Gospel Story Finder

After weeks of anticipation, it was finally Christmas Eve. Almost our whole family was with us—Grandma and Grandpa Fletcher, our three daughters and their husbands and children. It was getting dark and the streets were lighting up. Houses sparkled with beautiful decorations while Christmas trees twinkled happily in the windows.
We were getting ready to go to the Nativity Pageant, which the Church had presented for many years in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Every Christmas Eve we looked forward to going to the outdoor pageant that was complete with donkeys, sheep, Wise Men, shepherds, Roman soldiers, angels, and a powerful sound system. It brought the spirit of peace, love, and the real meaning of Christmas to our hectic celebrations.
We arrived at Heritage Park, where the pageant took place, and were soon enjoying the beautiful music of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the story of the Savior’s birth. Lauren, our oldest grandchild, was three at the time. She was captivated by the sights, the sounds, and the story unfolding before us. Our breath clouded the chilly air under clear, starlit skies. We watched as the people playing Joseph and Mary obeyed the decree of Caesar Augustus to go to Bethlehem to be taxed. The woman playing Mary was “great with child” (see Luke 2:5), and the only place they could find to stay was a lowly stable. There, “she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger” (see Luke 2:7). The spotlights swept over the hill where we could see people as shepherds watching “over their flock by night” (see Luke 2:8). Suddenly, an actor dressed as an angel appeared dramatically in the air, a bright light shining on him. Lauren spontaneously cried out in love, “Jesus, it’s me, Lauren!”
Everyone around us heard her greeting and laughed softly, enjoying the surprise. It was an innocent case of mistaken identity, but for us it memorably enhanced the pageant that year. Lauren knew that Jesus knew her, and we were reminded of our knowledge that He does know each one of us. We wondered if Lauren had some memory of her Savior whom she had left three short years earlier. Lauren’s spontaneous greeting gave us hope that we too will recognize Him when we meet Him. Her love for the Savior and His love for Lauren warmed our hearts on that icy Christmas Eve.

In one of the large cities of this world there is a man standing at the window of his apartment, looking at the gray colors of a rainy day. “This is not an ordinary day,” he reflects to himself as he watches the two young men, who have just paid him a visit, disappearing on their bicycles at the end of the road. He is becoming aware of how richly his life has been blessed since he began to listen to the spirit radiated by these two humble ambassadors of the Lord from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This truly is not an ordinary day, for on this day he was allowed, by invitation of the two young missionaries, to make a covenant with his Heavenly Father for the remission of his sins through baptism and to receive the Holy Ghost for himself.
“I always thought that I was not a big sinner,” he reflects. “I have always provided for my family. I was a good father, and I was a good husband to my beloved late wife.”
He remembers how his life was brought into a new perspective when he, for the first time in his life, learned from the two young men how to truly pray—not to say just a few nice words, but to open up his heart in sacred communication with his Heavenly Father. Oh, what great joy came into his heart as he learned from the missionaries that he is indeed literally a child of a loving Heavenly Father! With an ever-increasing light within himself, he now understands the true purpose of the pain, frustrations, and strugglings of his earlier life that became an instigating influence to make him think, to make him search, and to make him become an earnest seeker of the truth so that he was ready to listen as these two young men came knocking at his door.
Oh, how much he has learned since that first sacred experience of opening his heart and speaking to his Father! Suddenly he understands the deep, meaningful purpose of his life. He is now aware, in the depths of gratitude, of the many precious blessings of every day with its opportunities to serve and help. With an ever-increasing awareness of the need for constant repentance, he is able to fill all the hours of his life with the presence of this Spirit and, therefore, with great joy. He feels with each new day as if the sun of a beautiful spring morning is quickening and refreshing his soul after a long, dark, Arctic night.
In the light of this Spirit within him, he sees the people of this world as they are—running around in their vanity, in their vain ambitions, and in their lack of awareness of the greatness of God and His plan of salvation. He is learning to understand that the only burden, the only pain, and the only frustration of a human being is the burden of wrongdoing—the burden of sin. “Oh, what a sacred experience,” he reflects, “to learn about myself and the majestic request by the Spirit to grow in the dimensions of honesty, to grow in the dimensions of exercising the pure love of Christ, to be able to forgive, to have patience, to understand, and to overcome laziness, procrastination, and other cravings of the carnal mind.”
He understands that God was always there but that he himself was blinded—blinded through the traditions of his environment. He reflects on the truth of the words of the prophet Isaiah:
“Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear:
“But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.” (Isa. 59:1–2.)
He can now see that no matter how numerous the sins of a human being can be, they all can be traced back to one single source or origin—the laziness, complacency and blindness that keeps us from looking and searching for our God and King in every phase of our lives and becoming totally His disciples. For the first time he understands the words of the Lord, Jesus Christ, when He said:
“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
“For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 16:24–25.)
He understands that the Lord knew there could be no compromise made. When we are not fully dedicated, we cannot truly stand in His light and be His disciples.
“And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.
“And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:61–62.)
In light of this Spirit within him, he is not afraid of what his friends and relatives might think of him now that he has taken upon himself Christ’s name. Perhaps they will not understand, and maybe they will make fun of him. But he feels now how easy it will be to love them anyway, because he understands them better than ever before; and he will do everything that is in his heart to show real interest in them, that they might be filled with light to penetrate the darkness of their lives.
He understands, in the light and the power of the Holy Ghost, what a privilege it is that the Lord allows and commands us to pay a full tithe and invites us to give service, that we can show through our actions every day how much we love our Heavenly Father.
No, it is not difficult to say good-bye to the world with its craving for lust, its thirst for pleasure, and its quest for power, leaving the world groping in the mire of egoism. He understands that, as he is placing his life in the hand of Heavenly Father, he has now become a disciple of Christ, and he has experienced the sweetness of the divine light in its fullness—the light and power of the Holy Ghost. No longer can he be satisfied by the light he can find in this world. No, he will not be able to forget his Savior and Master anymore!
He appreciates so much the special privilege of being invited every Sabbath day to renew his covenant in the sacred setting of the sacrament. The power of this light gives him the knowledge that he will always listen to that Spirit that teaches a man to pray, about which Nephi, the prophet of whom he has just learned, testified: “For if ye would hearken unto the Spirit which teacheth a man to pray ye would know that ye must pray.” (2 Ne. 32:8.)
He now understands that by the authority of this Spirit he was led to grow in reverence, that the words of his prayers became fewer and fewer until he became quiet and was changed from someone who was speaking to someone who was listening—listening to the still, soft, sweet voice whose word is quick and powerful, and “sharper than a two-edged sword.” (D&C 6:2.)

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.

Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.

Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.

When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.

Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.

As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”

“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”

The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

I hated going without showers, eating half-cooked food, and sharing my living quarters with creepy creatures like spiders, yet there I was at girls’ camp. But the truth was I was having the time of my life.
My group was known as the Pink Ladies, and our leader gave each of us bright pink neon shoelaces as our trademark. After enduring five days of rain and cold in the great outdoors, we renamed our group the Pink Penguins.
The rain subsided just long enough to end the week with an evening testimony meeting. My testimony of Christ had been strengthened that week during evening scripture study and gospel discussions with my new friends. During the meeting I thought of my lifestyle at home. I had become friends with girls who were not living up to Church standards. My best friend, Amy, had been telling me how great smoking is and how fun I would be if only I loosened up a bit.
The Spirit had really touched me at camp, and I committed to myself to live a better life when I returned to civilization. I had never borne my testimony before, but I really wanted to this time. As I struggled to muster the courage to stand, I caught a glimpse of the feet of the girls in my group, all of them wearing their pink laces. One by one the girls’ feet carried them to the front where they bore their testimonies.
I looked down at my laces and thought of the love and unity we felt that week and realized I had a terrific support group all around me. With that I stood and headed toward the front. While bearing my testimony, the Spirit was so strong I remember thinking I never wanted to live without it again.

Charlee Ann Voorhees didn’t get involved in service to get attention. But when she lost herself in the service of others, she ended up finding herself featured in the newspaper and speaking about service at youth conventions.
When Charlee’s parents divorced, she felt overwhelmed. She was in the middle of a situation she couldn’t do much about and needed something to take her mind off of her problems.
It was during that time she heard a Young Women lesson about service. The teacher told her class that serving others is a good way to get through personal problems.
“I decided I needed to get more involved,” says Charlee, a Laurel in the Sioux Falls (South Dakota) First Ward. “I was involved in a lot of other things, but as far as service, I didn’t have much of that kind of involvement in my life.”
Once Charlee submerged herself in service, she found that many of her own problems were put into perspective. “My parents were divorcing, but I could help people even though I wasn’t exactly having the best time myself,” she says.
When Charlee was looking for service opportunities, she attended a volunteer fair where she signed up for nearly every service group represented. But one organization really caught her eye: Sioux Falls’ Promise, an organization that involves youth in community service and other activities.
Charlee applied for a position on the youth board for Sioux Falls’ Promise. She was accepted, and before long she was elected president of the board.
As president, Charlee says her main goal was to create awareness of the concerns, problems, and issues that teens have in Sioux Falls. She served as an advocate for the youth of her community. One of the ways she did that was to hold a town meeting with the youth and the mayor. In that meeting, the teens raised their concerns about youth drug and alcohol abuse and a city curfew.
“Since that meeting, the mayor has actually come to us before making decisions and asked what we think about certain issues,” she says.
Charlee also organized a youth convention to discuss teens’ concerns. More than 1,000 teens attended the convention, where they discussed making friends, resolving conflicts, controlling anger, and using service to improve communities.
The success of the convention led to an invitation for Charlee and the youth board to attend a national youth convention. While there, Charlee discussed service with Colin Powell, chairman of America’s Promise and now United States Secretary of State.
As Charlee has worked to get the youth of Sioux Falls involved in service, she has seen what a dose of service can do for the giver as well as the receiver. “You get the chance to see that others are struggling, too. It’s a big eye-opener for how fortunate you are in your own life.”

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Mom said as we walked to the car. “You sure played a great game!”
“When you played your first game, did you think you’d be your team’s starting pitcher in the regional finals?” Dad asked as we started home.
“I guess I dreamed about it some,” I answered honestly, “but I didn’t really think it’d happen. I thought the Pirates would end up going again.”
Dad, Mom, and I relived the game, especially the ending with the Pirates close behind and their star player, Gary, up to bat. Everybody on his team was counting on Gary to win the game and send them to the regional finals. But Gary swung and missed each of my three best pitches, and we won the game.
“Oh, before I forget, Marcus,” Mom told me, “Sister Anderson wants you to give a talk in Primary a week from Sunday.”
Usually talking in Primary wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but this time I knew immediately what I was going to talk about. “I think I’ll talk about baseball,” I said.
“This is Primary, you know,” Mom pointed out, “not another baseball game.”
I grinned. “I know, Mom. I’m not going to talk about the game of baseball.” I explained, “I’m going to talk about how Heavenly Father has helped me this season. It hasn’t been easy to be the only member of the Church on the team. But I’ve tried really hard to do what’s right, and He’s helped me.” I paused. “I could feel Him helping me this afternoon. I wasn’t nervous, even when it was Gary’s turn to bat. I just said a little prayer, asking Him to help me do my best, and I knew everything was going to be all right. That’s what I want to talk about—how the Lord can bless us when we work hard and choose the right.”
During the next week and a half, our team worked hard to get ready for the regional games. The games were scheduled for Friday and Saturday.
Friday I woke up to a gray, overcast sky. “You don’t think it will rain, do you?” I asked Dad as we drove to the field.
“The clouds will just make it nice and cool,” Dad said, trying to be optimistic.
But Dad was wrong. Throughout Friday and Saturday it rained off and on. Games were postponed, schedules were changed, and by late Saturday we were finishing the semifinal championship game. Our team was tied with the Tigers. We didn’t give up, though. The game went into extra innings, neither team able to get the advantage over the other. Then, with Bobby Simms on second base, I hit the ball to right field. Bobby raced around the bases, scoring the winning run.
After our team celebrated the victory, the coach gathered us around him. “Well, guys, one more game and we’re regional champs!”
“When do we play?” Chad asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon. The weather’s supposed to be good all day.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
Coach Decker shrugged. “It’s too late to play tonight, so everybody decided to play Sunday afternoon.”
I felt sick. Nobody else seemed to care that we were going to be playing on Sunday.
“The game starts at 2:00 P.M.,” Coach Decker told us. “I’d like you here no later than noon. That will give us time to get ready for the game. Any questions?” He looked around the circle of eager faces. I felt worried inside.
As the group broke up, Coach Decker slapped me on the back. “Don’t look so glum, Marcus. We’re one game from the championship. You’re not nervous, are you? You’re going to pitch us to the championship.”
I tried to smile. “Do we have to play on Sunday?”
Coach Decker laughed. “No, Marcus, we get to play on Sunday.”
“I have church tomorrow,” I said quietly.
The smile on Coach Decker’s face began to fade. “Marcus, this is the championship. You can go to church any Sunday. But this is the only time you’re ever going to play this game. Now you head home and get a good night’s sleep.”
I slowly walked to where Mom and Dad were waiting for me. Looking at their faces, I knew they had heard about the Sunday game. They waited for me to speak. I was quiet until we got in the car.
“Church starts at 8:30,” I remarked. “It’ll be over at 11:30.” I hesitated. “I’d be a little late getting here for practice, but we could still go to church. I’d be able to give my talk in Primary.”
Mom and Dad were quiet for a moment. Then Dad said, “Do you feel good about that?”
“Dad, I didn’t want this game to be on Sunday. That’s just the way things turned out. If it hadn’t rained so much, we would have played the championship game tonight. I have to pitch in that game. The whole team’s depending on me. We’ll lose if I don’t. Tony’s the backup pitcher, and he can’t do it on his own. I have to play.”
“It’s a tough decision,” Mom commented. “You have to make sure you do what is right.”
“I’ll be going to church,” I said defensively. “Isn’t that what Sundays are for?”
“Is that the only thing Sundays are for?” Dad questioned gently.
“That’s the main thing.”
Dad took a deep breath. “The Lord has asked us to keep His day holy. We are to worship Him. Not just when we’re at church, but all day.”
“Sunday has always been a special day for us,” Mom added. “That’s the way the Lord intended it to be. That’s why we don’t go to movies or shop on Sundays. We’re careful not to do some things that we do on other days of the week.”
“But I can’t play this game any other day of the week,” I argued. “Do you think it’s fair for me to let Coach Decker and the team down? I owe them something.”
“Do you owe the Lord anything?” Dad asked. “You made a commitment when you were baptized to obey His commandments. That was long before you ever agreed to pitch for the Chiefs.”
“It’s going to be just one time, Dad. One time can’t hurt anything. Besides, the Lord has helped me this season. I know He has. That’s what I was going to say in my Primary talk. Did He help me all this time just so I could sit home and not play in the biggest game of the season?”
“Marcus,” Dad spoke again, “do you know what a covenant is?”
“Isn’t it like a promise?”
“That’s right. But it’s a special promise, a promise between you and the Lord. When you were baptized, you made a covenant to keep the commandments, including honoring the Sabbath. And the Lord has made a covenant to bless us if we keep His Sabbath holy.”
“But I’ve kept the Sabbath holy,” I argued. “This is just one time.”
“Maybe this is a chance for you to show the Lord that you will keep your covenant. Was it easy to keep the Sabbath holy last week?”
“Yes. It was just like any other Sunday.”
“So if you really wanted to show the Lord that you are obedient, which Sunday would show Him that—last week or tomorrow?
“Marcus,” Dad continued. “We’re not going to tell you not to play tomorrow. This is a decision you have to make.”
We didn’t say anything the rest of the way home. I did a lot of thinking, though. I thought about the team. I thought about Coach Decker. I thought about the championship trophy.
Then I started thinking about the Lord, my family, and everyone else who was depending on me to make the right decision. I thought of all the things the Lord had given me. I thought of what I could offer Him. Deep inside I knew the only thing I could really give the Lord was the way I lived my life—to show Him He can count on me, no matter what.
I offered a silent prayer, asking Him to help me know what to do and to have the courage to do it. After the prayer, there was no question in my mind.
“I need to call Coach Decker,” I said quietly as we pulled into our driveway.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Dad asked.
In a way I did, yet I knew that wouldn’t be right. “No,” I answered softly, “I want him to know this is my decision.” Looking at Mom, I added, “And I think I’m going to change my talk for Primary tomorrow. I’m going to talk about keeping the Sabbath holy.”

Clay was out running the day the two young men, not much older than me, knocked on our door. I was surprised to see them in serious-looking suits because I couldn’t see a car. Instead, I saw two bicycles leaning against the porch. They wore nametags: Elder Martin and Elder Weiss.
Mom was in the kitchen cutting up vegetables for dinner. I didn’t call to her, and I had the two guys sit on the front porch in lawn chairs. They said they had a message about families, but I think I listened to them because they reminded me of Ryan—kind of young and innocent-looking, like they were playing at being grown-up in their father’s suits and ties, still riding bicycles.
They looked young, but they sounded wise and they had the kind of light about them that Ryan had. I didn’t tell them about Ryan, but their words were gentle and kind. They talked about a plan God has for his children and how he wants us to return to him.
I was intrigued, wondering how they knew so much. And as I listened, the porch, the lawn chairs, and the bicycles melted away and I felt like I was dreaming a comforting dream. Ryan, alive again. All of us happy again.
Suddenly Clay stood at the foot of the steps, breath coming out noisily, sweat dripping from his forehead.
“What are you guys trying to sell?” he demanded.
They looked at him. “We’re not selling anything. We’re teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Clay sat down and unlaced his shoes, jerking at the laces.
“Get out of here. There is no God.”
The missionaries rose but stayed where they were. Clay stood up too. He looked ready for a fight, but they calmly spoke to him. One of them said, “I know God lives and he loves us. He wants us to be happy.”
Clay became more angry. “That’s a bunch of baloney.” He shoved viciously at the bicycles, and they fell over like dominoes.
“Why did he take my brother? He was just a kid. Just a sweet little kid!” He threw his shoes at the house as hard as he could, barely missing the missionaries.
One elder looked ready to cry, but not out of fear. He said, “I felt the same way when my sister died of leukemia. But death isn’t the tragedy. Sin is. The gospel has taught me that I will see my sister again someday. Her spirit still lives on.”
His voice faded and he almost whispered. “Sometimes I can feel her near me.”
Clay stared at him for a moment, then brushed past him into the house. The elders thanked me for listening to them and asked if they could come again. I wanted them to. I wanted to know more. I wanted the comforting feeling they brought.
They did come back, and they gave me a blue book. As fall deepened into winter and it grew more serious and cold, the only thing that was in motion in our family was Clay, still running every day. The rest of us went through our routines. School, work, housework. But that was all. Anything extra took too much energy. But I did read the blue book, the Book of Mormon.
I brought the elders inside, and sometimes Mom listened briefly at the kitchen door, dish towel in her hands. She’d been a cleaning fanatic before, but now she cleaned twice as much, vacuuming twice a day.
What the elders said made so much sense.
“To every thing there is a season” (Eccles. 3:1). They said there is a pattern, a rhythm in life, and “As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22).
Clay saw me reading the Book of Mormon one day and said, “Those guys think they have all the answers, don’t they?” I told him I had been reading and praying, and that it was helping.
“I feel closer to my Heavenly Father, and he is helping me, one day at a time, one hour at a time,” I said. “And I feel closer to Ryan too. Sometimes he seems so near that I talk to him and tell him what I’m learning.” I was surprised to hear myself telling Clay such a private thing, but maybe I did it for a reason. Clay turned away and went to his room.
In March, Elder Martin told me and Mom, “I love springtime. It comforted me so much after Michelle died. I saw the plants die in the winter and be buried in snow. But in the spring, everything came alive again. I believed in the Resurrection. I believed in God’s purposes, and I finally trusted in his wisdom to take Michelle, even though we missed her so much. I knew Michelle was free from pain and that I would see her again.” He looked earnestly into our faces. “You will see Ryan again.”
Clay had come in from running and stood quietly as Elder Martin finished speaking. It had started snowing, but I could still see the daffodils, crocuses, and tulips Mom and I had planted the week before Ryan died, their yellows, blues, and reds brilliant against the pasty sky.
The elders smiled at Clay and shook his hand. Clay dropped his hat, and Elder Martin picked it up. He scooped a tiny bit of snow into his hands and it immediately melted.
“Look at snowflakes,” he said, looking at his wet palm. “No two alike, but they each have a pattern. You don’t see it unless you have a microscope. You have to look closely. If God gave something so small a pattern, he certainly gave us, his children, one. We can’t see it always, so we have to trust him.”
Clay said quietly, “I ran the marathon today. Twenty-six-point-two miles. It was a killer.”
“You should have told us!” Mom said. “We would have come to cheer you on.”
He looked at me. “I thought about what you said about praying. The whole time I was praying that God could help me understand why Ryan died and help me know that he wasn’t gone for good. Near the end of the race, I was the only one in front. I don’t even remember passing the other runners. It was like Ryan was running next to me, saying, ‘Go for it. You’re gonna win. Listen to your feet; keep up the rhythm; keep up the pace.’ And I won. I think I understand now. Ryan was like a sprinter. His race was quick, over in a few seconds. The rest of us are going for distance, though we don’t know when our own race will end.” His eyes filled, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand.
His voice dropped. “Ryan’s alive. His spirit is still alive.”
Elder Martin turned to Clay. “You’re right. You will see him again and be with him.” His eyes shone.
Elder Weiss said, “Hey, Clay, you’ve inspired us to start running every morning. What if we come by here on our way and pick you up? We can do some running together, and you can give us some pointers.”
Clay nodded. His breathing had slowed. He looked more healthy and alive than he’d looked for a long time. “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.”
I watched the elders pedal away, smiling and talking like brothers, their long coats flapping behind them, ears already red with cold. Even though they wore dark suits, they seemed as bright as our flowers against the dull sky. Part of the pattern was becoming clear to me, and I knew those two young men would be connected to our family forever.
The snow changed to sleet, hitting the window with a pinging sound Ryan would have liked.

I have had the frightening experience of feeling lost more than once. When I was very little, I went to Salt Lake City, Utah, with my parents. I had never seen such a big city. My mother, who thought that I was with my dad, went into a store. My dad, thinking that I was with my mother, stayed outside to wait while she shopped. But I just kept walking down the street. Before I knew it, I was half a block away and didn’t see a single familiar face or place. I didn’t know what to do. I was petrified with fear. My parents quickly realized I was gone, however, and it took them only a few minutes to find me.

Jason Johnson had a peculiar talent. In fact, it was so peculiar that many people, including Jason’s mother, weren’t at all sure it really was a talent. Jason could hop-leap exactly like a frog. He practiced in the hall, up and down the stairs, and he spent hours dreaming of becoming the greatest frog-hop-leaper in the world.
“Jason, the magnificent frog-hop-leaper!” he’d shout as he flew across the room.
“Do you have to do that?” Mrs. Johnson sighed.
“When a person has a talent, he should use it,” Jason answered. “It isn’t everyone who can hop-leap like a frog. Someday someone will need my special talent.”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head and went back to folding the clothes. “But you also have a musical talent. There are more people who like to listen to music than there are who like to see a human frog.”
Jason went on hop-leaping and dreaming.
The very next week an amazing thing happened. Jason ran home from school, threw open the door, and shouted, “Mother, Mother! I’m going to be in our school play!” He panted hard to catch his breath.
“That’s very good,” Mrs. Johnson replied. “And now you can do something besides hop-leap around the house.”
“But you don’t understand,” Jason answered. “They need that special talent. Miss Kimper said I was exactly what they needed for the star of the play.”
Mrs. Johnson smiled. “What part is it?”
“I’m going to be the frog that turns into a prince. I’m going to hop-leap all over the stage so I must keep in practice,” and Jason hop-leaped into the next room to put his books away.
For three weeks Jason hop-leaped everywhere! His friends laughed at him when he practiced; his brothers and sisters were embarrassed to be seen with him, and strangers stared as they tried to figure out what he was doing. It made Jason sad, but he kept on practicing. I hope they’ll change their minds when they see the play. And maybe they will not think it is so silly when people all over the world are asking for me to perform, he thought as he went on practicing.
The night arrived for the play. Jason walked onto the stage and crouched down behind a cardboard tree. His green costume was tight, and he could barely see through the tiny holes in the mask, but he knew his part perfectly. All he had to do was hop-leap around the cardboard scenery until it was time for him to turn into a prince.
Slowly the curtains opened and the play began. The narrator began to talk and Jason began to hop-leap. But with every leap his costume seemed tighter and his mask fell down a little more. Hop-leap, hop-leap! He went around the huge paper flowers and over the tiny bridge. Hop-leap, hop-leap, gracefully and perfectly he performed. Twice around the tree. Hop-leap, hop-leap! Once more he circled the flowers and then he jumped onto the bridge for his one final hop-leap. By now the mask had slipped down so far he could not see at all and his costume felt like a giant elastic that was squeezing him.
This is a special talent, he thought. I’ve practiced and practiced. I can jump even with my eyes closed!
He crouched down and with all his strength he pushed off from the bridge and flew skillfully through the air. But he flew too far! Thump, thump, THUMP! He bounced down the few stairs at the front of the stage and into the audience.
Jason still could not see, but he could tell his tight frog costume had ripped all the way up the back.
“Are you all right?” he heard his mother whisper.
“Sure.” Jason tried to smile as he pulled his mask off, but he hurt.
Miss Kimper announced an intermission and the room grew noisy as Jason’s mother tried to pin the frog costume back together.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jason said as he rubbed his sore legs. “Maybe my jumping isn’t important enough to have my friends laugh at me. Besides, there really isn’t much of a future for a talented frog-hop-leaper. I think I’d like to take piano lessons and start to practice music.”
Jason’s mother only smiled as she fastened the last safety pin in his frog costume. “There,” she said, “that will do for the rest of the play.”
Jason walked back onto the stage and finished the play, but all the while he was dreaming of what it would be like to be a great piano player. After all, it isn’t everyone who can play the piano, he thought.

Sometime ago I overheard what I am confident is an oft-repeated conversation. Three very young boys were discussing the relative virtues of their fathers. One spoke out: "My dad is bigger than your dad," to which another replied, "Well, my dad is smarter than your dad." The third boy countered, "My dad is a doctor"; then, turning to one boy, he taunted in derision, "and your dad is only a teacher."

The call of a mother terminated the conversation, but the words continued to echo in my ears. Only a teacher. Only a teacher. Only a teacher. One day, each of those small boys will come to appreciate the true worth of inspired teachers and will acknowledge with sincere gratitude the lasting imprint such teachers will leave on their personal lives.

It was my very first Christmas after Dad died. I was only seven then, but I was the man of the house—at least that’s what Dad had always told me whenever he went someplace. Whenever he had to go away, he’d say to me, “Son, you’re the man of the house while I’m gone, and I want you to look after Mom and Aaron.”

Aaron’s my little brother, and he was only four that Christmas. We didn’t have much money with Dad gone; at least that’s what Mom told me. Now when she went to the store, she didn’t buy peanuts and candy like she used to when Dad was still alive. Aaron didn’t get much for his birthday either—just a ball, and it wasn’t even brand-new. I didn’t tell Aaron that because he liked the ball just fine.

Christmas was getting close, and I was getting excited. I told Aaron all about Christmas. He couldn’t remember the other ones because he was just a baby back then. I told him about the lights and the decorations and about Jesus in the manger and about the presents and the stockings and Santa Claus. Aaron doesn’t talk much, but he listens a lot. I really like Aaron because he’s a good listener.

Lots of times when we were in bed at night, Aaron would ask me to tell him about Christmas. I’d talk and talk until I was sure he was asleep, but as soon as I stopped talking, he’d whisper, “Alma, tell me again,” and I’d have to start all over. He’d never go to sleep until I finally told him that my throat was sore and that I had to stop talking.

The thing Aaron liked most to hear about was the Christmas tree. He’d make me tell him about it all the time. Whenever I talked about the tree, his eyes got really big and he’d smile. He always asked me if we would have a tree, and I’d say, “Sure. Everybody has a tree. You can’t have Christmas without a tree.” Well, I shouldn’t have said that, because later Mom told me that we couldn’t afford to have a tree.

I was in trouble then, because it was getting really close to Christmas, and everybody on our street had trees in their windows. Aaron was getting more excited. He asked me every night to tell him about Christmas and the Christmas tree.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something. Well, on Sunday my Primary teacher told a story about a pioneer boy who found his own Christmas tree. He just went outside and found a tree in the woods and cut it down. It didn’t cost him anything. I didn’t hear the rest of the story. All I could think about was getting a tree.

On the way home I looked for a tree. We weren’t pioneers or anything like that; we were just poor. We didn’t live in the woods either, but there were some Christmas trees growing in our neighborhood. Lots of people grew Christmas trees in their yards, and there were some growing in the park, but most of them were too big for our house. We didn’t have a very big house, so I knew I had to get a little tree that would fit.

I looked and looked, and I almost decided that there weren’t any trees our size when I saw one in Brother Hubbard’s yard, right next to the sidewalk. The tree was about as high as my mom, and it was really fluffy. It had lots of branches, and it was kind of blue and green. I knew that that was the tree I was going to get for Aaron.

That night in bed I told Aaron all about the tree and asked him if he would help me cut it down. He said he would, and then he asked me to tell him about Christmas again.

The next day, when Mom was in the house cooking supper, Aaron and I went to the garage and got an ax and one of Dad’s saws. Dad had two axes, but one was too big for me. The other one was still kind of big, but I was the man of the house and I figured I could use it.

We put the ax and the saw into my wagon and started down the street. At first Aaron pushed while I pulled, but after a little while he climbed into the wagon and rode.

Brother and Sister Hubbard weren’t home when we got to their house. I was glad because I didn’t want to ask them if I could cut down their tree. I figured it would be easier to just cut it down like the boy in the story and not ask anybody anything. Besides, I didn’t think Brother Hubbard would mind. He was the nicest man I knew, next to my dad. Brother Hubbard was our home teacher, and he visited us all the time. He did lots of nice things for us, especially after Dad died. He told us that whatever we needed he’d try to get for us. So I didn’t think he’d care if we cut down his tree, because Aaron really needed a Christmas tree and I didn’t know how else to get him one.

I got right to work, but Aaron just sat in the wagon and watched. Although he was cold, he didn’t ask to go home. He wanted a Christmas tree. First I had to saw off some of the branches so I could chop at the trunk. That was kind of hard because the branches prickled my hands and face.

As soon as I got the branches out of the way, I got the ax out of the wagon and started to chop, but it didn’t work very well. The ax was too big, even though it was Dad’s little one. It kept hitting into the branches and bouncing off the trunk. I knocked some bark off, but I couldn’t chop down the tree. I kept trying, though, until I dropped the ax on my foot. Then I just had to cry because the ax was heavy and my foot really hurt. I didn’t let Aaron see me, though. I put my head down close to the trunk and pretended I was looking at it.

I finally decided to use the saw, and it worked better. Pretty soon I had cut halfway through the trunk. But the tree still didn’t fall over, and the saw kept getting stuck. It would squeak and then stop. I pushed and pulled and kicked the tree, but that just hurt my foot, and I scratched my face on some branches. I was tired by then, and my hands and feet were cold. I started to cry. This time Aaron saw me, and he started to cry too. When I tried to get him to stop crying, he said that he was cold and wanted to go home and that we could get Mom to come back and help us. Yet I was the man of the family, and this was my job.

While we were both crying, Brother and Sister Hubbard drove up in their car. They didn’t know what we were doing at first, but as soon as they got out of their car, they could see. Brother Hubbard’s a nice man. He’s old—kind of like a grandpa—and he’s my best friend, next to Aaron.

“What are you boys doing, Alma?” he said when he walked over to us. Sister Hubbard stayed by the car and watched. I wasn’t crying anymore. I just stared at Brother Hubbard’s big feet. They were bigger than Dad’s. Aaron stopped crying too.

“We’re cutting a Christmas tree for Christmas,” Aaron said. “We’re going to put it in our house, and we don’t even have to buy it. Do you want to help us?”

Brother Hubbard didn’t say anything, and I didn’t dare look at him. “We can’t buy one,” I whispered, “because we don’t have any money, but my Primary teacher told me about a pioneer boy who cut down a tree, and he didn’t have to buy it. We aren’t pioneers like the boy in the story, but we thought it would be all right, since we didn’t have a tree. Yours was the very best tree. I hope you don’t need it.”

Brother Hubbard thought for a minute and then asked, “Does your mother know you’re here, Alma?” He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shook my head.

“I’m the man of the house,” I said, “and I wanted to surprise her.” I looked up at Brother Hubbard and then at Aaron and then back at Brother Hubbard. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I pulled Brother Hubbard by the hand and took him behind the tree so Aaron couldn’t hear us. “I’ve been telling Aaron all about Christmas, but now it doesn’t look like we’ll have too much Christmas. Tommy—he’s my friend at school—says Santa Claus is just your mom and dad. Well, we don’t have a dad now, and Mom is poor, so if there isn’t a Santa Claus, we won’t have any Christmas at all unless we get a tree. That’s why I needed a tree. I really want Aaron to have a Christmas. He can’t remember the other ones, and I want him to have a real good Christmas, even if Santa Claus doesn’t come.”

I don’t know why I started to bawl, but I did, I guess my foot still hurt. Brother Hubbard patted my shoulder and said, “Well, Alma, it doesn’t look like that tree will be doing much good where it is now. Do you want me to help you finish cutting it down?”

I looked up at him, and he was smiling, so I figured everything was OK. I just nodded my head. I was afraid I’d start to cry again.

When Brother Hubbard had finished cutting down the tree, he said, “Alma, don’t worry too much about what your friend Tommy said. I don’t have a dad or a mom anymore, but Santa visits me every Christmas.”

“He does?” I asked.

“Sure. And I bet he’ll come to your house. In fact, I know he will.”

Brother Hubbard dragged the tree home for us, and I pulled Aaron in the wagon. When Mom saw the tree, she was really happy. She even cried.

On Christmas Eve Aaron and Mom and I sat around the Christmas tree and sang. Mom told us about Jesus and all the people who came to see Him when He was born. We were almost ready for bed when someone knocked on our door. I answered it, and there stood Brother Hubbard with a big box in his arms. It was filled with oranges and apples and nuts and fruit cake and a turkey and candy and lots of other good things. Mom invited Brother Hubbard in, and while Aaron and I looked through the box, she and Brother Hubbard whispered in the corner. When they were through, Brother Hubbard put his arms around me and Aaron and asked us if we were ready for Santa Claus. I nodded my head, but I really didn’t believe Santa Claus would come. I was afraid Tommy was right and that Brother Hubbard was just trying to make me feel good.

I guess Brother Hubbard knew what I was thinking, because he patted me on the back and smiled. “He’ll be here, Alma. You wait and see. He hasn’t forgotten you and Aaron.”

Aaron and I had to go to bed then. I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, but Aaron wouldn’t let me. He made me tell him everything I knew about Christmas. I don’t know which one of us fell asleep first, but it didn’t seem like I’d been sleeping very long when I felt Aaron shaking me and heard him whisper, “Alma, he’s here! He’s here! Wake up!”

Finally I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything but a crack of light under our bedroom door. Someone had left the light on in the living room. “Who’s here?” I asked grumpily.

“Santa Claus!”

“Santa Claus? Who said?”

“I can hear him, Alma! I can hear him! He’s out by the Christmas tree!”

“Go back to bed, Aaron,” I said. “I’ll turn the light off. It’s not Santa Claus. Go back to bed.”

I stumbled down the hall to the living room. Aaron was right behind me. I was too tired to stop him. All I wanted to do was turn the light off and get back into bed. Before I could, Aaron yelled, “It is Santa Claus! Alma, it is Santa Claus!”

I turned around and there he was! Aaron ran and kissed him on his white beard. I couldn’t even move; all I could do was stare. Santa’s eyes got big. He was surprised. I could tell. I was afraid he was going to go away and not leave us anything. Mom used to say that if we didn’t go to sleep, Santa wouldn’t come.

“Aaron, come here,” I hissed. “We aren’t supposed to be here.” But Aaron didn’t mind me. Santa was holding him, and Aaron was squeezing his neck and wouldn’t let go.

All of a sudden, Santa started to laugh. He sounded a little like Brother Hubbard, but Brother Hubbard is skinny, not fat. He put Aaron and me on his knees and laughed and hugged us. He looked at me and said, “I heard you didn’t think I was going to come.” I looked at the floor. “Well, I’m here,” he said. “I brought you and Aaron something very special, but you must go back to bed while I work. You’ll see everything in the morning.”

Santa carried us to our beds and tucked us in. He kissed us both on the forehead, and his beard tickled my cheeks and nose. It felt good. I didn’t go to sleep for a long time. I listened to Santa doing things in the living room. When he left, I listened for him on the roof, but I didn’t hear anything.

I wanted to go out and see what he’d brought, but I didn’t dare. I knew I had to go to sleep. As I lay there thinking, I was glad that I was the man of the house and that Brother Hubbard and I could get Aaron a Christmas tree. That was one of my very best Christmases.

Yes. The last item is correct. That’s what the young men from the Canyon Ward, Spanish Fork Utah Stake, learned last year. Not only did they get to hike in some of the most scenic mountains in Wyoming and Montana, but they scaled even higher heights by including daily scripture study as the focus of their wilderness experience.
“We’ve been on great hikes before,” says John Oldham, 16, past captain of the ward’s Varsity Scout team. “But this time we really emphasized the spiritual side in our planning.”
For example, the trek began with a testimony meeting. “It was great,” says Joshua Christensen, 18. “We sat and looked at the Teton Mountains as the sun went down. We talked about the gospel, about each other, about the Savior. The Spirit was there. It set a great mood for the entire trip.”
That’s not all. The group held devotionals and firesides every day. And each day they studied a scriptural theme.
“We’d read a scripture together in the morning, ask some questions about it, then we’d try to think about it or put it into practice during the day,” explains Doug Thompson, 15. “Then at night we’d talk about our answers.”
The result was that everyone was talking about, thinking about, and acting upon the scriptures.
“We read about prayer,” Doug continues, “and while we were hiking there was a time for everyone to ask for something, like praying for strength when the backpacks seemed too heavy, or for a little extra boost to make it through the rain.”
Joe Oldham, 16, says he appreciated one day’s devotional that talked about helping others.
“That same day, my cousin John and I were the first ones up to the top lake. I stayed there to watch our packs, and John went down to help my younger brother, Mike (14), with his pack because it was so heavy. Everyone helped each other out.”
“One day when our firewood was all wet,” says Alex Wright, 19 (now on a mission in Brazil), “a bunch of guys came and brought us dry firewood. That was on the same day we’d been reading about service.”
“There were tons of waterfalls,” Ryan Steadman, 14, remembers. “They’re huge and they cascade down the rocks and make all this mist. It’s so beautiful you have to believe someone made it. It made me think of the scripture (Moses 6:63) that says, ‘All things bear record of me.’”
And there were other lessons learned while hiking and camping:
“I gained an appreciation for the blessings we take for granted at home,” says Joe Elliott, 16. “In the wild you can’t just go get a drink of water; you have to pump for 20 minutes to purify it.”
“You think you need all these things to survive,” John adds. “You think you need to play basketball, to go on dates, to listen to music all the time. But out there, you can live without the worldly things. And when you read the scriptures, you can concentrate more closely on what the Lord wants you to hear.”
“Our first devotional was on prayer, on being able to pray at any time about anything,” Joshua says. “I think we all did that throughout the trip. And it taught us how to walk with the Spirit. I thought a lot about Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6], ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ I thought as we were hiking along the mountain trails physically, that spiritually we were also hiking some trails.”
Talk with these young men today, and there’s no question last year’s trip left enduring memories. They speak of how the rains came every day, right on schedule, and how that taught them the value of being prepared in advance. They talk of deepened respect for plants and animals. They express a desire to learn more and more. They laugh about diving into ice-cold water, enduring mosquito bites, and returning down the trail in search of stragglers. They even speak reverently about specific answers to prayer.
But threaded into almost every comment, and tied forever with their summer activity, is a deepened love and appreciation for the word of the Lord.
Mike may express it best when he says, “Anybody can go out and go backpacking. But we had a different kind of experience because we oriented it toward the scriptures.”
It’s an adventure that left them, literally, on top of the world.

The Holy Spirit has the power to guide. A 15-year-old girl felt that she needed to find new friends. She wrote to the Young Women office, “Now, I don’t know if you have ever had to change friends, but it honestly was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.” She decided to put her problem in the hands of the Lord, and she also counseled with her parents. She says that after several months “she wanted to just give up.”
One afternoon she was casually talking to her seminary teacher, and she confided her problem to him. Then he said, “I really don’t know why I am asking you this, but do you happen to know these girls?”
This girl answered with a yes. And then he said, “Have you ever thought about being friends with them?”
“I told him that there was no way that I could fit in with them. He then asked me if he could talk to one of the girls. I decided I would let him, if he promised not to embarrass me.
“Well, that next day I received a phone call from one of the girls. Now, you have to understand that this girl was on student council, and I hate to use the term, but she was ‘extremely popular.’ She asked if I would like to go to the basketball game with her that night. It was one of the funnest, most peaceful nights of my life. The next day at school, she introduced me to two other girls. We all instantly became friends.”
She concludes by saying, “I don’t know about you, but I would much rather have the Lord, who knows the outcome of everything, direct my life than me, who just sees things as they are at the time. He is right by our side, walking us through life, even when we feel so alone.”

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” Mama sang to baby Charlie. The harsh wind howled and blew red dirt through the cracks of the one-room log cabin. Rachel’s whole family couldn’t fall asleep that night. The clock hands pointed straight up to midnight as Papa got up to start a fire and Mama gazed at the dark sky out the window. Rachel closed her eyes tight and tried to fall asleep. Then she heard her mother whisper to her father.
“Look at all this dirt. I miss the green grass and pretty flowers at our old home,” she said. “Remember when I used to pin flowers to my dress? I miss that.”
Rachel missed the flowers at their old house too. Their new cabin didn’t have any flowers growing nearby. In fact, Rachel had noticed only a few little white flowers in all of southern Utah! Mama said they were called sego lilies. Maybe I can find one of those little white flowers tomorrow for Mama! she thought, just before falling asleep.
When sun shone through the window near Rachel’s bed, she knew it was time to get up. She pulled on her dress and tied a ribbon in her hair. She swept the kitchen floor without being asked.
“Thank you for your help, Rachel,” Mama said. “What would I do without you?”
While she did her chores that morning, Rachel tried to think of places she could find a flower for Mama. There has to be at least one flower out here, she thought. But I may have to look everywhere to find it.
She had just finished hanging clothes on the clothesline when she saw her friend Sarah walking toward her. Rachel told Sarah about her plan. With their bonnets tied under their chins, they searched everywhere for something beautiful.
They looked under the wagon. Nothing. They searched through the sagebrush. Nothing. They looked near the edge of the stream. Still nothing.
“Maybe we can find something over there.” Rachel pointed to the field her father was plowing.
The girls walked toward the field. Rachel ran her eyes along the edge from one sagebrush bush to the next. Suddenly she spotted a small white flower. It had three white petals and a purple center. Rachel gasped. It was a sego lily! “Look, Sarah!” she said. “Isn’t that pretty?”
Rachel gently picked the little flower from the red dirt and showed it to Sarah.
“It’s perfect!” Sarah said.
“Mama!” Rachel shouted as they ran toward the cabin. “Look what we found!”
Mama looked up from washing clothes, and Rachel gave her the flower. “Now you have a beautiful flower to pin on your dress.”
“Oh, Rachel. It is beautiful!” her mother said. As she admired the delicate sego lily, tears came to her eyes. She pulled Rachel in for a tight hug. “Let’s put it in some water to keep it fresh.”
As she finished her chores, Rachel kept glancing up at the sego lily. She felt happy every time she looked at it.
In her prayer that night, Rachel thanked Heavenly Father for creating the beautiful flower to grow in the desert. She told Him how happy she was that she found it. Then she climbed into bed. When Papa kissed her goodnight, he said, “What a wonderful surprise, Rachel. You made your mother very happy.”
Then Mama smiled and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Thank you for finding me a beautiful flower. It reminded me that you’re the most precious gift of all.”

During one of the most difficult times of my divorce, I was called to serve as an institute teacher. I wondered how I could effectively serve when I was facing such enormous challenges in my personal life. But as I prepared lessons, I was strengthened in my own difficulties and could empathize with my students’ difficulties. I came to know my young single adult institute students over those several years, and the testimonies they shared gave me courage as I tried to move the mountains in my life.5

To those who doubt.

Justin and Kenna Valdez moved away from family so it would be easier for them to walk away from their faith. But the hero of this story was their eight-year-old son, who still wanted to be baptized. Sensing an opening door, a wise stake president scheduled a ministering visit for us to go to their home. I still remember Kenna’s squinty look as she stared at me as I walked into the room. But she eventually confided she still had faith in the Savior and even a testimony of the Book of Mormon. But she faced a few triggering issues that kept her from coming back to church. We promised them that as they anchored in the things they did believe, the Lord would help with the things they didn’t. Overcoming their concerns was not an issue of resolving every faith question but of helping them recognize the Holy Ghost. As President Oaks recently taught, “You live in a season in which the adversary has become so effective at disguising truth that if you don’t have the Holy Ghost, you will be deceived.” Justin and Kenna began to make the changes necessary to come back. Six months after our visit, Kenna texted me, “Hi Elder Gilbert! We are ready to be sealed as a family.” This is a photo from the day that they were sealed in the Pocatello Idaho Temple.

Ashley counted the days as her fingers ran across her braille calendar. Only five more days until her eighth birthday!
“Five days is too soon!” Ashley said to herself. “How can I ever do it?”
Like most children, Ashley looked forward to her birthday each year. She loved the excitement of birthday parties, cake, ice cream, and, of course, gifts. But even the thought of gifts wasn’t enough to make her want her birthday to come this year. I’ll never be able to do it—never! she thought with despair. I’m too afraid.
Ashley was born blind. She had never seen even the ordinary things that other people take for granted, like grass, flowers, and trees, houses, schools, and buses. She had never even seen her family. But she had felt their faces often, and in her mind she knew what they were like. Mom was beautiful and Dad was strong and handsome. Her brother Jake was always smiling. Josh was more serious but was always kind.
All her life Ashley had to work hard to do things that were easy for others, like walk from one room to another without bumping into walls or furniture. Getting herself dressed and her hair combed each morning was a job in itself. Each day was filled with new things to learn.
With the help of her family, though, Ashley had learned to be very independent. She tried to face each day with a smile, and she met each task as a challenge to be mastered.
But the thought of going into water even a few inches deep terrified her. She took showers, never baths, because bathtub water scared her. Thoughts of dangling her feet in a stream or a swimming pool sent her into a panic. So although she wanted with all her heart to become a member of the Church, the idea of getting baptized was almost more than she could bear.
“Five more days, just five more days,” Ashley said again. She knew that her parents wouldn’t make her be baptized until she had overcome her fear, but she didn’t know how to do that. How can I ever go into water that deep, let alone be put under it? She started to shake just thinking about it.
She heard her mother come into her room and felt loving arms go around her and hold her tight. After a few minutes, Mom said, “Thinking about being baptized again?”
Ashley nodded. “My birthday is only five days away, and I really do want to be baptized, but I get so scared just thinking about it!”
“I’m sorry this is hard for you,” Mom said. “Do you think talking to Bishop Felix would help?”
Ashley remembered how worried she had been about her baptismal interview, but the bishop had made her feel at ease and had even made her laugh. Maybe he could help her. “Do you think I could talk to him tonight? I don’t have much time left.”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Mom gave Ashley a reassuring squeeze.
As Dad went with her into the meetinghouse that evening, she felt nervous. “Here’s the bishop’s office,” Dad said. “Would you like me to come in with you?”
“Yes, please.”
Soon she heard Bishop Felix say, “Hello, Ashley. Come right in. It’s nice to see you.”
Just by hearing his voice, Ashley knew that she had made the right decision. After a short prayer by Dad, Ashley started to explain her problem. Afterward the office was quiet for a few minutes. She knew Bishop Felix was thinking.
“Ashley,” he finally said, “I’m glad that you came to me with this problem. I know that you understand the importance of being baptized and that you have a strong desire to be baptized. And I can understand your fear of water, even the baptismal water. It’s wonderful that you and your parents have discussed the problem and prayed about it. That’s the first step, and you have taken it. Prayer is a powerful tool, but sometimes it, too, needs strengthening. I’m sure you know what fasting is,” he said.
Ashley nodded. “It’s going without food and water.”
“That’s right. But when we fast, we should fast for a specific purpose or blessing. And we should let Heavenly Father know what that purpose is. Fasting with prayer is a very powerful tool.”
“Do you think it would help me?” Ashley asked hopefully.
“I’m sure it will.”
“The whole family will fast and pray with you,” Dad said, squeezing her hand.
“I’d like to fast and pray with you, too,” Bishop Felix offered.
Ashley had faith in prayer, so if fasting strengthened prayer, she knew it would work. “Thank you,” she answered. “With everyone’s help, I’ll try it.”
As she and Dad left the church, Ashley felt good inside, almost peaceful. She knew getting baptized would still be a hard thing to do, but her faith was strong.
All the rest of the week, Ashley was prayerful about her baptism, and it wasn’t quite so frightening. She and her parents planned a short program, with both Bishop Felix and Dad speaking before the service. Afterward they would have birthday cake and ice cream for refreshments at home. Mom had already made Ashley a beautiful white dress to wear.
Soon it was the day before her birthday. After a light supper, her family began their fast with a prayer that she might overcome her fear of the water, at least while she was being baptized. And that night as Ashley knelt to pray by her bed, she felt very humble. She still feared the water, yet she knew deep down that Heavenly Father loved her and would help her.
“Happy Birthday!” Ashley woke to the family singing.
She could tell by the sounds of their voices that they were all smiling. They knelt by her bed for their morning family prayer. Mom said the prayer and asked Heavenly Father to be with their family that day as they fasted and prayed for Ashley and for her to have the courage and strength to enter into the waters of baptism. As Ashley said “Amen,” her stomach growled.
Instead of reading the scriptures around the breakfast table, the family sat in the living room. As they read, Ashley heard another stomach growling. It made her feel good to know that her family loved her enough to fast for her.
All day long Ashley’s stomach begged for food. She hadn’t realized before how hard fasting could be. But when thoughts of hamburgers, french fries, and pepperoni pizzas kept popping into her head, she pushed them out with a short prayer. With each prayer, Ashley felt stronger.
Finally it was time to leave for the church. Fear started to creep into Ashley’s heart. “Dad and Mom, could we say another prayer before we leave?”
The family knelt on the floor in a circle, holding hands. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Ashley started softly. “I’m thankful for this special day and for my family. Please help me so that I won’t be afraid to be baptized.”
As Dad guided Ashley down the baptismal font steps, she could feel the water covering her feet. Then it was up to her knees. She had never been in water this deep before, but she wasn’t afraid. The water was up to her waist when they stood in the middle of the font, yet she felt no fear. She listened to Dad and concentrated on the words as he spoke the baptismal prayer. Then he laid her gently into the warm water.
Instead of fear and panic, she felt peace. As Dad lifted her out of the water, her heart was bursting with joy, She had been baptized! She knew that fasting and prayer had helped her overcome her fear.
What a wonderful birthday gift from Heavenly Father! she thought. It’s the very best gift I could have received!

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story in general conference about a challenge from his own life that became a massive blessing for him. During the challenge, however, it was hard for President Uchtdorf to see much value in the struggle. He was 11 years old at the time and had to pedal a heavy bicycle and cart to deliver laundry for his family’s laundry business.
“Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job,” 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.”
There was a reason the work was so hard for him. He was battling a lung disease he didn’t even know he had. But here’s the miracle: all that strenuous exercise proved to be exactly what he needed to heal his lungs. Not until many years later, when he took a physical exam to enter the military, did President Uchtdorf learn there had ever been anything wrong.
“It became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness,” he said. “Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.”1

When I was 12 years old, my mother died, leaving my father with six children. There were few educational opportunities in our area, and many people were satisfied with a fourth-grade education. But I wasn’t. I held on to a dream of finishing my studies.
My opportunity came when I moved to the city of Santarém, Brazil, at age 17. My father arranged for me to live with some people he knew, and I began taking a few classes. My work barely paid for the school materials I needed.
During my first year there, the people I lived with asked me to affiliate with their church. I repeatedly refused their request. The third year came, and I still hadn’t joined their church. Then one day they asked me to find another place to live. I was devastated.
The next day I didn’t go to work or to school. I remembered my stepmother’s friend who lived close by and resolved to talk to her.
When I arrived, Maria Jose welcomed me. After I explained my situation, she asked that I go and get my things and come stay at her home. There seemed to be something extraordinary about her kindness.
After a few days, as she was preparing food, she told me that missionaries from her church were coming to eat lunch. Her goodness made me curious about her beliefs.
I spoke with Elder Riggs and Elder Marcio during lunch and set up a time to hear a discussion. By the appointment the next day, I had read the Book of Mormon and prayed about it but hadn’t felt anything unusual. But before the missionaries began, they promised me that if I would open my heart I would know that the things they would teach were true.
They didn’t need to say anything more, because while they spoke I knew by a strong feeling that this was the Church of Jesus Christ. Three weeks later I became a member.
I later served full time in the Brazil Curitiba Mission. I love this gospel and the opportunity I had to do for others the same work those missionaries did for me.
I couldn’t join one church—even when my decision left me homeless. But in finding a home and a Christlike friend, I found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

In the 1970s, the Bricknells had saved enough money to take their family to the temple to be sealed. But when Church leaders asked for donations from South African members to help fund the building of the Sao Paulo temple, the family sacrificed their travel savings.
“We contributed all we had saved for that family trip,” said Jennifer Bricknell. “And within a year, we had the money to take all five of our children to the Salt Lake Temple.”