Gospel Story Finder

I had left the Church as a teenager because I didn’t believe it to be true. I even stopped believing in God. Then in my 20s, I had an experience of conversion, and I knew the Church was true. I remember feeling the excitement of realizing the truth of the gospel. That excitement lasted only about a minute before my stomach turned with the sobering reality that my whole life would require an overhaul because of my conversion. How do you change nearly everything about your life and become the person you know you should be?
On that day in my 20s, I called my grandpa. I knew I could trust his direction with this problem. He listened to my concerns about how to change my entire life when I was unsure how to do so. Then he said, “Just pick one thing. Pick one thing, work on that, and when you’re ready, pick another. That’s all you have to do.”
I don’t know what I had expected to hear, but that wasn’t it. I needed to be so much better than I was, and I thought that changing one thing at a time wouldn’t be nearly enough. But somehow, in some fleeting moment of spiritual maturity, I decided to follow his advice. With such a staggering number of changes I was facing at that time of returning to the Church, what one thing should I choose first? The weight of this list that we all know (go to church, read scriptures, pray, pay tithing, serve in a calling, etc.) was overwhelming all on its own.
There were so many things I knew I would struggle to change, and I hadn’t felt strong enough to tackle them yet. So I decided to choose something I could do—something important but small. It would put me on the road I wanted to be on, and I’d be able to build on that success.
Years later, when I lacked the strength to offer up a simple prayer after my second divorce, the Holy Ghost brought that memory to my mind.
As I continued to lie motionless inside my cotton cocoon of bedding and recalled that counsel, I knew the Spirit was providing me direction I could apply to my present circumstance. Maybe I could do one thing. It didn’t have to be anything major; it just had to be something. The first thing I needed to do was get out of bed. So that’s what I did—after a few minutes, I pulled back the covers and stood up. Then I went back under the covers. But that was OK because I had done the one thing that I picked. I kept that as my goal for a few more days before picking my next thing, and I continued to build upon that.
I now understand that Grandpa’s direction was more than just good advice. The scriptures teach, “For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that receiveth I will give more” (2 Nephi 28:30). I tried it because I trusted my grandpa. It works because it’s a gospel principle. Learning how to become better by changing one thing at a time is how we learn and grow.
This would usually be the point in the story where I would tell you how great my life is today. The truth is things are better, but that’s not the only point. The point is that the Lord expected me to simply do the very best I could in each moment with His help. He understood that on some days my best was literally mustering up the strength to get out of bed. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “God will take you as you are at this very moment and begin to work with you. All you need is a willing heart, a desire to believe, and trust in the Lord.” 1
I felt love and acceptance from our Father in Heaven. My offering to continually improve myself line upon line is acceptable to Him. The effort, no matter how imperfect, is still acceptable if it’s my best effort. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught: “Do the best that you can. That’s all we ask of you. … The Lord doesn’t expect you to do more than that. Just do the very best you can.” 2 I didn’t have to flip a switch and completely transform overnight. We progress line upon line.
Whether I’m striving to be better at ministering to those around me or just trying to stand up, it matters that I’m trying.
From my efforts to recover from two divorces—and from everything else that life has challenged me with—I have learned two key lessons. First, the Lord loves sincere effort of any kind. 3 Second, the Lord will meet you where you are. Regardless of where you are on the road to recovery and healing, if you’re on that road, He will be there.
Because the Savior has taken upon Himself all our pains and sorrows, He knows what we need no matter what it is. Even if we don’t know it ourselves, He does. And He will help us move forward.
I often hear others expressing their gratitude for the challenges in their life. I want to feel thankful for adversity. I’m not that person yet, but right now, that’s my one thing. I’m working on that, and when I’m ready, I’ll pick another.

For Tino, missionary service took an unexpected turn. Deferment of their mandatory military obligation is not allowed for Portuguese missionaries, and Tino was called into his country’s air force. He still remembers the counsel of R. Perry Ficklin, then president of the Portugal Lisbon Mission, who explained that Elder Moreira’s missionary service wasn’t over, that he was only being “transferred to another area—more difficult.” Tino went on to teach and baptize a number of people in the air force.

Two of my good friends were Walt and Liz. They had the greatest influence on me during high school.
I wasn’t a member of the Church then, but I was a serious athlete. And because I took sports seriously, I didn’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. Neither did any of my friends, until our second year in high school. Suddenly, the guys I used to play basketball with were spending their weekends getting drunk at parties. I went to a few of the parties, but I didn’t like what I saw, so I stopped associating with my old friends.
That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.

Fathers and mothers and children give each other much occasion for hosanna moments, and grow up together. I was a humbled participant in such a moment late one evening several years ago after our young daughter fell and struck her head a terrible blow. I rushed into the room and was stunned to find my wife kneeling over an apparently lifeless girl. As I knelt across from my wife, thinking about first aid and paramedics, she looked up, pointed her finger at my chest, and said, with a power I knew flowed from the purest spring, “Heal her . . . now!” Obedient, I immediately laid my hands on Jennifer’s head and spoke the keys: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of his priesthood, I command that you be healed this instant. Amen.” As I lifted my hands, Jennifer’s chest began to heave, her breathing recommenced, and her eyes focused. Looking up into the anxious faces of two frightened parents, she said the sweetest words we’d ever heard, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” we responded. “Everything’s fine, now.” Driving home from the hospital that night, my wife and I were in a state of hosanna. Our Father had once more spanned the gap with his immortal finger, had managed another surprise of the Spirit. We had already believed that he knows each sparrow’s fall. But this was our little sparrow whose life he had intervened to preserve.

When my father, Elwood Allred, was young, he helped his mother gather eggs. He would crawl under the granary to retrieve some of them—the hens loved to lay their eggs in that dark, tight area. One day after he’d gathered the eggs there and was starting to squeeze out, he heard his mother say, “Elwood, don’t come out the way you went in. Please come out the other side.”
“But Mom,” he protested. “Do I have to?”
“Please do it for me,” his mother replied. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
My father wasn’t happy about it, but he obediently crawled through the spider webs and dark to the other side of the granary, where his mother swept him in her arms. “Thank you for being obedient,” she said. She took my father’s hand. “I want to show you something.”
Father and his mother walked to the spot where he would have crawled out, and Father was frightened to see a rattlesnake coiled up. Listening to his mother had most likely saved his life!
My father often shared that story with me, and I learned early in life the importance of being obedient! I always tried hard to listen to my parents because I knew that they understood and knew things that I didn’t. I knew, too, that they loved me and wanted only the best for me. I also recognized early that Heavenly Father loved me and wanted only what was best for me.

Now, with a wonderful and talented family of 11 children, Sister Groberg reflected on times Brother Groberg served as a Regional Representative of the Quorum of the Twelve to the Pacific Islands and was frequently gone great distances three weeks at a time. On one occasion a call from the prophet to Elder Groberg conveyed this message: “Tell your wife you won’t be gone over six months on this special assignment (it turned out to be only two months), but we’re not sure how long it will be.” Of these times she spoke tenderly: “When your husband is giving his all, it doesn’t separate you even while he is away. It really doesn’t separate you. You are a part of it with him,” she explained. “It was his letters,” she said. And she had already developed a deep appreciation for his sensitive writing. “He would write such inspiring letters. His letters to us as a family had a profound influence on everything we did. They always have been such a strengthening influence,” she emphasized. “He would share what he could of his experiences and then he would come home and the girls would look forward to their daddy coming back and telling them really special and inspiring things that had happened on his trip.”

I had somebody tell me not to mention his name in this talk, but I have something that I should probably say, so don't worry Sione, I won't say your name. A couple weeks back I was worried about one of my friends back home [in California]. He has not been doing too well and I had been hearing a lot of things. I really started to worry about this friend. I decided to give my parents a break and I went [to a friend] and I asked him what I should do [about my friend back home] and basically I explained my life. What he said shocked me and inspired me. He asked me if I'd shared my testimony with this person [back at home]. Now this friend of mine from back in California, I've known him for a while and he is not the type that you'd just go up to and [say], I want to tell you about the Gospel. But I had somebody there to encourage me; somebody that knew I had the potential to influence someone. Whether I ever find out if it made a difference or not, I listened to this person and I wrote a letter. Now those of you that know me know I write about 20 letters a week, but this one took me a couple of hours. I told him that he does have a great potential, that I hope that he gets back on track. Then I told him my testimony about the Gospel. I am one person, but I am striving to reach my potential. I needed that person to encourage me and in turn I needed to encourage someone else. This is something we must all learn. There is nobody in this world that should be without the Gospel. So in reaching your potential will you build the Kingdom of God?

That night at home I told Mom that the whole team would be going to Baltimore to see the Orioles’ doubleheader the following Saturday. That was our reward.
“Oh, Billy. I’m sorry. We’re going to your grandmother’s next weekend.” Gran was getting ready to move to the retirement community near our home. “I know you’re disappointed,” Mom went on, “but she called and asked if we’d help by cleaning out her attic.”
Well, I slumped off to my room and thought about how rotten it was to miss out on the Orioles games. I mean, people call me Billy-O because I’m such an O’s—that’s what we call the Orioles—fan. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.
But happen it did, and the next Saturday I was where I didn’t want to be—at Grandma’s old house in the country.
When I went up into the attic with Mom to go through old boxes, I found some neat stuff. I was so busy looking at things that I almost forgot about the Orioles game. Then I found the box.
“Hey, Mom, look at this! It’s scrapbooks full of news clippings about the Orioles! Sherm Lollar, Stan Benjamin, Howie Moss, Kenny Braun. I’ve never even heard of these guys. They aren’t on any of my baseball cards.”
Mom said, “Let me see, Billy.”
“Wow! This stuff is from the 1940s, Mom. And everything’s written by the same person, Stats McGillicudhay.”
Mom looked at the scrapbooks, opening each book in turn. She smiled as she ran her fingers up and down the yellowed newspaper clippings. “I think you’d better ask Gran about this later.”
I wasn’t sure what Gran would know about baseball, but it was her house, so maybe she’d know something about where it all came from. I set the box aside, and we kept on sorting things—old clothes over there, books over here, and so on. Every now and then Dad came up and carried another box away. I held on to the baseball box.
Finally we finished and went down to one of Gran’s great dinners—fried chicken, potato salad, apple pie—the works!
After dark, Gran and I sat on the porch, watching fireflies.
“Gran, who was Stats McGillicudhay?”
“What? Where’d you hear that name, Billy?”
I told her about the scrapbooks in the attic, and she laughed softly. She was quiet for a long time before she said, “I lived in Baltimore when I was a girl. My grandfather took me to many baseball games every summer. The Orioles were in the old International League then. I loved baseball—the heat, the sounds, the smells, the hot dogs, the soda pop, and, of course, the game itself. Most of all, I loved the special time I spent with my grandfather.
“In high school I wrote for the school paper, but it wasn’t fashionable for girls to write about sports. That was a boy’s-domain-only in those days. So I wrote articles about books, records, and dances under my name, and slipped in baseball articles under the pen name of Stats McGillicudhay.
“I used the same pen name to write baseball stories for the local paper, too, and kept on writing them clear through college. Then I married your grandfather and, what with the farm and my kids, I never got around to even going to another baseball game, much less writing anything. In fact, living so far out in the country, I hardly ever even saw a game on TV.”
I could hardly believe it. My grandmother had been a sports writer! I told her all about our Little League season, and she really listened and understood everything.
“Billy,” she said, “next summer when I’m in the retirement community, maybe they’ll let me write about the Little League games for the Bridgeville Times. I’d like that. It would make this move easier for me if I had something to look forward to.”
That was two weeks ago. Today I got a letter from Gran. In it were tickets to the Orioles’ three-game series with the Blue Jays next week. She said that she had the seats next to mine and that if Mom or Dad would take us, I could explain to her any changes in the game since she last saw one.
Yeah, I can do that.

I’m having a birthday party next weekend, on the 23rd. We’re going to Funland Park at two o’clock. Can you come?
I’d love to! Let me check with my mom.
Yes! I’m starting to fit in. Allie is really nice. Her party should be fun.
I know it’s on a Sunday, but maybe it would be OK just this once. Besides, I don’t want to hurt Allie’s feelings.
If I ask Mom and Dad, they’ll probably tell me it’s my decision. What should I do?
The next day at school …
I’m sorry I can’t come to your party. I’m glad you invited me, and I hope you have a great birthday. Can we hang out another time?
Can we bake some birthday cookies to take to my friend Allie this weekend?

Karen pulled the twine off the bale of hay and hung it on a fence post.
“You do that pretty well for a shorty,” said Josh as he dropped the last bale by the manger.
“I could do the whole job by myself if I wanted to,” Karen snapped. “And if everyone weren’t in such a hurry to read scriptures before breakfast, I would too.”
“Oh, don’t get your feathers all fluffed up,” Josh said with a grin. “What’s the matter, don’t you like stories about the Nephites and Lamanites?”
“I just don’t see why I have to work so hard at studying scriptures. I’ll never be struck down by an angel for preaching against the Church like Alma the Younger. And I sure hope I’ll never be burned at the stake like Abinadi.”
Josh sat down on a hay bale, took off his gloves, and shook out the leaves and chaff.
“You’ve got to apply the scriptures to your own life,” he said. “Take the story of Abinadi: the Lord is just showing us how important it is to speak up for the truth, even if we get into trouble for it.”
“I suppose you’re right as usual, big brother,” sighed Karen.
“Of course I am,” agreed Josh good-naturedly. “You can understand your own problems a lot better if you see how people in the scriptures acted.”
“Well, we’ll never make it back in time if you sit there holding down that bale all morning,” said Karen, pitching a forkful of hay to the waiting cows. “I bet I can feed these cows and be in the house before you can get the calves fed.”
“All right, Shorty, you’re on,” Josh said, pulling on his gloves. “See you later.”
“Don’t call me Shorty!” shouted Karen. But Josh was already over the stackyard fence and gone.
Karen worked so quickly that she was soon feeling warm in spite of the cold wind. She was tempted to stop and take off her coat, but she didn’t want to waste any time.
The sun eased over the hill and shot spears of light into the ragged clouds. A flock of blackbirds sailed into an elm tree, where they flapped and chattered to each other.
Karen tossed the remaining hay into the manger. Most of it landed on the cows’ heads since they were too hungry to move out of the way.
The shortest path to the house was through the barnyard. But the melting snow and the thawing ground had left knee-deep manure that was soupy and smelly.
Karen thought about taking the long way around the barn, but finally decided to walk the pole fence that divided the barnyard from the holding corral. Last summer she had walked along the top of the fence until she could almost run without tripping. But during the winter the snow and ice had made the fence so slippery that she had not tried for several months. But this is an emergency, she thought. Besides, the ice is gone so I won’t slip.
The going wasn’t easy. She was not very nimble in her heavy boots, and her winter coat made it difficult to maneuver around the fence posts. She spread out her arms to balance herself and watched each step—left, right, left, right. It’s too late to turn back now, she decided.
Suddenly the treaded sole of her boot caught on a knot in the wood. Karen grabbed wildly at the air and then landed on her back in the oozing barnyard.
“Eeeyuck!” she groaned, staggering to her feet and flipping some of the soggy manure from her hands. “Talk about stinking to high heaven,” she grumbled.
The barn steps were only a few yards away so she waded through the muck and went inside. No one was there. Gary, her younger brother, must have finished setting up the milkers and gone to the house.
Karen turned on the hose that was used to clean the barn after milking. The water was cold, but at least she could wash off most of the guck before she had to go to the house.
I wish a big hole would just open up right here and swallow me, thought Karen as she hosed off her jeans. I won’t even be able to get on the porch like this. Everyone’d smell me coming. They can probably smell me right now!
But no one except Josh was on the porch when Karen opened the door. “Don’t laugh or I’ll clobber you,” she hissed.
Josh was almost too amazed to laugh—almost. “You fell into the manure,” he chuckled. “What are you going to do now?”
“Just once would you be a little sympathetic and give me some help?” Karen pleaded.
“All right,” said Josh, taking off his coat. “Lay your dirty clothes inside the doorway and I’ll put them in the washer.”
Karen pulled off her boots and stepped behind a screen. She put her clothes on a chair and wrapped herself in one of Dad’s big coats.
“One more thing, Josh. Check and see if there is anyone in the bathroom. I’ll watch through the door. If by some miracle it’s empty, then give me a wave.”
Josh gingerly picked up the clothes and walked down the hall to the laundry room. As he passed the bathroom, he glanced in. A miracle must have happened because he signaled that it was empty.
Karen hurried through a shower and shampoo. She wondered what her brother would tell the family about her being late.
Josh met Karen as she came out of her bedroom. “You’re in luck,” he said. “Dad had a flat tire coming up from the lower field. He’s late, too, so no one will ask any questions.”
Soon the family gathered in the living room to read from the Book of Mormon.
“Let’s see,” said Dad. “We were reading Alma, chapter seven, where Alma is speaking to the people of Gideon. Mother, I think it’s your turn to read. Start with verse twenty-one, please.”
“And he doth not dwell in unholy temples; neither can filthiness or anything which is unclean be received into the kingdom of God; therefore I say unto you the time shall come, yea, and it shall be at the last day, that he who is filthy shall remain in his filthiness.”
Karen looked up from her book and saw Josh watching her. He nodded his head and gave her a wink.
“… And may the Lord bless you, and keep your garments spotless, that ye may at last be brought to sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the holy prophets who have been ever since the world began, having your garments spotless even as their garments are spotless, in the kingdom of heaven to go no more out.”
Mother finished the chapter and Dad explained: “Jesus has shown us the way to live while we are here on earth. If we follow His path, it will lead us back to our Father in heaven. But if we make a mistake, we are not forced to stay out of the kingdom and away from our families. We have been given the promise that if we do all we can to correct the wrong, our elder Brother, Jesus Christ, will forgive us and help us to return.”
Karen felt a peace come into her heart and a new understanding as she knelt by the couch for family prayer.

He does not want us to go through pains without purpose. He loves us so much, and He wants to prove it so much. But sometimes, through our own choices, we close that door, we separate ourselves from Him, and then it is in our own hands. We must then take that first step toward the recovery of peace in our hearts. This is something I would experience for myself.
After months of learning, missionary lessons, and classes, I experienced adversity in one of its most painful forms—adversity that confronts you with feelings of the past, tempts you to make incorrect decisions in the present, and tries to ruin the future you always dreamed of. I learned that affliction sometimes (and many times) comes from somewhere you never expected.
Being worthy and virtuous in thoughts and acts had always seemed part of who I was, up until then. I knew that the things that I was about to do weren’t right, that people I once trusted were about to go off-road, and that I had actually already begun creating a distance between me and my Heavenly Father. I knew that now was the time when I needed to choose whether I would continue this or stick to the values I had always honored. So I had to find that strength inside of me that told me that I couldn’t ruin these dreams so easily. I couldn’t ruin my hope of an eternal family and a loving husband. Something in my life was wrong, and I knew it had to change.
That feeling, together with the young testimony that had begun to flourish in my heart, and true angels in my life who were always there to help me, saved me from being lost and made me so strong again that I could choose to turn back toward the Lord in time. And I know that He always was there, blessing me in my efforts to listen to His voice and to stay worthy of eternal blessings.
When I think about that time that I went through now, I think of courage for not having surrendered, courage for having always demonstrated my values, and the faith I had and still have.
Although the time of repentance that followed was a time of pain, of recognition of wrong feelings and moments, and of humility, I am so grateful for it—and I always will be. Grateful for the fact that, at the right time, I could feel that my Heavenly Father had forgiven me, that He continues to love me, and that He always will.
The part that cost me the most was learning to forgive myself. I remember how I felt, unworthy and without beauty, neither on the outside nor on the inside. But my Savior was always there, giving me strength and inspiration. He put the right people on my path who helped me to learn even more about the Church, since I had returned to Belgium. They loved me for who I am and helped me love myself again and recognize that this experience didn’t have to be a pain that I carry in my backpack of life forever. I could see that I had the opportunity to choose, to experience how strong my testimony already was by defending my values. Now I see that because I worked on strengthening my testimony through this experience, I can be a blessing in the lives of so many people, near and far.
I was baptized on March 16, 2019, in my ward in Belgium, and I am so happy to have taken this first step on my way to eternity. Yes, I will encounter more challenges along the way—we all will—but with my testimony in my heart, I am ready to face them, since I know Whom to choose.

That afternoon, orders came from firemen to evacuate the mission home so it could be dynamited and razed in an effort to clear a fire line. Drawers, beds, rugs, furniture, record books, and suitcases went onto a horse-drawn dray that took them to a small park two blocks away. Here the load was placed in a compact pile and covered with a carpet, under which some of the elders tried to sleep that exciting night. The fine organ recently given to the branch by the mayor and other friends was safely stored with one of the members.
On Thursday, as the fires and dynamiting continued, the Robinson family and several other Saints relocated in Golden Gate Park—a day late for the scheduled picnic! There they were better off, they knew, than other homeless members camped in Jefferson Square, where sanitary conditions were abhorrent. For food, the Saints took turns waiting in bread lines which ran four abreast and blocks long; two or three loaves per person was the limit—if supplies outlasted the line. A special pass allowed President Robinson to cross the bay to Oakland for bread, bringing back “two suitcases full each day, distributing the same to the women and children in greatest need in four parks we visited.”

One of the “new” families in the branch is José Felipe Hernández Jorge and his wife, Magnolia. Baptized in Mérida, Mexico, eight years ago, they moved their family to Palenque two years ago and quietly fell into inactivity. “Six or seven months ago, Elder and Sister de la Cruz found us and we became friends,” says Brother Hernández. “We’ve been attending ever since!” After only a few months, he succeeded Elder de la Cruz as branch president.

Kelly smiled at the fields whizzing by outside her window. Hay bales stood in neat rows, soon to be stored in the barn. Dad whistled to the radio as he drove. Mom and the baby were sleeping. Soon they would all be at Aunt Lizzie’s farm, surrounded by cousins, aunts, and uncles.
All year, Kelly looked forward to the first weekend in September—the weekend of the family reunion. It was finally here! She couldn’t wait to see her favorite cousin, Angie. Every year they built hay forts, rode horses, and waded in the river.
Kelly jumped out of the car almost before the tires stopped rolling. “We’re here!” she bellowed. She found Angie jumping on the trampoline with a girl she didn’t recognize.
“Kelly!” Angie called.
“Angie!” Kelly called back. She leaped onto the trampoline and hugged her cousin.
“Kelly, this is my best friend, Tricia. My mom said I could bring a friend this year!” Angie bubbled.
Kelly eyed Tricia suspiciously, jealous that Angie had a best friend. Kelly knew it was silly to feel that way—she had friends at home, too. She made an effort to smile.
“Let’s go build a hay fort,” she said to both girls. “Want to?”
Tricia pulled a face. “I’m allergic to hay.”
“What about horseback riding?” Kelly suggested next. “I bet Uncle Jeff would saddle up horses for us.”
“Nah,” Angie said. She looked quickly in Tricia’s direction. “I think we’ll stay here for now.”
Kelly’s heart sank. She could already tell that this reunion would be much different than all the others.
That afternoon, after the hot dog roast, Kelly couldn’t find Angie and Tricia anywhere. “They probably went horseback riding without me!”
“What are you doing, Kelly?” Mom asked. She sat down next to Kelly on the grass, balancing baby Michael in one arm and a juicy slice of watermelon in her other hand.
“Nothing,” she said. “I think I’m going to walk down to the river and go wading.” The river had always been Kelly’s favorite place.
Mom’s smile disappeared. “That’s not such a good idea. Aunt Lizzie says that it’s been raining the past few weeks and that the water is so high you can touch it just by dipping your toes off the bridge.”
“Then I’ll sit on the bridge. I won’t get in the water.” Kelly wanted to be alone.
“I don’t think you should go near the river, not even to the bridge,” Mom said. “Why don’t you go get some watermelon and come back here? Michael and I will keep you company.”
“Oh, Mom.” Kelly pulled herself to her feet and headed for the backyard, even though she didn’t really want any watermelon.
“I’ll sneak off to the river, anyway,” she thought. “Mom will get talking with some aunt or uncle. She won’t notice if I don’t come back.”
Kelly decided to just keep going through the backyard and down to the river.
Don’t go to the river.
Kelly stopped in her tracks. Was the voice real or imagined? “But I want to!” she silently argued. “I’ll be careful.” She started walking again toward the dirt path that led to the bridge.
Mom said not to go.
Kelly frowned. She had been baptized a few months before, and she knew that the Holy Ghost could protect her from danger—if she listened to Him.
“I’m just feeling guilty because Mom would be worried,” Kelly reasoned to herself. “But she’ll never know. And I’ll be OK.”
Kelly passed a deserted picnic table with half-eaten watermelons and butcher knives on it. “Maybe I will have some watermelon. It’ll be nice to have a snack while I’m there.” Kelly swerved toward the table and grabbed a sticky knife. She jabbed the blade into the thick green rind.
“Ouch!”
The knife clattered onto the cutting board as blood seeped out of a cut on Kelly’s thumb. She felt dizzy. She knew the cut was deep.
“Are you OK?” Uncle Jeff ran to her side. Crying, Kelly showed him her bleeding thumb. “You might need stitches,” he said. He pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapped it around Kelly’s wound, and went to find her parents.
In Aunt Lizzie’s bathroom, Mom cleaned Kelly’s cut and bandaged it.
“Will I need stitches?” Kelly whimpered.
“I don’t think so.” Mom smoothed Kelly’s hair. “But you’d better stay inside and sit still for a while, so your thumb doesn’t start bleeding again.”
Angie and Tricia peeked through the bathroom doorway. “Kelly, we heard you got hurt,” Angie said.
Kelly nodded, holding up her thumb.
“Do you want to come play a board game with us?” Tricia asked.
Kelly smiled. “I’d like that.”
As the three girls made their way to Aunt Lizzie’s den, Angie and Tricia explained that Aunt Susan had made them take a nap after lunch. They hadn’t been hiding from Kelly after all!
The girls pulled a game off the bookshelf and settled onto the floor.
“I’m sorry about your thumb,” Angie said. “I heard your mom say that you can’t play outside—that means no wading or horseback riding or anything!”
“It’s OK,” Kelly said. She remembered the promptings she had received before picking up the knife. She imagined the roaring river, deep enough to cover her head. Perhaps some good had come from cutting her thumb after all.
She would never know what could have happened at the bridge. But she knew that the Holy Ghost would protect her if she listened to His promptings. A warm feeling of gratitude filled her heart. Even though she had wanted to disobey, Heavenly Father had protected her this time so that she could learn to listen. She remembered her Primary teacher saying that when you ignore the Holy Ghost, He leaves. Kelly never wanted that to happen.
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed silently, “I will listen to the Holy Ghost—the first time—from now on.”

Four years ago I was in Kiev, Ukraine, and the mission president’s wife took me to the home of Katya Sarduk, a lovely young woman with two children. Katya had just joined the Church, and her eyes sparkled as she told about her conversion. She loved her new faith and was committed to living the gospel. As I left her home that day, I prayed that the fire of the covenant would continue to burn in her heart. I prayed that her children and her children’s children would embrace the truth.

I returned to Kiev just two months ago and wondered if I would see her again. I arrived for Church meetings on Sunday. Soon I was introduced to my interpreter, a lovely blonde woman with sparkling eyes who said, “Do you remember me?” Her countenance was even brighter than before. Katya Sarduk had grown in the gospel. She had invested in her spiritual well-being, and her joy was overflowing.

Ernest Sibanda met two Mormon missionaries on bicycles—Elder Black and Elder Kaelin—in December 1978. They left a Book of Mormon with him. Before their visit, Ernest had already spent many years studying religion. In fact, he had been a teacher for his church for nine years and a pastor for three years.
The night Ernest received his copy of the Book of Mormon he stayed up until 2:00 in the morning reading enthusiastically. He couldn’t wait to meet the missionaries the following day. Ernest told them that he had learned more from Joseph Smith about Jesus Christ than all the ministers he had ever met. Ernest was baptized shortly thereafter, followed by his wife and children a few weeks later.
Of his baptism day, he wrote, “I felt very free. I felt released from every evil. I found there was love in me for my family. I found there was love within me for the Church.”2
Ernest Sibanda proved to be a great strength to the Church. He served as Sunday School president, branch clerk, and second counselor in a branch presidency. He also fulfilled an assignment from the South Africa mission president to translate hymns from English to Shona.

Giving gifts of love and service to those less fortunate has been a hallmark of the prophets’ Christmas experiences. In 1931, during the Great Depression, President Harold B. Lee was president of a large stake in Salt Lake City, Utah. President Lee determined that he would know the needs of his stake members and do everything he could to alleviate their want. By survey he learned that more than half of his stake, almost 5,000 people, were dependent on others for help, including almost 1,000 children under the age of 10. He mobilized members to collect toys and organized workshops to repair, paint, and clean old toys or make new ones so no child would be without on Christmas. He decided that every family in the stake should have a dinner for Christmas and solicited food donations to make that happen.1 Later as an Apostle, Elder Lee was asked to organize the Church’s welfare program based on similar principles of service, sacrifice, and work.

Name: Billy Matthews
Age: 18
Sport: Track and field (discus)
Location: Washington, USA
Major Achievement: 2007 Washington State high school discus champion with a throw of 164 feet, 8 inches.
“In track two of my goals were to earn a scholarship and to win the state title. I had also set the goal to serve a mission. During my senior year I was offered two scholarships. I worried about which school to attend, and my throwing marks began to suffer as well. Eventually another school offered a scholarship, and athletically I was sure this was the school for me. But once again my marks decreased, and I began to question my decision. I finally realized something I had learned from one of my seminary teachers: ‘Don’t give up what you want most, for what you want now.’ That’s what I had been doing. I decided that I needed to put the Lord first in everything. Shortly after making this decision, my marks rapidly improved, and I went up in the state rankings, and soon I won the regional and state titles. By putting the Lord first, I had no worries and felt comforted. I was blessed for sacrificing what I wanted ‘now’ for what I’ve always wanted.”

“A [woman] walking along a road fell into a pit so deep [she] could not climb out. No matter what [she] did, [she] could not get out by [herself]. The [woman] called for help and rejoiced when a kind passerby heard [her] and lowered a ladder down into the pit. This allowed [her] to climb out of the pit and regain [her] freedom.

“We are like the [woman] in the pit. Sinning is like falling into the pit, and we can’t get out by ourselves. Just as the kind passerby heard the [woman’s] cry for help, Heavenly Father sent his Only Begotten Son to provide the means of escape. Jesus Christ’s atonement could be compared to lowering a ladder into the pit; it gives us the means to climb out.”10 But the Savior does more than lower the ladder, He “comes down into the pit and makes it possible for us to use the ladder to escape.”11 “Just as the [woman] in the pit had to climb up the ladder, we must repent of our sins and obey the gospel principles and ordinances to climb out of our pit and make the Atonement work in our lives. Thus, after all we can do, the Atonement makes it possible for us to become worthy to return to Heavenly Father’s presence.”12

Not surprisingly, Michelle wants to go on a mission herself someday. She’s practicing by telling her friends about the gospel and inviting them to church. Unfortunately, they seldom come. This doesn’t hurt the friendships, but it does sometimes hurt Michelle. Sadly, one friend who did listen with great interest died in a tragic fire. “I was crying,” Michelle says. “I missed her very much. We went to her church service. It was a sad, rainy day, but I prayed, and I felt that I didn’t have to be sad anymore because I would meet her again. We went to her mom’s house, and her mom was crying. I said, ‘You’ll meet her again in the next life,’ and it seemed to help.”