Gospel Story Finder

There were two ranchers living side by side in southwestern Montana. They bickered and fought because each thought a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. Each felt the other was encroaching upon his land. The real estate records were unclear at the county courthouse.
They forbade their children to play with one another. The conflict became worse. Finally, after years of exchanging words and threats, one of the ranchers said to himself, “Enough of this.” He drove down the lane from his place onto the county road and then down the long driveway to his neighbor’s place.
“What do you want?” his adversary asked.
“Look, you take your hired men and your sons, and I’ll take mine; and we’ll put the fence wherever you’d like it. I’ve had enough of this. I want us to be friends.”
His raw-boned neighbor softened, and tears ran down both of their faces. The neighbor responded, “Hey, let’s drive to Virginia City and record that the present fence is where both of us want the property line to be.”
They did and the problem was solved. Why? Because a neighbor wanted to be one with the family next door.

Sabita Thapa was born and raised in the country of Nepal, a small country between China and India. She had a blissful childhood and grew up in a very big family, surrounded by many extended family members.
As she grew up to be a teenager, there were divisions in ancestral properties, which gave her father the opportunity to build the family a beautiful and comfortable home.
Her father decided to try his hand at a new business. In the course of time, he had a very big loss in his business. Sadly, they had to sell their beautiful home and move out. In the coming days, her family faced many hardships and difficulties due to financial instability.
“While everybody around us seemed to be so happy and successful, my family and I went through many difficult times,” said Sister Isaac.
When Sabita was 15, she started to search for true happiness. She started to search for God, beginning to pray sincerely to know who God is. She asked many questions such as, “Does He love me?” and “Does He love my family?” She wanted to know Him and wanted to be happy.
Sabita said, “God did hear my prayers.”
In 1995, her father happened to meet a missionary from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In 1994, the Church and missionaries had just entered Nepal during the same time she was searching for the truth. The missionaries went to their home and invited them to church.
“The day I stepped into the Lord’s Church was the turning point in my life. I have not looked back since then”, Sister Isaac declared.
She was taught about the true and living God and His plan of salvation. She has received peace, joy and happiness and knows this is where she belongs. She said she has sincerely and faithfully attended all her church meetings.
Sabita testified, “I know God is mindful of our needs. He knows us personally and he answers our prayers as we sincerely seek him. As I look back, I understand what has happened in my life was not by chance. I had to go through these trials, so that I would sincerely seek for him. Did I find Him? Yes, indeed.”
Sabita and her older sister Usha joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but the rest of the family members did not. Did joining the Church mean she did not have any more hardships? Certainly not, but it helped her to know that trials and hardships are a part of life. It helped her to face them and overcome them.

Then came the first Sunday in March. I’ll never forget that day. Just after Sunday School Bishop Edwards asked me if I could come to his office an hour before fast meeting for a little talk. Well, I know the bishop doesn’t just call people in for a little talk for no reason. I wondered what I had done—or what I was going to do. But I did tell him I would be there.
At three o’clock I found myself stepping on the rich blue carpeting of the bishop’s office and then staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, instantly knew everything about me. I had known Bishop Edwards for a long time. He had been my Sunday School teacher when I was in junior high school and had been bishop now for a couple of years. I hadn’t known him as a bishop too well since I spent many Sundays in my student branch at school. But now, as I looked at him, I knew what a wonderful man he was and the great power he represented.
After a few minutes of small talk about school, family, and whatever, he got to the point of this meeting. “Today as I looked over the congregation, my eyes rested on you,” he said intensely, “and as clearly as we have been speaking to each other, a voice said to me, ‘That girl needs to go on a mission.’” I was stunned! That was the last thing I expected him to say. Me? On a mission? His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I can see by your expression that you didn’t receive the same inspiration. It must come as quite a surprise. But it’s something you don’t have to decide right now. You think about it and be sure to include your parents and the Lord in your decision. Just let me know when you’ve found your answer.”
A few moments later I walked out of the door, and the fluorescent lighting of the hall hit me with the reality of the situation. I figured in two years I’d really be an old maid. But two years might give Allen time to join the Church on his own. It would give me a chance to find myself. And most important, it would be a chance to get closer to the Lord and serve his children more than I had ever done, I found an empty room and knelt in prayer, asking my Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. When I stood, I felt a certain calm, even though I still didn’t feel that I had a positive answer.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

Tomorrow, February 8, is the 26th anniversary of my first date with my wife, Jennifer. We were set up on a blind date by some mutual friends. When I went to pick her up, she answered the door in a horrendous polyester outfit . . . and I am being kind. She had bought the outfit on a previous date for $2 at Savers, and I think she overpaid. The pants were almost a fluorescent turquoise and the top was striped with a mix of colors that should never go together. She was testing me to see if I had a sense of humor. Gratefully, she did change her outfit before we left her apartment.

We dated for sixteen months before we were married. Well, to be truthful, we dated off and on for sixteen months because there were a couple of break-ups. My wife is the very best person that I know, and I know some really good people. As amazing as she is, I never had a choir of angels descend from heaven and sing to me that she was “the one.” We dated, we talked, we went to firesides together, we studied together, we went skiing, and we met each other’s families. Over time, the accumulation of small and quiet reassurances made me realize that she was someone that made me think my highest thoughts, aspire to my noblest deeds, and made me wish that I was better than I was. And I just really loved her, too. That is what I hoped for in a wife.

Do I feel that there was heavenly guidance in us being together? Absolutely. Was there some singular earth-shattering manifestation of that? No.

The confirmation from the Holy Ghost to sincere inquiries about life decisions is usually a process and rarely an event. Pay attention to those small and simple spiritual reassurances that often come over a period of time.

Another challenge came several years ago when my husband and I divorced. This came as a shock to me. I didn’t know how to react. I thought I had a perfect little family. I was also going to dental school at the time. I left school to focus on my children. I feel that this was the best choice. I don’t regret it at all. But I had a lot of anger. How does someone just leave a marriage and four amazing children?
I was also terrified about what was going to happen to me and my kids. I cried and felt a sense of panic, wondering if they were still sealed to me. I talked to my bishop, and he said that Heavenly Father has promised that we are sealed for all eternity, but our agency will determine if we will be together forever. It gave me such relief to know that my kids were still sealed to me.
But I still felt anger and felt that I was not worthy to go to the temple. How can you go to the temple with so much anger? I also didn’t want to go to the temple because I am divorced. I felt like I didn’t deserve it because I was supposed to be in a marriage still.
I talked with my bishop again, and he told me that Satan doesn’t want me to go back to the temple. He wants to make me miserable and to feel that I’m not worthy. It was amazing when I entered the temple again. Going to the temple makes me feel better and stronger. Knowing that Heavenly Father is helping me be a mom, that I’m not alone, and that He is never going to abandon me or my family gives me so much strength. Now I make sure that my temple recommend is always current.
“I know I just need to keep moving forward and get closer to Heavenly Father each day. This is the way I’m going to be with my children forever.”
Even though their dad is not in the picture, I always tell my kids that I am here for them. We’re going to church, we’re doing our scripture study, and we’re praying. We have an understanding of how important family is and that we need to forgive each other, support each other, and cheer each other on.
People have asked me what I would do if I had an extra hour each day. Would I sleep? Would I eat? What would I do? I would have 15 minutes of quality time with each of my children.
I love my children so much that in spite of the great heartache from the relationship with their father, it was worth it to have them. That’s how much they mean to me. I have hilarious, amazing, and kind-hearted children. Even with their struggles, they always think of ways to help others.
Making sure our faith is strong keeps us going as a family. If we do our part, the Lord comes through on His blessings and promises. That’s something that I live by, and I am very blessed.

Several years ago as I was preparing for further graduate studies, I chose to audit a math class. Given that I was still taking other classes and finishing my thesis, I thought this would be a great opportunity to learn, without the pressures of worrying about a grade. I did great for the first few weeks, but as time became scarcer, I focused on those things for which I would be graded on, and gave less attention and attendance to the math class. Without the risk of a grade and a commitment to do the homework, I soon fell behind and quickly found that I was so far behind it did not justify attending the class.
As with education, life is not a spectator sport to be watched as we sit on the sidelines. It requires that we are active participants and exposed to the great joys and disappointments that come throughout life. In every activity of life, we will at times fall short and make mistakes, but enduring the trial makes the joy of success that much sweeter.

The other example I would share is that of a newly arriving missionary when my wife and I were presiding over the England London Mission. We were welcoming a group of 18 excited and anxious new missionaries at Heathrow Airport. As our assistants organized things and got the luggage into the mission van, one missionary stood near my wife, observing the wonderful leadership of those two Assistants to the President. This new missionary then remarked in a conversational, but sincere voice, "Sister Wheelwright, I want you to know that you can count on me." And we soon found that we could count on that missionary no matter what the circumstances. He could be trusted to always do the right thing.

That young man became a wonderful leader in the mission because all of the other missionaries knew they could trust him as well. Since his mission that characteristic of being trust worthy has only continued to expand with the result that more and more people "count on him." He now has a wonderful wife and family, serves faithfully as a Priesthood leader and is thriving in a career with the FBI.

One way we cultivate righteous thoughts is by keeping in mind our purpose in mortality. For example, one woman found that she felt discouraged, particularly when she compared her life with the lives of others who had more wealth and material possessions than she had.

But she decided to control her thoughts, and she made an effort to focus on the kind of person she wanted to become instead of being concerned about the things she did not have. She prayerfully studied the scriptures, concentrating on the Savior’s life and on making her life more like his.

As she did this, she became more sensitive to the needs of those around her. She found that her testimony and her family became more precious to her. She began to admire Christlike character in others more than she had admired worldly wealth. Her new outlook on life helped her feel much happier.

One night his son was lying in the upper bunk bed as they read aloud alternate paragraphs from the last chapters of Second Nephi. President Romney heard his son’s voice break and thought he had a cold. As they finished, his son said, “Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, son,” he answered, “sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” he said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”

After the two brothers returned to surrender state arms as ordered by the governor, Leonora Taylor was in the Smith home when the Prophet went again to say goodbye. And as he turned away, he said “Well, if they don’t hang me I don’t care how they kill me.”

It seemed likely that Willard Richards overheard that statement and that that is why, in the last moments, he offered – and he meant it – to be hanged in the Prophet’s stead. The Prophet’s statement also tells us that he hadn’t yet been made to know exactly how he would die. There had been threats, one of them published in the newspaper, that his enemies would, as the letter said, “make catfish meat of him.”

There was also the problem of a reward offered by the Missourians. They had placed a price on his head – they would pay a thousand dollars for his delivery. So he did not know how he would end his life, but he did not relish the thought of hanging.

Mary Ellen Kimball overheard the Prophet say, as the group stopped to ask for a drink of water on the way to Carthage that morning, “Brother Rosenkranz, if I never see you again, or if I never come back, remember that I love you.” She felt that to her soul, and fled and wept on her bed.

And then there was the pause the group made at the temple, where the Prophet lovingly surveyed that building, the city, the landscape, and then said; “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens; little do they know the trials that await them.”

When they were several miles out from Nauvoo he instructed – and that’s the only way he could get them to do so – that many who had ridden that far with him turn around and go back. John Butler recorded:

We were all willing to live or die with him. Brother Joseph spoke to us all and told us that he was like a lamb led to the slaughter. He also spoke to Brother Hyrum and wished him to return home with us.

We begged him to let us stay with him and die with him, if necessary, but he said, no, we were to return to our home, and Brother Hyrum said that he would stay with Brother Joseph. He blessed us and told us to go. We bade them farewell, and started. We had twenty miles to ride, and we went the whole distance with out uttering one word.

All were dumb and still and all felt the Spirit, as I did myself. I cannot express my feelings at that time, for they over powered me.

As I turned and as we rode away I felt as I suppose the ancient disciples of Christ felt when he said, ‘I must be crucified.

They also stopped at the Fellows’ farm after being met by a menacing group on horseback from Carthage, and Joseph went in and countersigned Governor Ford’s order for the surrender of all state arms in possession of the Nauvoo Legion.

“I am not afraid to die,” he said,

As I thought about Cindy’s question, I remembered that Dad had once said that the feeling of warning we get when we’re tempted is from the Holy Ghost as He tries to keep us from doing wrong. I should have had a lot more of that feeling the day I thought I had to have a piece of licorice. I’d helped myself to a dime from Mom’s purse without asking, and I’d hardly felt guilty at all when I handed it to the clerk at the store.
The very next day Mom said, “Little chickie, if you’ll run and post Dad’s letter, I’ll pop a peach cobbler into the oven for lunch.” Katie and Shauna had already gone to Aunt Shirley’s on an errand, so I was the only little chick left.
Then Mom looked in her purse and said, “Oh, oh. I was certain I had just the right change for a stamp, but there’s only a dime left.”
She took everything out of her purse and shook it. “Hmmmm,” she said, “it looks like I’ll have to write a check before I can mail Dad’s letter. We’ll have to forget about the cobbler, because while I’m out I might as well run my other errands.”
“Oh, Mom, you’ve already made me hungry for cobbler. Can’t the letter wait until tomorrow?”
“No. Daddy said we must get it in the mail this morning.”
“What’re we having for lunch?” I asked.
“Tuna sandwiches. Please stay close to the phone. Sister Heaton is going to call me. Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I get back.”
I felt awful as I watched her drive away.
That was last year. As I thought about it now that I was baptized, I knew it was important for me to tell Mom about it. I’d give her one of my birthday dimes, too, to help make things right.

I was born in Salt Lake City but raised in Whittier, California, a suburb about 30 miles east of Los Angeles. I was raised in a home where, during my early years, we were less active. When I turned 11, we moved to a new home and began to attend church more frequently. We were sealed in the temple when I was 13. Now my brothers and I are all active members of the Church. We have all served missions. My brothers and I were married in the temple, but these are not things you would have predicted based on our early years.

I want to share a story about what discovering the notion of sincere personal prayer to a loving Father in Heaven—the kind of prayer we have been discussing today—did for a young Hindu woman in Hyderabad, India. First I need to set the scene. In August 2001, I had the opportunity of traveling to India as artistic director of BYU’s The Dancers’ Company. While there, we performed and taught in several major cities. We had studied and prepared to be respectful guests by learning as much as we could about the culture and customs of the people of India before leaving Provo. But with a culture as ancient, diverse, and complex as India’s, we were only moderately versed in their beliefs and social customs. When I got there I observed in the people I met a consistent dedication to education and family. The people of India are well read. I also saw great charity and spiritual qualities in the people, most of whom are Hindu. It was inspirational and one of the most marvelous experiences of my life. I’m so grateful I was able to share it not with just the dancers but with the other directors and my husband and my daughter, who danced on the company that year.

There are not a lot of Mormons in India, but while we were there we met a small number of wonderful Latter-day Saint missionaries, humanitarian service missionaries, and convert members. It is not economically or socially easy to convert from Hinduism to Mormonism. Not only are the theologies extremely different, but a person loses social status and is often cut off from their family by simply becoming a Christian. Again, I am not expert about the complex social systems of India, but I can tell you that I witnessed a variety of circumstances wherein the separation of those from different castes was manifested. For example, at one of our first performances, I was sweeping up some rice that was left on the stage at the completion of a dance in which the soloist slowly drops rice from her hands. Some of the native Indians who were backstage called to me to stop, cautioning, “Only the untouchables do that kind of menial labor.” Untouchables are members of a group considered below even the lowest social caste, or varna. The woman whose story I am about to share, Annapurna, came from the highest varna.

I vividly remember the day I met Annapurna and our motorized rickshaw taxi ride together. Please forgive me just a little longer while I set the scene a bit more. These vehicles are basically a motor scooter with a buggy-like attachment that can carry about three passengers at a time. They are soft-sided and have no protection or seat belts for the passengers. Because they’re small and lightweight, the drivers often careen wildly through streets as they strive to get as many fares as possible in a day’s work. Riding in these vehicles usually created heightened anxiety in me as I worried for my life—I’m even gripping the podium right now, remembering this—and the lives of the BYU students riding in them with us. But there were times when we just simply had to ride in these rickshaws because our transportation choices were limited.

Upon arriving at the airport in Hyderabad more than two hours late, Annapurna, her husband (a new branch president), and their 11-month-old baby met us. They had helped arrange transportation for our small group that day as we hurried to get to the LDS church where we were scheduled to present a midweek youth fireside. I rode in a rickshaw with one of the dancers and Annapurna. Her husband and baby went in a small car with the other members of our group. We needed to hurry! After a few minutes of observing the rickshaw driver dodge and dart through busy traffic, I realized that watching the road wasn’t a good idea. Annapurna was a lovely hostess and her English was very good, and as we bounced along we exchanged the usual courteous greetings shared by people who have just met. Then I became very curious. I asked her to share her conversion story and how she made the dramatic change from Hindu to Latter-day Saint. The Spirit that engulfed us that late afternoon during our rickshaw ride was tangible. The atmosphere inside that little cubby in the back of that motor scooter changed. We all were unaware of the dangerous twists and turns and were completely drawn into her story.

Annapurna came from a devout Hindu family. Her father, grandfather, and great-grandfathers for many generations were all Brahman priests. Her brothers were expected to follow in the family tradition, and she and her sister were expected to marry young men from their own varna, or social caste, who would qualify to become Brahman priests. Again, I am not expert on the practices of this religion, but, as she explained to me, she had spent much of her life memorizing and learning all the rituals and sacred prayers, or Vedas, that were a part of the practice of her religion. She said:

I always felt like the many steps that had to be taken in order to reach deity were so complicated and took so long that I wished for an easier or better way. I yearned to access enlightenment, or what I know now as a loving Father in Heaven, more directly and immediately, but I didn’t know how and never shared my thoughts with anyone because I knew that kind of thinking was unacceptable in my family.

When Annapurna was 17 her wonderful grandmother—the light of her life—died. Annapurna’s grief was immense. She told us:

I desperately wanted to see my daa-dee-ma again and was struggling with accepting that she was gone. Imagining her essence going on into another form just wasn’t comforting me. I kept feeling like my grandmother was near. I wanted to believe that I could talk to her as I had known her—my daa-dee-ma.

Annapurna yearned to pour out her heart in grief and find comfort or hope but had no one who understood the way she was feeling. Then she was befriended by a member of the Church. She discovered that Mormons pray every day, often several times a day, to a loving Father in Heaven. They don’t have to attend a shrine or travel to a far-distant temple and follow a series of long, specific Vedas, offerings, and steps to reach God. He is always there ready to listen and comfort. Annapurna wanted to know more about this way of praying. She began to pray like a Mormon prayed, and that was the beginning. She knew this was the answer she had been looking for all of her life. She studied the life of Jesus Christ, read the Book of Mormon, and was taught the gospel. She was baptized a couple of years later but did not know how to tell her family.

Now the story really gets interesting. Annapurna’s sister, whom I mentioned earlier, had attended school in another city, and they had been separated for a number of years. Like Annapurna, she had been devastated by their grandmother’s death. In a country where less than 3 percent of the population are Christian and in 2001 less than 5 percent of those Christians were LDS, the odds of two sisters meeting two different Mormons in two different cities within a month of each other are extremely low. But that is just what happened. Annapurna’s sister was drawn to the LDS belief that families are forever, that through Jesus Christ and His gift of resurrection she could not only see but also be with her grandmother again. Without the other sister knowing, each of them had been baptized within a short time of one another. I remember how Annapurna said that she told her sister, “I have to tell you something very important and I hope you will not hate me.” Her sister responded, “I have to tell you something and it may mean that we will never see each other again.” Each confessed at the same time: “I have been baptized into the Mormon Church.”

I met Annapurna only a few years after her baptism. She shared with me that most of her family ties had indeed been severed. She no longer had the privileges of the Brahman caste in her social life. Everything in her life had changed, but she was grateful to have found the truth of the gospel because of her lifelong desire and feeling that she could and should be able to communicate with God more directly. She discovered prayer. Our 45-minute ride had ended but it felt like we had been going for only a few minutes. The Spirit had been so strong and her testimony of prayer so powerful that time ceased to exist on that ride. I realized as I climbed out of the rickshaw that evening in front of the little building used as both chapel and recreation hall by the Hyderabad Saints that I had taken my personal knowledge of prayer for granted most of my life.

I will close with one more personal story. My older brother and I are 11-and-a-half months apart in age. His path through life has been bumpier than the average. More than a year ago, he was diagnosed with cancer. He was confident he would beat it. For some time, he had been less active and had been working on full activity. One evening, as we spoke over the phone, I felt directed to invite him to attend the temple with me. It had been years since he had been, but he agreed to work toward that goal. I had been serving as a temple worker and had become very familiar with the process of helping and encouraging patrons.

Two weeks later, on a Saturday evening, we entered the temple. His health had deteriorated remarkably since I last saw him, and he was very weak. It took more than an hour to get him dressed and to the chapel. Finally, we were in the endowment room, and though exhausted, he was determined to get through. I waited for him in the celestial room and as he emerged, I could see he was quite disheartened. He felt he had made many mistakes, and he questioned his standing with the Lord

It was then that I realized I had been perfectly prepared for that moment. The words that came to me were simple. I witnessed to him that his offering was accepted of the Lord. He did not have to be perfect. He was where he needed to be. He was moving in the right direction, and the Lord loved him. He had come unto Christ. I would not have had the confidence to say those words had it not been for my own temple service.

Two weeks later, he returned to the temple. He shared with me a powerful experience he had in the celestial room that evening. Twelve days later, he slipped beyond the veil. In his weakness, the Lord had made him strong.

I was grateful to the Lord for his guidance. The relationship with my brother was not perfect, but that experience was a testimony to me of the Lord’s love for His children. He prepared me for that critical moment so I could overcome my weakness and say what He wanted me to say.

Isabella walked into Grandmother’s nursing home with her rag doll tucked under her arms. She carried the doll almost everywhere she went, even though she was, maybe, too old for that now.
She and Mama walked down the long hall, holding hands. Isabella always felt nervous in this huge place full of old people, and she was glad to have her doll under one arm and Mama holding her other hand.
Sometimes the old people made strange noises or called out to them, asking questions. A woman with wispy hair asked, “Where is my baby? Has anyone seen my baby?” And a man stuck his cane out in front of Mama and Isabella one day and stopped them. “Who is feeding my hogs now?” he demanded.
Mama always smiled and nodded at the old people, but Isabella kept her head down. She was afraid of their long, skinny fingers pointing at her. She was afraid of their eyes, sunk deep in their lined faces. She was afraid of their questions, too, because she couldn’t answer them.
At last they were at Grandmother’s door. She sat, frail and alone, in her hard, straight-backed chair. Mama had brought in a softer, more comfortable rocker, but Grandmother never sat in it.
Isabella, however, loved the big plaid chair. She bounced up into it now, settling down with her doll while Grandmother and Mama talked.
At least, Mama talked. Grandmother just sat very still and stared out the window.
That was scary too. Grandmother had always chatted with them. She’d always listened to all their questions and ideas and told them what she thought. But now she might as well not have been in the room at all!
When Mama went out to talk to the nurse, Grandmother turned and looked at Isabella. “I had a doll like that,” she said.
She spoke so suddenly that Isabella jumped.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother said again.
Not knowing what to say, Isabella looked around for Mama.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother repeated, louder this time. Isabella saw tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.
What should I do? Isabella wondered. She looked around again, and this time she saw Mama coming. She jumped up and scurried over to her. “Mama,” she whispered, “Grandmother was talking about a doll.”
“That’s nice, honey.” Mama turned to Grandmother. “That’s nice, Mom, that you’re talking with Isabella.” Taking a hanky from her purse, Mama wiped Grandmother’s cheeks.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother whispered.
“Of course you did, Mom,” Mama said.
After lunch—gelatin and cottage cheese and boiled vegetables and milk in little cartons with straws—in the big old dining room with the high ceilings, Mama said that they had to go. She kissed Grandmother’s dry, wrinkly cheek.
When Isabella leaned over to kiss Grandmother, she heard a tiny whisper in her ear: “I had a doll like that.”
When Isabella turned to wave, she saw that Grandmother was holding the fringe of the shawl that was tossed across the bed, just as if she were holding the fingers of someone’s hand.
Outside, the air smelled fresh, the sun was high in the sky, and Isabella felt lighter than she had in the nursing home. Still, she kept thinking about what Grandmother had said about the doll. “Mama, why is Grandmother like that?”
Mama didn’t ask, “Like what?” She just said, “She has a disease that takes away her memory. She can’t think of things the way we do, anymore.”
“She kept talking about my doll.”
“Oh? What did she say?”
“She kept saying, ‘I had a doll like that.’” Suddenly Isabella’s throat ached. She wrapped her arms around her doll and stood still, crying for Grandmother, who couldn’t remember things, crying for Mama, who had to see her mother like this, and even crying for herself, because her laughing, cookie-baking, fun-loving Grandmother was gone. Now there was just this old woman with no life in her eyes, saying, “I had a doll like that.”
Finally she heard Mama talking gently to her. “Well, you know, Isabella, Grandmother made that doll for you.”
“She did?”
“Yes, years ago. You were too little then to be aware of it, but Grandmother made that doll and all its clothes.”
“Even the bonnet?”
“Yes.” Mama took the sweet-smelling hanky from her pocket and wiped Isabella’s cheeks.
“And she sewed the face on and everything? The eyes and everything?”
“Yes.”
Isabella looked at the face of her beloved doll with its black eyes and long lashes stitched on, and a little red bow mouth. “So that’s why she remembers this doll.”
“Probably.”
Isabella made up her mind. “Mama, let’s go back.”
“What?”
“To the home—let’s go back.” Isabella turned and ran, Mama behind her, all the way to the home, all the way down the long hall, all the way to Grandmother’s room. She stopped to catch her breath just inside the door.
Grandmother looked up at her and said, “I had a doll like that.”
“I know, Grandmother. And now you have her again.” She put the doll in Grandmother’s lap.
Grandmother folded her arms around the tiny body. “This is my doll?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
Grandmother looked up, and this time her eyes were alive. The corners of her mouth went up in a smile. “Rock the dolly,” she said.
Mother and Isabella helped her up from the hard, straight-backed chair and into the big soft one. She held the doll close, and began to hum, rocking back and forth.
Mama and Isabella said good-bye again, but Grandmother did not look up from the doll.
As they walked slowly down the hall, Mama put her arm around Isabella’s shoulders.
“It was Grandmother’s doll, wasn’t it, Mama?” she said. “It always was, and she knew it.”
“I think maybe you’re right, Isabella.”

Before their move to Broken Hill, the Kowalski family lived in Ipswich, Queensland, on Australia’s east coast. It’s a nearly tropical area, green and lush and close to some of the finest beaches in the world.
Then Jared’s dad took a job as a dentist for one of the mining companies, and the Kowalskis moved to Broken Hill. In the middle of nowhere. Or at least on the edge of nowhere. And Jared couldn’t be happier.
To some, the red, sandy soil of the outback may be a poor trade for the golden beaches near Ipswich. But to Jared, the snakes and odd lizards and other creatures of the outback are fascinating. In addition to the dogs and fish and other pets that any family might have, Jared has a small backyard menagerie with a bearded dragon lizard, a shingle-back lizard, turtles, finches, and quails—oh, and his carpet python, Monty.
Jared’s interest in animals goes even further. On some Saturdays, he helps the local veterinarian in his surgery, handing him instruments. “I thought it would be interesting,” he says, “so I asked if I could help.”
And if Jared could travel, where would he go? He doesn’t have to think that one over for long. “The Amazon rain forest,” he says. “There’s all those interesting plants and animals. That’s where I’d like to serve my mission, too. I think the people there would be interesting as well.” As much as Jared likes animals, you find when you talk to him that his greatest appreciation is for people.
A good prospector must look beyond the surface of the rocks to see the treasures they might hide. Jared’s that way with people. When you ask him if he feels isolated here in Broken Hill, he says, “I like it. There are some good members here. The best ones are old. They’ve got a lot to tell you. Most of them are really spiritual.”
The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

The Hacienda Heights California Stake wanted an activity that would appeal to a large group of youth and would be a chance to activate both boys and girls. They chose to sponsor a bicycle motocross race.
A suitable location was found with a track consisting of jumps, sharp turns, and plenty of dirt. Under the direction of Rhett Smith, many young men spent two days getting the track prepared.
Eighty-nine youth showed up to race in age groups ranging from seven and under, eight to nine, ten to eleven, twelve to thirteen, and fourteen and over. Trophies were given in each category. Each rider had to race three times over the track during the course of the day, with those who came in first, second, and third places receiving points. Even though only the high-point winners took home the trophies, the event was termed a success because of the enthusiasm of the participants.

When Joseph Smith died, the walls of the Nauvoo Temple were less than halfway done, and soon it became apparent to President Brigham Young (1801–77) that the Saints would again be driven out. So he asked the Lord: “Should we stay here and finish the temple, knowing that we will have to abandon it almost as soon as it’s done, or should we go now?” The answer came clearly, “Stay” (see Brigham Young diary, Jan. 24, 1845, Church Archives; Ronald K. Esplin, “Fire in His Bones,” Ensign, Mar. 1993, 46). The ordinances of the endowment and of sealing were so important that the Saints needed to stay.

And so for the next year, they poured all they had into the temple. Toward the end, their homes were being burned around Nauvoo, and the Saints were preparing to go west just as they were finishing the temple. In December 1845, enough of the temple was completed that the Saints could dedicate part of it, give endowments to those who were worthy, and seal husbands and wives to each other.

Over the next few months, they worked around the clock to prepare everyone spiritually for the great trek west. To me it’s profound and sacred that I am sealed by that same power to my wife, children, parents, and generations who have gone before and generations yet unborn. That is what the Restoration has made possible.

When my younger siblings are annoying me, I’ve learned to ask them kindly to stop and then I walk away for a few minutes. Then I come back with one of their favorite toys and play with them. Sometimes the most tempting way to handle things is by threat and force. Whenever I want to do this, I silently sing the lyrics to “If the Savior Stood Beside Me” (New Era, Aug. 2007, 8–10). That helps me keep calm and remember to love them. Another good song to sing is “Love One Another” (Hymns, no. 308).
Bria W., 12, Texas, USA

Videos showing community or family projects can often demonstrate the blessings of the gospel in our lives. For example, when we lived in Houston, Texas, a member of our ward posted a short video about volunteering at the Church’s peanut butter canning project. He commented that one day each month all of the Church-produced peanut butter was donated to the Houston Food Bank.
One of his colleagues from work was looking for ways to volunteer. He saw the online video and realized he knew the ward member. So, he called him and asked if they could go together the next time there was an opportunity to volunteer. They volunteered together several times over the ensuing years, and each time they talked about Church programs and beliefs as they worked side by side.
During casual conversations, share how the gospel helps you.