she is. It makes me want to be like her,” says Keri.
“And I guess I’ve been pretty lucky because Tina has been like an older sister to me. Melinda and Tina have been some of the best friends I’ve ever had. They give me advice, and just seeing what they do is very helpful,” explains Zavannah.
It’s quiet again, and this time you’re touched by the things they say. You’ve learned a lot about friendships and about them.
Later that day you’re standing on the grounds of the Church College of Western Samoa. It’s bright and sunny in Apia. A warm breeze is blowing off the ocean, and another day of school is over. Students are all going in different directions. But four girls are walking together, and you know why.

Last Halloween, members of the Redlands Second Ward Mutual in the San Bernardino California Stake were busy making cookies and marking scriptures instead of sewing costumes and painting faces. Their efforts culminated in a “trick or treat in reverse” the evening of October 27, their regular Mutual night, when they treated 27 nonmember families to homemade cookies and a Book of Mormon.

The ward seventies group leader and the young people themselves decided who to visit. The youth were then divided into groups of six, with one representative from each Mutual class in each group. After presenting the families with the Book of Mormon and the cookies, they asked them: “Do you have any questions for us? Representatives of our church would like to stop by in a few days and see what you think of the message of the book. Would that be all right with you?” A week after the event, a list of 18 families who had been visited was turned over to the seventies quorum. These families have been contacted by stake and full-time missionaries for teaching possibilities, and families in the ward are fellowshipping the contacts. At least one girl who was visited that evening has been baptized.

The spirit of the evening was summed up by Mia Maid Rachel Hansen, who said: “We who were giving and those friends who were receiving felt a special closeness. It was a beautiful experience to see one of our nonmember friends feel the joy of accepting the gospel.”

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
“As a 12-year-old deacon, I was pleased to accompany the bishop to deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of our ward in Vernal, Utah. The backseat of his car was filled with baskets of grapefruit and oranges. This was during World War II, when grapefruit and oranges were scarce, so they were quite a treat. He waited in the car while I took a basket to each door and said, ‘The bishop asked me to give you this Christmas basket from the ward.’
“When we had delivered all the baskets but one, the bishop drove me home. There he handed me the last basket and said, ‘This is for your mother.’ Before I could reply, he drove away. [Dallin H. Oaks was 7 when his father passed away in June 1940.]
“I stood in front of our house, snowflakes falling on my face, holding the basket and wondering. We had been delivering baskets to widows, but I had never thought of my mother as a widow. I had never heard her refer to herself as a widow. I wondered why anyone would think my mother was a widow.
“That Christmas experience was formative in my understanding of the eternal family and in my appreciation for the faith of my mother. She always taught us that we had a father and she had a husband and that we would always be a family because of their temple marriage. …
“I am grateful for temple marriage and for the assurance that we can be together as an eternal family.”4

The young single adults in the Benin City Nigeria Ikpokpan Stake decided to take President Dallin H. Oaks’s challenge to heart and make the Easter season more memorable and representative of our Savior’s love.
The YSA stake leaders, Felicia Samuel and Ejodamen Macaulay Jr., kicked off the week with an act of service on Good Friday. The young single adults came together and created bags of rice with spices and other ingredients to provide a delicious meal. They tied these bags with an Easter message of hope in Jesus Christ and an invitation to learn more from the missionaries. Then they prayed to ask our Heavenly Father to guide them to those who most needed His message of love. Many wore The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints vests, identifying themselves as they walked to the market and began to share their message of Jesus Christ with those they met. Everyone was uplifted by the small act of charity that day.
The young single adults demonstrated that as we come together to become one in Christ, we can magnify His gospel in simple ways that strengthen God’s children wherever they are.
See their highlight video created by the talented videographer Emmanuel Otumbari, from the Ugbor First Ward, at youtube.com/shorts/q43c9BayCTg.