Gospel Story Finder

Ninety-nine-year-old Louise Allred has spent most of her life serving others, and recently she learned a new way to serve from her daughter, Mary Helen.
Three years ago, Mary Helen was not looking for anything specific when she signed on to JustServe.org. Browsing around, she saw a need for a nonprofit group of volunteers who turn donated wedding gowns into bereavement clothing for newborns who never leave the hospital.
Photograph courtesy of the author
With a conviction in her heart that she had found something she wanted to do, Mary Helen and her local Relief Society contacted the organization director. An activity was planned for the sisters of the ward, and 10–12 wedding gowns were taken apart at the service project. Mary Helen took the pieces home and created baby gowns from them.
As Mary Helen made each gown, she prayed for each parent and family who would use the gown she was making. It felt deeply satisfying to her spiritually, drawing her closer to the Savior by following His admonition to love one another (see John 13:34–35; see also 1 John 4:11). Very quickly, Mary Helen realized a one-time activity was not going to be enough for her. She found that JustServe.org would be a partner for many projects for her.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Mary Helen’s mother, Louise, also began helping. She takes apart the wedding gowns stitch by stitch. Everything is then washed, cut, pieced, and sewn to create the baby gowns, and then embellishments are sewn on by hand. Each baby gown takes about two hours to create.
Together, this mother and daughter produce over 100 gowns for deceased babies each year. Hospitals all over Alabama, USA, welcome these donations.
Mary Helen says she and her mother enjoy this time they spend together serving Heavenly Father’s little ones and their families as time permits. As President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters, no matter where we live in this wonderful world. Giving help to others—making a conscientious effort to care about others as much as or more than we care about ourselves—is our joy. Especially, I might add, when it is not convenient and when it takes us out of our comfort zone. Living that second great commandment is the key to becoming a true disciple of Jesus Christ.”2
In addition to the joy this service brings, Louise loves the challenge and the feeling of accomplishment she experiences. Mary Helen says this bond between her and her mother has also become a most cherished shared experience.
“Anyone can serve,” Mary Helen says—you just have to find what works for you!

When I was nine years old, my family purchased a farm and moved to the small town of Fairfield, Utah. I felt that life there was the best a young boy could possibly have. I was fortunate enough to have three outstanding friends my age. In the summertime we swam in a natural swimming hole filled with clear well water. In the wintertime we ice-skated on frozen sinkholes.
Each year as winter approached, a number of sheep herds came through town. One year one of the herds camped about a mile from our home so that the sheep could graze on the sagebrush-covered floor of the valley. The sheepherder left in charge stopped his horse-drawn wagon, which he called a “sheep camp,” not far from a large gully. I remember wondering what life as a sheepherder was like. So with the permission of my parents, I rode my horse out to the sheep camp and introduced myself to the sheepherder. We developed an immediate friendship, and although it only lasted a very short time, it taught me a valuable lesson.
One day as I arrived at his camp, he was about to saddle up and ride around the herd to make sure that everything was all right. He had selected a horse I had never seen him ride before, and the horse seemed nervous. Usually my friend kept the saddle on a cart wheel and simply threw it onto his horse. After buckling the cinch, he would mount the horse and ride past the rear door of the camp, away from the gully, and toward the sheep. It seemed to me he had mastered the art of taking as few steps as possible in accomplishing all these tasks.
This day was different. He watched the horse very carefully. He seemed to take more time than usual in putting the saddle on and in making sure that all the rigging was just right. When he finished, I expected him to just get on the horse as he always had. Instead, he led the horse away from both the sheep camp and the gully.
I followed him and asked about this sudden change in procedure. His answer taught me a lesson that has been important all my life. He said, “This horse isn’t fully broken and therefore can’t be fully trusted. He’s apt to buck or run off in any direction. I didn’t want him to be near the sheep camp or the gully when I got on, for fear he’d begin to buck and get tangled up in the sheep camp and get hurt, or fall into the gully—then we’d both get hurt. So I brought him out here where there’s plenty of room for him to make whatever mistakes he is going to make without getting either of us hurt.”

When I first met Will, I felt sorry for him. Still, I didn’t dare help him out, because I was worried about what the other guys would think.
Will came to school six weeks after it started. Everyone else already had their own bunch of friends, and nobody seemed to need Will. Besides, he was a little different. He came to school that first Monday morning wearing a pair of ragged jeans and a faded T-shirt.
Will was kind of quiet, too, seeming to hide underneath a beat-up baseball cap. He crept into our fifth-grade class that first morning and quietly took his seat in the back of the room. He answered “Here,” when Mrs. Collins called the roll, and when she asked him where he came from, he mumbled, “Blue Lakes, Kansas.” Nobody knew where Blue Lakes was, and nobody seemed to care.
That was all Will said that first morning. At noon he ate his sack lunch by himself, with his arms around his paper bag like he didn’t want anyone to see what he had—one sandwich and an apple.
“He’s weird all right,” I heard Ronny snicker down the table from me. Several others joined in the laughter as they stared at Will sitting alone two tables over. I ducked my head and picked at the pizza I had on my tray. I wished I could help Will, but I didn’t know how.
A few minutes later, though, I had forgotten about him. What was really on my mind was our lunchtime football game. Ronny, who had brought his football from home, and Larry were the two captains. Ronny chose me right off, and soon the sides were picked. And there was Will, all alone, standing between the two teams, looking from Ronny to Larry.
“You can’t play today,” Ronny growled, rolling the football in his hands. “The teams are even right now. We don’t need anybody else.”
Will wet his lips, looked down, kicked at the grass with his dirty shoe, turned around, and wandered off to the edge of the field with his hands stuffed in his pockets. All of a sudden I had this deep-down sick feeling, and I hurt for him. I wanted to call out that we’d played with uneven teams before, but I didn’t say anything.
I tried to keep my mind on football that afternoon, but it was tough. Every time I ran out for a pass or went to block someone, I saw Will out of the corner of my eye, just sitting there at the edge of the field, watching and wishing that he were part of the game.
“Did you have butter on your fingers today, Brett?” Ronny questioned me after the bell rang and we started for class. “You missed half my throws.”
I shook my head and shrugged. “I guess it’s just one of my bad days.”
As we headed for class, I could tell that we were going to walk right past Will. He was still sitting cross-legged on the ground and picking at blades of grass. I wanted to say something so he wouldn’t feel completely alone. I knew what being alone was like. I’d been new at school two years earlier. Just before I got to Will, he looked right at me, but I chickened out because I was walking with Ronny. I turned my eyes down and walked past him. I felt sick inside all over again.
That afternoon Mrs. Collins had us get into groups to work on a science project. Right then I thought about walking over and inviting Will to work with me, but Ronny grabbed my arm and said, “Come on, Brett, work with Danny and me, or Mrs. Collins is going to stick you with the new kid.” He made it sound like working with Will would be the worst thing that could happen to a guy. Will ended up being assigned to work with Nancy and Angela when no one picked him for their group.
By the time I got home from school, I’d stopped thinking about him. But something Dad said during family home evening brought him back to my mind. Dad was giving a lesson on the Holy Ghost. He explained how the Holy Ghost could warn us when we were in danger. He said that Wilford Woodruff’s life had been saved many times because he had listened to the Holy Ghost. One time Wilford Woodruff had camped for the night and tied his horses to a big tree. During the night the Holy Ghost warned him to move his horses. Right after he moved them, a big storm tore up the tree where the horses had been.
Dad told a story of when he himself was younger and had wanted to go on a trip with some friends. The Holy Ghost had warned his mother not to let him go. Dad stayed home, and the friends who went on the trip were in a serious accident.
“Have you ever felt the Holy Ghost in your life, Brett?” Dad asked me.
Even though I had been baptized and had received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I couldn’t remember a time when the Holy Ghost had told me anything. “I guess you have to be older for the Holy Ghost to talk to you,” I complained, feeling a bit cheated. “Maybe He doesn’t have anything to tell me. Or maybe I just don’t need His help.”
“Although the Holy Ghost might speak to you in a voice,” Dad explained, “the Spirit isn’t necessarily something you hear.”
“Most of the time it’s not what you hear, but what you feel,” Mom joined in. “You might have a good feeling when you make a right choice. Or you have a sick or sorry feeling when you choose something wrong.”
Suddenly it was like a light went on inside my mind. I thought of Will. I remembered the feelings I’d had that day to say hello to him, to let him play football, and to ask him to be in my science group. I wondered if the Holy Ghost had tried to speak to me, and I hadn’t listened.
I was really quiet after that because I didn’t want my family to know about Will and me. I wanted the Holy Ghost to warn me and protect me as He had with Wilford Woodruff and Dad, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Him telling me to be nice to Will. That wouldn’t help me—it would make things hard for me! How could I be nice to Will when everybody else thought he was weird?
Dad asked me to say the closing prayer in home evening, and I asked Heavenly Father to help us listen to the Holy Ghost and do what He told us to do. As I prayed, I tried not to think of Will, because I was afraid of what the Spirit might tell me.
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, but by morning I’d forgotten about Will again. I was anxious to get to school. As I rushed out my bedroom door, I spotted my new football just inside the closet. Ineed to take that to school today, I thought as I charged toward the kitchen. Two more times before I left the house, I thought of my football, but I still forgot to take it until I was half a block down the street. Remembering, I raced back to the house, grabbed the ball, and sprinted off to school.
No one was any friendlier to Will on Tuesday than they’d been on Monday, but I figured there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Then when we got ready to go out for morning recess, Ronny called to me, “Hey, Brett, bring your ball. I forgot mine. You can be one of the captains.”
At first I was excited to be a captain, but as everyone gathered so Ronny and I could choose up teams, I spotted Will. I remembered Dad’s lesson on the Holy Ghost, and I knew why I’d brought my football that morning. I fidgeted and felt a scary twisting in my stomach, because I knew that bringing the ball to school was the easy part. The hard part was still ahead of me, and it was like the Holy Ghost was telling me exactly what to do. I looked around. Everybody was waiting for Ronny and me to choose. I began to wish that I had left my ball shut up in the closet at home.
Ronny chose Larry first. I chose Rusty. Ronny chose Danny. I wasn’t hearing a voice, but the feeling inside told me what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to do it. Everyone expected me to choose Robby, but I knew that I wasn’t supposed to make the easy choice. I was supposed to make the right one. “I’ll take Will,” I rasped.
Everybody was quiet for a moment. Will looked surprised, and then he shuffled over to join my team, keeping his head down and not looking at anybody.
“Why’d you want him?” Ronny growled.
“I figure he’s pretty good,” I muttered, shrugging. I could feel my cheeks burn a glowing red, but my insides didn’t twist and turn like they had before.
We took the kickoff. I was playing quarterback, and as soon as the ball was hiked, I searched for a receiver. Everybody was covered—everybody but Will. The other team had forgotten him, hadn’t even worried about him. He was pretty far down the field, but I decided to give him a chance. I cocked my arm and let the ball fly. It was a little over his head, but he reached for it, pulled it down, cradled it against his chest, and was racing for the goal line before Ronny’s team knew what was happening. He made our first touchdown.
A few plays later Ronny threw the ball to Larry. He wasn’t even watching Will—I guess he figured that Will’s first catch was all luck. But before Larry realized that Will was anywhere near, Will stepped in front of him, snatched the ball from the air, and charged down the field for his second touchdown.
“Hey, where’d you learn to play ball, Will?” Ronny demanded as we walked to class after recess.
“Football and baseball were about all we ever played in Blue Lakes,” Will answered, smiling shyly and ducking his head.
“Well, you’re playing for me this afternoon. Brett had his turn this morning.”
Will looked over at me. I smiled and nodded, feeling a warm swelling inside me. I was glad that I had learned to listen with more than my ears.

Two weeks after Sage was burned, the Volkmans were offered the more specialized care available to burned children at a special hospital in Galveston, Texas. Sage was flown the 1,500 kilometers to Galveston on November 6. She was still in a coma.
Among the hospital staff were two Latter-day Saints. Jonathan Brough and Rob Durrans had seen burn victims before, but this case was different. “I had always been able to recognize what part of the patient I was looking at,” Rob wrote in his journal, a copy of which he later sent to the Volkmans.
“When Sage arrived, the doctors were not very optimistic for her future,” he observed. “‘If she makes it through the night, and that’s a big if,’ they emphasized, ‘we are expecting brain damage, loss of vision, chronic lung problems, inability to walk, and probably a major loss of hearing. Anything short of that will be a miracle.’”
In an entry he made in his journal, Jonathan describes what happened next: “Rob and I were asked to give Sage a blessing. We entered the little girl’s room, robed as if for surgery. We approached the bed to find an unresponsive, motionless figure. The respirator was pumping next to the bed, and tubes—for her lungs, for pumping her stomach, and for giving nourishment—entered every opening of her face. She was severely disfigured. Only her small feet were recognizable as those of a formerly beautiful child. If ever I wanted to give a blessing of release from this life it was then. I envisioned the unsurmountable challenges this girl would have to face, as well as the sacrifices her parents would have to make in order to nurse her back to any degree of independence.
“Rob anointed the frail remnant of that little girl’s body and then we both placed our hands on her head to seal the anointing. Few times have I felt the Spirit speak as powerfully through me as it did at that time. To my surprise I heard myself bless her with the strength to overcome the destruction that her body had sustained.”
Both Rob and Jonathan were shocked at the blessing they had just given, especially the promise of full recovery. “Yet we had both been instantaneously told that everything would be all right,” Rob wrote. “As we closed the blessing, I let my fingers linger for a moment on her head—there was a feeling that she was drawing upon my strength, and when I lifted my hands I felt completely drained.”
During the next few days Sage hovered between life and death. Bleeding ulcers set back plans for surgery, and her coma continued. Donations from friends had allowed Ruth DeBuck to come to Galveston to be with Denise, and the two would often stroke Sage’s feet and tell her stories or sing her hymns, hoping that something would get through to the dream world she was in.
Then one day Denise was lying on the bed with Sage. She looked into her daughter’s ruined face and said, “Oh, I love you, Sage.”
And Sage whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Sister Jodi King wrote of her own experience of past years:
“I never felt like I didn’t belong at church until my husband, Cameron, and I began struggling with infertility. The children and families who had typically brought me joy to see at church now started causing me grief and pain.
“I felt barren without a child in my arms or a diaper bag in hand. …
“The hardest Sunday was our first one in a new ward. Because we didn’t have kids, we were asked if we were newlyweds and when we planned on starting a family. I had gotten pretty good at answering these questions without letting them affect me—I knew they weren’t meant to be hurtful.
“However, on this particular Sunday, answering those questions was especially hard. We had just found out, after being hopeful, that we were—yet again—not pregnant.
“I walked into sacrament meeting feeling downtrodden, and answering those typical ‘get to know you’ questions was hard for me. …
“But it was Sunday School that truly broke my heart. The lesson—intended to be about the divine role of mothers—quickly shifted gears and became a vent[ing] session. My heart sank and tears silently flowed down my cheeks as I heard women complain about a blessing I would give anything for.
“I bolted out of church. At first, I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to experience that feeling of isolation again. But that night, after talking with my husband, we knew we would keep attending church not only because the Lord has asked us to but also because we both knew that the joy that comes from renewing covenants and feeling the Spirit at church surpasses the sadness I felt that day. …
“In the Church, there are widowed, divorced, and single members; those with family members who have fallen away from the gospel; people with chronic illnesses or financial struggles; members who experience same-sex attraction; members working to overcome addictions or doubts; recent converts; new move-ins; empty-nesters; and the list goes on and on. …
“The Savior invites us to come unto Him—no matter our circumstances. We come to church to renew our covenants, to increase our faith, to find peace, and to do as He did perfectly in His life—minister to others who feel like they don’t belong.”

The answer to this question from the Roy Utah Central Stake young women is a resounding, “Yes!” With a goal to collect 1,000 pairs of new or gently used shoes from the members of their stake, the young women organized a shoe drive. On the day of the drive, the young women collected, cleaned, polished, tied together, sorted, and boxed up 1,223 pairs of shoes. The week following the activity, shoes continued to trickle in. When the shoes were finally dropped off at the Church’s Humanitarian Center, there were nearly 1,500 pairs of shoes ranging from baby shoes to hiking boots to sneakers.
One person who donated shoes left a note for the young women that read, “Thanks for doing this. It is a super neat thing for you to do. You will bless many lives.”

One night Ben awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible earache. His ear hurt so much that he had to go to the hospital. On the way, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, my ear hurts worse than anything has ever hurt me before. I really need help. Please help the doctors find a way to make my ear feel better.” Ben remembered that Heavenly Father hadn’t always given him what he asked for, but he tried to have faith and believe that the pain would go away.
At the hospital, the doctor gave Ben some medicine. It tasted yucky, but Ben swallowed it, and on the way home his ear started feeling better. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

In 2015 Jacques Niambé, a clerk in the Abobo Côte d’Ivoire Stake, began having spiritual impressions that he needed to move his family to Dakar to help build the Church there. As young converts to the Church in 2006, Jacques and his brother had both wanted to serve missions. Family opposition, however, led Jacques to stay home while his brother served. “I told myself that even though I did not go on a mission,” he recalled, “I could serve the Lord in the way I could and where I was called.” Now, he felt the Lord was calling him to Dakar. At first, Jacques’s wife, Marie, did not think that the move was right for their family. Jacques asked her to pray about the decision and within a week, she had a dream that confirmed that the Lord needed them in Senegal.
Jacques went to Dakar first, planning to arrange for Marie to come later. At the time of the move, he knew of no Church members in Senegal. Alone, he studied the Book of Mormon, fasted three days a week, and prayed for the Lord’s guidance. Eventually, members in Côte d’Ivoire gave Jacques the phone number of Alphonse and Patricia Samadé, an Ivorian member couple living in Dakar. Jacques called the Samadés to arrange a time when they could meet. Meanwhile, Patricia asked friends in Côte d’Ivoire if they knew of a Church group in Dakar. She was given the phone number of James Chen.
Chen invited them to attend weekly meetings, and the following Sunday, Niambé and the Samadés met with the group for the first time. They worked together with other group members to share the gospel, inviting friends to be taught by missionaries outside the country via online video chat. They also began making arrangements for a missionary couple to come to Senegal.
On May 1, 2016, the Dakar Branch was organized with Jacques Niambé as president. Under his leadership and with the help of Elder Gary and Sister Helen Parke, the branch grew steadily. In February 2018, eight members of the branch traveled to Accra, Ghana, to attend the temple. In April, less than two years after the Dakar Branch was organized, it was divided, and Alphonse Samadé was called as president of the newly organized Parcelles Branch. Just weeks later, during a visit to Dakar, Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles marveled at the potential he saw in the branches in Senegal. “The little branch I attended [in Brazil as a boy] became three stakes,” Elder Soares said after his visit. “I can see a similar future in Senegal.”

“Hurry up, Mom!” five-year-old Jackson shouted. He grabbed the Book of Mormon story book and sat down on the bright blue chair.
Four-year-old Michelle climbed up beside him. “Story time!” she cried, eagerly clapping her hands.
Mother squeezed between them on the chair and opened the book. “Let’s see. … Yesterday, we were reading about the Anti-Nephi-Lehies, weren’t we?”
Jackson nodded.
“They were Lamanites. And they’d been converted to the gospel, remember?”
“And they were really wicked!” Michelle declared emphatically.
“Yes, they were really wicked. But when they were converted, they wanted to repent,” said Mother. “They promised the Lord that they would never fight again. In fact, they buried all their weapons of war in a big pit—see,” she said, pointing to the picture.
“Wow!” Jackson cried excitedly. “Look at all those weapons. Swords and bows and arrows and all kinds of things!”
“That looks fun!” exclaimed Michelle. “Let’s bury our weapons, too, Jackson!”
Jackson giggled. “Oh, Michelle, don’t be silly. We don’t have any weapons.”
“Hmmm,” Mother said thoughtfully. “You may not use swords and bows and arrows, but sometimes the things that come out of your mouths hurt too.”
Michelle looked puzzled. “What comes out of our mouths?” she asked.
“Words,” said Mother.
“You mean words like stupid and dumb, don’t you?” Jackson asked.
“Right,” said Mother. “Sometimes words hurt as much as a punch on the arm.”
“Then we must bury our bad words,” Michelle urged, “and never use them again!”
“I know what,” said Mother. “You tell me some words that hurt other people’s feelings, and I’ll write them down on slips of paper. Then you can dig a big hole and bury all those bad words, just like the Lamanites buried their weapons.”
“Great idea!” Jackson exclaimed. They found some paper and tore it into pieces. Then they thought of all the unkind words that they knew. Mother wrote them down.
“Come on, Michelle, let’s go dig that pit now,” Jackson called enthusiastically. They took their dad’s shovel out of the shed and hurried to an area behind the house where they could dig.
Jackson dug the shovel tip into the dark, rocky soil. He pushed as hard as he could, but the ground was so hard that he loosened only a small clump of dirt.
“Wow! You’re not very strong,” Michelle teased.
“Well, you’re pretty weak yourself,” he growled back. Then he stopped. “Hey, wait a minute. We’re supposed to be burying those kinds of words! Sorry.”
“Me, too,” Michelle told him sincerely. “How about trying this?” she suggested, handing him a garden trowel that they used in their sandpile.
Jackson took it and chipped at the dirt while Michelle dug with a stick.
Soon they were covered with dust and dirt, but the hole was dug. They put all the papers with the unkind words written on them into the hole. Then they pushed the dirt back.
“Are you finished yet?” Mother called from the kitchen window. “I’ve made some hot muffins for my two hungry Anti-Nephi-Lehies.”
“Yes,” answered Jackson. “Our weapons are finally buried!”
“And,” Michelle solemnly declared, “we won’t ever use them again!”

Jason lay by the hearth, doing his homework in the firelight. But he couldn’t concentrate. The image of Mr. Rayburn’s ranch kept coming back to him, and with it the sight of the beautiful little pony the rancher had for sale. Only eighteen dollars, that’s all it would cost! he thought. But it might as well be five hundred. Jason’s father had gone to fight in the Civil War, and had left his ten-year-old son as the man of the house.
More than anything he had ever wanted before, Jason wanted a pony. But how will I ever get eighteen dollars of my own? he asked himself. All the other boys rode to school on horses. But Jason had to be up before dawn to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and then walk the long distance to school. When he wasn’t at school, Jason was busy at home, helping his mother on their farm.
Jason’s mother listened sympathetically when he told her about Mr. Rayburn’s pony. But when the boy finished, she just looked at him with a sad kind of smile. “Oh, Jason,” she said. “The pony sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid we don’t have any money to spare. We’re having a hard time now and with a new baby coming …”
“I’d forgotten for a minute about the baby. I hope it’s a girl. I’d like to have a little sister,” said Jason with a smile. “And maybe if I work extra hard, there will be enough money for a cradle.”
His mother hugged him close. “With you here to help, we’ll do just fine, Jason,” she said.
Later that night Jason climbed the ladder up to the loft where he slept. But before sleep came he couldn’t help thinking about the pony.
The next morning on his way to school, Jason saw a notice in the window of the general store:
Boys needed afternoons or evenings at the planing mill—10¢ an hour.
Ten cents an hour is a lot of money, Jason thought. I hope I can get that job after school.
The hours seemed to drag by until school was over. When the bell rang, Jason raced to the mill, but his heart sank when he saw the long line of waiting boys. At last it was his turn to apply for a job.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the man.
“Ten years old, sir. But I’ll be eleven in March. And I’m a hard worker,” replied Jason.
“I don’t think you’re old enough for a job here, son. Why don’t you try us next year?”
Jason did not move. “Please, sir, now that my father is at war, I’m the only man in the house. And I’ll work hard.”
“Well, if your dad’s away fighting, I guess we can find a job for you,” the man said.
Jason could hardly wait to tell his mother about his new job. “I know you’ll make me proud of you,” she said. “And since you’re working on your own time between school and chores, son, you may keep the money you earn.”
Jason jumped up with delight and hugged her. His chores weren’t so hard that night. In his mind he could just see himself up on the back of that little pony. It won’t matter if I don’t have a saddle. I’ll still be able to ride like the other boys, and they won’t laugh at (ridicule) me anymore, he thought.
Jason liked his work at the mill. But it became hard to study without falling asleep and even harder to get up in the mornings. As the weeks passed, Jason’s little pile of money grew. Each payday brought him closer to his goal. However, it was nearly time for the baby to be born and Jason knew that he would soon have to quit working at the mill because his mother would need more help at home. Every night when he went to bed he wondered how long he would be able to work.
The next payday Jason counted his savings. He had $19.10, and in his mind he could see the little pony in their barn. He was so busy thinking about the pony that he almost bumped into a buggy parked in their yard. He looked up and his heart leaped. It was Dr. Frank’s. The baby must have been born! He raced toward the house. Then he suddenly got sad. The cradle! Mother still didn’t have a cradle for the baby. But it really wasn’t his fault. Mother had said he could keep the money he earned. Still, he felt a little selfish. He opened the door slowly and peeked in. His grandmother was in the kitchen.
“Grandmother is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.
Grandmother smiled and put a finger to her lips, “Shh, your mother is asleep. Come and see your baby sister.”
Jason approached timidly. He had not been this close to a newborn baby before. She lay curled up in the laundry basket, wrapped in layers of blankets.
“Oh, Grandmother she’s so tiny,” he whispered.
“Your mother has named her Jenny. She looks a little like you did when you were a baby,” said Grandmother.
Jason bent down to look at the tiny fingers. They moved when he touched them and curled themselves around his larger finger. He frowned. He was the man of the house, and this little baby was partly his responsibility. How could he think of buying a pony when Jenny had no cradle?
“Grandmother I’m not very hungry. I have something important to do. Please tell Mother I’ll be back soon.”
Jason ran outside and didn’t stop till he came to the general store. Mr. Wright, the proprietor, also did woodworking as a hobby.
“Mr. Wright! My mother had a baby girl. How much would you charge to make me a cradle for her—one that rocks?”
“Well, since you’re a working man,” the storekeeper said with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll make a real nice one for you for nine dollars. I can have it ready by Friday.”
“That’d be fine,” said Jason. As he turned to leave, he saw some baby clothes inside a showcase. “How much is that pretty little gown?” he asked. “I want to get that for Jenny too.”
All the way home Jason whistled a jaunty tune. He was sure that the real man of the house couldn’t be any happier about the new baby than her big brother was.

I learned from a mission president recently that one of his young sister missionaries, nearing the end of her very faithful and successful mission, said through her tears that she must return home immediately. When he inquired as to the problem, she told him money had become so difficult for her family that to continue her support, the family had rented their home and were using the rental proceeds to pay her mission expenses. For living accommodations, they had moved into a storage locker. For water, they used a neighbor’s outdoor tap and hose; and for a bathroom they went to a nearby gasoline station. This family, in which the father had recently passed away, was so proud of their missionary and so independent in spirit that they had managed to keep this recent turn of events from most of their friends and virtually all of their Church leaders.

When this situation was discovered, the family was restored to their home immediately. Long-term solutions to their economic circumstances were put in place, and the complete amount of remaining missionary support for their missionary daughter was secured overnight. With her tears dried and fears allayed, this faithful, hardworking young sister finished her mission triumphantly and was recently married in the temple to a wonderful young man.

A young woman wrote: “President Hinckley quoted Joshua 1:9 [Josh. 1:9] in one of his talks. It says, ‘Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.’ Sometimes my friends want me to be someone else and I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be myself, and what I am afraid of is that I might lose them, and I don’t want to lose them. When the prophet read this scripture, it was like he knew what I was feeling. I felt like somebody had answered my prayers. Whenever friend troubles happen to me again, I know what to do and think, because I have those words in my mind that I will never forget, never!”

1. Mildred and Marvin’s marriage was basically very sound. Each day Mildred rode to work with a good friend, Henry. They enjoyed talking; Mildred especially liked the chance to exchange ideas because Marvin, a very quiet man, did not readily share his thoughts and feelings with his family. Mildred and Henry gradually started taking longer routes home, and they even began stopping by the roadside to talk. There was no physical involvement between them, but when Marvin learned of the situation, he suspected Mildred of infidelity. It took months for them to remedy the damage. This heartache could have been avoided if they had found a third person to ride to and from work with them or if they had changed their transportation arrangement.

Any uneasiness about a situation should be taken seriously, even though “nothing’s happening.” The subtle shift from marital fidelity to infidelity is like the gradual shading from daylight to darkness. The growing pleasure Mildred and Henry took in each other’s company was destructive to both marriages.

While on a school trip to Las Vegas, my brother and I were wandering along “the Strip” looking for souvenirs and seeing the sights. We proceeded innocently into a large and impressive hotel, which, we discovered only after we went inside, had a casino attached. We had no intention of gambling, but everywhere we turned were opportunities to do just that.
We wandered deeper and deeper into the building, looking for a store with souvenirs we might be interested in. Built like a maze, the corridors of the casino all seemed to lead from one area of slot machines to another. At last we realized we were lost. The lights were dim, and we were surrounded by all sorts of flashy and offensive advertising. We knew that the buses to go back home would be leaving without us if we didn’t find an exit soon.
Finally we found a security guard and asked him about the quickest way out. He had an annoyed expression, but after giving a disgruntled cough he told us the way. The instructions were complicated, and we had to ask him to repeat them several times. Luckily, with his directions, we found a well-hidden set of doors which led out to the sunlight. We found ourselves on the main street and soon met our supervisors.

A few weeks ago, joy and nostalgia dominated our conversation as Sister Haight and I drove to the airport to see our eleventh grandchild leave for his mission. During our brief visit—with warm greetings and emotional embraces—we recalled some of the historical accounts of how the message of the restoration of the gospel had influenced our family, of how our missionary grandson’s great-great-grandfather, Joseph Toronto, heard and believed the message of the gospel from missionaries in Boston in 1843, 150 years ago.
Joseph Toronto assisted with the building of the Nauvoo Temple. Brigham Young had made a strong appeal on Sunday, July 6, 1845, for the Saints to “remember [and pray for] the temple” and to “pay your tithing.” The Saints were anxious that the temple be finished sufficiently that ordinance work might begin before the exodus westward. More workers and tithing were desperately needed. Joseph Toronto, the new convert, visited Brigham Young after the meeting and declared that “he wanted to give himself and all he had to the kingdom of God.” He handed Brigham Young $2,600 in gold coins (see “Italian Pioneer,” Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16). Brigham Young blessed the Italian convert, proclaiming that “he should stand at the head of his race and that neither he nor his family should ever want for bread” (Joseph Toronto: Italian Pioneer and Patriarch, comp. Toronto Family Organization [1983], p. 10). Later, in 1849, he was called to accompany the new Apostle Lorenzo Snow to his native Italy to open that land for the preaching of the gospel (see Church News, 20 June 1981, p. 16).

Young: I could go on for an hour if you want. At the beginning of my mission, I remember praying and praying that I would feel like I was doing something worthwhile. After about two weeks, we started teaching a little family out in a village. Most of the conversation was going right by me, because I was just starting to get hold of the language. The mother started crying, and my companion asked her what was wrong. She wanted to explain that she’d had a dream. In the dream she had seen a great white building. Down in Honduras there aren’t too many of those. People were dressed in white and they were going in and out of this beautiful building. Then she said, “Outside that building, waiting to take us in, was Elder Young.”
I realized she was talking about the temple, even though she didn’t know it. And I said, “Look what I’m involved with, helping people to be eternal families.” And it happened. The family was baptized a couple of weeks later and I got a letter last summer telling me they were sealed in the Guatemala Temple.
That’s something more important than any football success I might have. That’s something I can say for myself later, that I was involved in something like that.

Last August we took some of our grandchildren to Timpanogos Cave National Monument, one of Utah’s most popular destinations. It is a rather strenuous one-and-a-half-mile (2.4 km) hike to reach the cave but well worth the effort to witness the cave’s beautiful, spiraling formations. I was certain that nine-year-old Ruthie would have little difficulty, but I wondered whether six-year-old Caroline would have the strength and stamina to make it all the way.
We were all very excited to begin the hike, and at first we moved rapidly along the paved trail. One-fourth of the way came quickly, but it took longer to reach the halfway point. Caroline started to get discouraged. Ruthie was doing well and encouraged Caroline to continue. We slowed down so Caroline could keep up. Then it seemed that everything went wrong. Strong winds came up, and the dust from the winds made it difficult to see. It was a little scary, and as if that weren’t enough, we came across a signpost that read, “Rattlesnake Habitat. Stay on the Trail. Stay Safe.”
Slowly we trudged along, three-fourths of the way to our goal, but we still had the steepest part of the mountain to climb. Tired, scared, and doubting her abilities, Caroline sat down and tearfully declared, “I give up! I can’t go any farther!”
We sat down, and we talked about what we should do. We made a plan. We decided to count our steps and see how we felt after 100 steps. Ruthie and I assured Caroline that we would help her. We were to look for something that made us happy along the way and share our discoveries. We even sang some Primary songs.
Things changed. Caroline made the choice to follow the plan. One hundred steps made an impossible task seem doable. Caroline knew we would help her, and as we looked for the good things around us and sang songs, we felt happier.
Young women, choose good friends who will support you in your righteous decision to follow the plan. Like Ruthie, who gave encouragement to Caroline, we know that many of you can do much to strengthen each other. After you receive your Young Womanhood Recognition, it is your turn to be the “big sister.” Earning your Honor Bee will give you opportunities to strengthen another young woman with your righteous example and testimony as you mentor her with her Personal Progress.
Finally, live to be worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. When we helped Caroline, looked for the good around us, and even sang Primary songs, we invited the Spirit. We felt love, joy, and peace, which are fruits of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22). You will need that peace and assurance when Satan tries to confuse you with winds of doubt, when you are tempted to take another path, or when others are unkind or mock you for your beliefs.

I became friends with Kerstin when I was 14 years old. We went to the same school. I had known who she was for a long time, but I had not known her personally before because she was 12.
We got to know each other better when we both tried out for the school play. We soon became good friends, even though there was a two-year age difference. It wasn’t long before we met together in the afternoons to go on walks and talk. One spring afternoon, on one of our walks, she asked something that would change her life forever.
Kerstin wondered why my brother and I didn’t participate in the school’s religion class like most of the students in Austria. I told her about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then I bore my testimony and invited her to come to a youth activity. Later I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and the Liahona.
Since then Kerstin has participated in every Church activity and attends Church meetings every Sunday. She has even attended youth conference. Whenever we can, we walk to a little river that is close by to read our scriptures and work on Young Women Personal Progress.
Unfortunately, Kerstin cannot be baptized until she is 18. Her parents don’t want to cause any arguments with her extended family members. Despite this obstacle, Kerstin has already managed to get her mother to attend church.
Kerstin also works with the missionaries. She speaks about the Church with everyone she meets and has helped get her father excited about the family history program, even though he has no interest in religion.
Kerstin is an example to me of how easy it is to speak with others about the gospel and how our Father in Heaven prepares people to hear His word. We need only open our mouths and have faith. The rest will take care of itself.

I wasn’t the most popular person in the marching band. I had some friends, of course, but I didn’t hang with the really “cool” people. They were the ones who sat in the back of the bus on trips and held their own raucous celebrations.
As I settled onto a green vinyl seat on the “band bus,” the cool breeze of an Alabama autumn slipped in a window and brushed my cheek. We were headed for the stadium, and like usual, the drum section members were in the back of the bus with their rowdy friends. Lulled by the rhythm of the ride, I shut my eyes and reflected on my social status and how isolated I felt being one of the few Mormons at school.
A teeth-jarring jolt startled me. The bus was off the road, careening wildly along the gravel shoulder. I gripped the seat ahead to steady myself. The bus was out of control, and each tilt and sway threatened to fling us into a crushing roll.
We lurched toward the ditch that lay beyond my window, balancing on two tires. The afternoon sun flared into brilliant white, filling my mind with a microsecond vision of my family. I clenched my fists and braced myself for the impact.
The bus tipped, voices screamed, and I sobbed, “Heavenly Father, please!” I was so afraid to die. Immediately my fear was replaced by comforting waves of peace.
There was a thud as the bus righted itself, and gravel sprayed as the bus jolted to a halt. We were on the slope of a ditch, only a few feet short of smashing into the framework of a bridge. I wiped my tears, astonished I was still alive. I was aware of people shouting and sobbing while scrambling for the exit. When I was able to climb out, I collapsed with relief on a grassy knoll, gentle peace still warming my heart.
At that moment I realized I was not only okay physically, but spiritually as well. I thought of a scripture we had discussed in seminary: “And if they die they shall die unto me, and if they live they shall live unto me. … And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them” (D&C 42:44, 46).
I marveled at the calm that had replaced my terror. I really thought I was going to die, yet in the last moment I wasn’t afraid. Popularity pales in the face of death, as do many other things. Although I may not be perfect, it’s nice to be on the right track.

A friend of mine once told me about his experience in coming to know and understand the gift of the Holy Ghost. He had prayed often and longed to know the truth of the gospel.
Although he felt at peace with his beliefs, he had never received the certain knowledge for which he hungered. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he might be one of those who would have to walk through this life relying upon the faith of others.
One morning, while pondering the scriptures, he felt something surge through his body from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “I was immersed in a feeling of such intense love and pure joy,” he explained. “I cannot describe the measure of what I felt at that time other than to say I was enveloped in joy so profound there was no room in me for any other sensation.”
Even as he felt this outpouring of the Holy Ghost, he wondered if possibly he was just imagining what was happening. “The more I wondered,” he said, “the more intense the feelings became until it was all I could do to tearfully say, ‘It is enough.’”