Gospel Story Finder

At 5:40 in the morning, when most people are still asleep, Jay McKinley and Amy Fuqua of the Monroe Branch of the Mobile Alabama Stake are at church with their scriptures and seminary manuals. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) said that seminary is one of the most significant experiences that any youth can have, and he encouraged youth to “regularly attend seminary and be a seminary graduate.”1 It is a while until sunrise, but these two students and their teacher know the importance of the blessings they receive from following the prophet’s counsel to become seminary graduates.
“Sometimes it is really hard to get up at 4:45 a.m., but it’s totally worth it,” says Amy. “I love the feeling I get when I have the Spirit with me so early.” All three agree that the early starts are tiring and hard to manage, but all know that the benefits of early morning gospel study far outweigh the challenge of juggling each of their schedules, chores, and lives on top of seminary. Amy says, “When I think about it, having class at 5:40 a.m. isn’t a sacrifice at all.” The opportunity to learn more about the Savior is worth every effort, she says.
Jay and Amy’s seminary teacher, Sister Miranda Smith, agrees, and Jay says, “I have to go to bed earlier than normal in order to get up around 4:30 a.m. Sometimes when I have a lot of homework, my big brother will take over my chores.” In Monroe, seminary really is a group effort, even for those who don’t attend seminary. One of the reasons for the early seminary is that Jay’s school is an hour’s bus drive away and his bus driver picks him up from the chapel immediately after seminary.
One of the benefits gained from the early start is the friendship that comes from spending quality time together. “Sister Smith, Amy, and I have become close. We really didn’t hang out together, even at church, unless we had to,” says Jay. “Now we like being around each other and really are friends.”
Of course friendship is not the only reason for being in seminary; the true goal is the gospel knowledge that comes from studying the scriptures. All three who attend the class can see the benefits. Sister Smith says the best thing about early-morning seminary is “getting to start and end my day with a gospel lesson.” Not only is she the seminary teacher, but she is also a mother of four and a Cub Scout den leader, so she normally waits for her children to go to bed so that she can have some quiet time to study the lessons and prepare for the next day’s class.
Amy agrees that seminary has brought many spiritual benefits into her life. “I have a better understanding of the scriptures,” she says. “Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about scripture masteries I’ve learned, especially Moses 1:39.”
When asked what their favorite lessons from the past few months have been, both Amy and Jay agree that they enjoyed the lessons about Nephi’s journey to the promised land with his family in 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. Jay says these chapters have been the most memorable so far.
“Whenever I read those chapters, I think about how I can make it through any trial that is placed in my way. Just like it says in 1 Nephi 3:7, ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ He had such great faith and trust in the Lord, and in turn the Lord placed great trust in him. That is something that I want.”
Jay and Amy’s efforts have not been lost on Sister Smith. Not only does she get up to teach them, but she is also inspired by her students. “They are definitely the reason I keep doing this,” Sister Smith says. “I know they expect me to be there just as much as I expect them to be there. I’ve enjoyed seeing Amy and Jay grow in the gospel this year. Amy has been a member only for a few short years. She’s always excited about the gospel and has a beautiful testimony. Jay tends to be a little quieter, but I know he has a strong testimony and knowledge of the gospel as well.”
So what is it like to have early-morning seminary earlier than most schools have their classes? Jay says, “I find that I have more peace and patience as I go through school and other activities. It is such a blessing to have the scriptures in my life.” Jay, Amy, and Sister Smith are forgivably tired at times but cheerful and positive about regularly attending seminary. They find strength and comfort in overcoming obstacles and fulfilling a prophet’s advice to be seminary graduates.

New Year’s Resolutions
I, Micah Rhinelander, do hereby resolve that this year I will—
save money,
get my hair cut,
abstain from chocolate,
not eat between meals,
go to bed on time,
not doodle in class,
make my bed in the morning,
be on time for seminary,
get a tan this summer, and
maybe lose some weight.

I’ve been rereading my New Year’s resolutions, and I’ve broken about half of them already. I haven’t been getting to bed on time, I still doodle in class, and I’ve gained three pounds from all the chocolate I’ve been eating. I’m going to remake those resolutions:
1. Avoid chocolate. (Pretend it’s against the Word of Wisdom.)
2. Don’t eat between meals, and stay away from those chocolate chip cookies!
3. Lose weight!
I’m sick and tired of being fat, and I’m going to stop overeating once and for all. I want to get down to 104; that’s what models are supposed to weigh. That’s 19 pounds to lose. That’s not so much; I figure I can do it in five weeks. In fact, I know I can! I’m going to be slim and beautiful by March 3!

Here I am again in the middle of the third week of my diet. I’ve lost ten pounds so far, and everyone says I look thinner. Sister Lawrence, who used to be a professional beautician, has cut and styled my hair. It makes me look even thinner, but I’ve still got a ways to go. I’m confident I can reach my goal, however. I’m doing so well that Dad’s begun to complain that I’m too skinny.
I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it! A boy actually asked me out, a real, warm-blooded American boy!
It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep. I’ve got to record my first date, my first real, honest-to-goodness date. It happened just like it’s supposed to: the phone rang; I answered; a masculine voice said, “Hi, Micah. This is Mark Sorenson. What are you doing tonight?”
At first I thought he was joking and was just going to ask me to lead the singing at youth activity night or something. I stammered, “Whaa … what?”
“What are you doing tonight?” he repeated.
“N-nothing special.”
“Would you like to go to the movies with me? There’s a good one playing down at the mall.”
“I’ll ask,” I said breathlessly, and ran through the house screaming, “Mom, Mom, Mark Sorenson wants to take me out! Can I go?”
Well, I can’t pretend the evening was perfect. Mom gave her permission, but when Dad came home he got mad because she hadn’t consulted him first, and he said I couldn’t go. I burst into tears. He relented, growling, “You just make sure you’re home by ten.” I hugged him ecstatically.
“You’re great, Dad!”
Then I had to find something to wear. I tried on and discarded everything in my closet—they all seemed to be too short. Again I dissolved into tears. Mom patted me on the back, told me to stop acting like an idiot, and did a quick hem job on one of my dresses. Watching her, I suddenly realized what she was doing. She let the hem down, and that means I’ve grown taller! Immediately I felt better.
Mark was a little late, and I got impatient and started to put on my coat. Mom stopped me. “On a date you should always let a boy help you put on your coat. You should never let it appear as if he’s late, even if he is.” She continued to lecture me on the rules of dating etiquette, and by the time I walked out the door with Mark, I felt very knowledgeable.
The movie was good and Mark was fun, but I’m afraid I was a disaster. The way to learn how to behave on a date is not to take a cram course one minute before you leave. I forgot to let Mark hold the car door open for me, and when I opened a can of soda at the theater, it sprayed all over. We both reached for napkins at the same time and bumped heads. During the movie I ate most of the popcorn, breaking my diet and a rule of etiquette at the same time, and when we got home, I was so flustered I forgot to say thank you. I won’t be surprised if he never asks me out again.
Oh well, at least he did ask me out this once. That’s the important thing. I’m no longer a never-been-dated 16-year-old, a hopeless wallflower, a poor thing. I’m attractive. I’m interesting. I’m normal. I can look at the models in World and say, “I am one of you. I know how it is. I’m your equal.” I even wonder if I’m not a little better than they are. After all, they’re only drawings on shiny pages. With their long legs, big shoes, and small, skinny bodies, they remind me of something—I can’t think what. I’m too tired to think.
Since January I have lost 20 pounds and numerous inches. I am now around 103 pounds. I still need to watch myself, though. I don’t want to start gaining weight through carelessness.
Here are my diet plans for the summer:
1. Three meals a day, no snacks, no second helpings.
2. Ride bike as much as possible.
3. “Early to bed and early to rise.”
4. Practice good posture.
5. Don’t look in the mirror.
6. Weigh frequently.
A strange thing happened the other day. Mark and I double dated to the prom with Shane and Sam. Mark was very attentive and courteous throughout the whole ordeal, but Sam, who’s kind of a joker, was always wandering off to visit friends or get refreshments for himself. After a while Shane nudged me and said, “Will you come with me?” I excused myself and followed her to the girls’ lounge, where she began to apply makeup with a shaky hand. Her eyes reddened and watered slightly as she did this, and I suddenly realized that she felt as inadequate as I used to feel. The only difference is that she uses makeup and pretty clothes to cover up her inferiority complex while I hid inside the house under books and magazines. I don’t know why I always thought of her as being a girl with a perfect life—I guess I couldn’t see past my own shell. Anyway, I patted her on the back and made a few tactful (I hope) comments about certain boys who are nervous around girls, and she seemed to cheer up. I hope we can be better friends now that I understand both her and myself better.
Today was Dad’s birthday, and I made him a cake full of chocolate chips, raisins, and maraschino cherries. Wow! It was delicious, and as you can probably guess, all my resolutions fell apart, and I ate about half of it. Now, of course, I wish I hadn’t. However, at least it’s strengthened my resolve to diet tomorrow.
Sometimes I wonder how much longer this is going to go on, or if I will have to worry about my weight forever. I want to eat like a normal person, but to me, “normal” eating, that is, eating when I’m not on a diet, is overeating. When will I ever hit the happy medium?
I’m not going to count calories anymore. I need to learn how to eat as little as possible instead of setting a goal and then stuffing myself to the limit.
I feel that the dieting this summer did a lot of good. I haven’t lost anything, but I haven’t gained anything either. I think my figure has trimmed down, and I know I have nicer legs from bike riding. Sometimes, however, I slip up. Today crackers were my downfall—soda and graham. I just love them, and could eat them forever. I like to make sandwiches out of them with cottage cheese, but of course this isn’t good for me, so I’ll have to quit. That seems to be the only way to keep from eating too much of one thing—not eating at all.
Here we go again—another year, new resolutions. Looking back at last year’s list, I can see that I’ve been pretty good about keeping them. It concerns me, though, that none of them are very spiritual. I feel a little guilty at times because of this; I feel I involve myself too much with the things of the world. I don’t want to give up my material possessions, and yet at times I long for more simplicity.
I, Micah Rhinelander, do hereby resolve that this year I will—
finish reading The Restored Church,
be more teachable and tolerable,
practice good manners,
go to bed and rise early,
pay more attention in classes,
exercise regularly,
pray morning and evening,
have more consideration for others,
stop looking in the mirror so much, and
generally make myself more endearing to the public.
I’ve been reading through all my old diaries and laughing. It’s amazing how much I wrote then. Did I really have nothing else to do? I can’t remember, but what I do know is that I’ve had so much to do in the past few months that I haven’t had time to write at all. My social life still isn’t up to Shane Dean and Mindy Lawrence’s standards, and I don’t think it will ever be, but I don’t particularly want it to be either. I have more fun planning and making decorations for social events than I do going to them, and most of the boys I know would rather do something like that too. Right now Mark and I are working on the youth conference and having lots of fun doing it.
I guess I’ve really changed a lot, for the better, I hope. I got into a big argument with Jared today, though. I know I should show more love toward him, but it’s hard when he acts as aggravating as he did today. He came storming into the house, shouting, “I hate girls!”
“Why?” I asked.
“They’re stuck up, that’s why! The Church leaders are always telling us fellows that we should get married, but how can we when all the girls think they’re too good for us?”
I felt like hitting him. “I like that! I spent all last year losing weight and trying to make myself attractive like President Kimball tells us to, but do you think guys are swooning at my feet? No! The trouble with you and all your snobby friends is that you only want to take the glamorous girls out. They already have plenty of dates. You never pay any attention to the girls who have to try hard to be pretty!”
He considered that. “Don’t all girls try hard to be pretty?”
I thought for a moment. “I guess we all just try to be our best.”
And, as far as I know, that’s the truth.
I just wrote a letter to World publications canceling my subscription to their magazine. I can get more out of the pattern books at the store than I can out of World, and I no longer want to be a model. “In the world but not of the world” is my motto from now on.
By the way, I now know what the World models remind me of.
Shadows.

Matt and Margaret (all names have been changed) turned off the television following the concluding session of general conference. The messages had been inspiring, and they had enjoyed the positive atmosphere that had permeated their home that weekend.
Nobody could have been more disappointed than Matt and Margaret were when, less than 24 hours later, they were having a heated argument over whether to save an unexpected bonus Matt had received at work or spend it on school clothes for the older kids. The debate was not resolved, and Matt and Margaret each moved on to other tasks feeling misunderstood.
To create a lasting, happy marriage, couples must learn how to resolve conflicts so that each individual feels understood and decisions are made that involve acceptable compromise.
Scriptures and words of prophets and apostles provide ample cautions about contention. In 3 Nephi we read, “He that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention” (3 Nephi 11:29). Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that Satan “works to drive a wedge of disharmony between a father and a mother. He entices children to be disobedient to their parents. … Satan knows that the surest and most effective way to disrupt the Lord’s work is to diminish the effectiveness of the family and the sanctity of the home.”1
Differences of opinion, habit, or background are inevitable, but we have ample resources to help us know how to cope. Doctrine and instruction taught in Sunday worship and Church publications can help and can be supplemented with quality professional information as needed. Couples can learn methods for dealing with conflict. Inspiration can lead to changing hearts that soften each spouse from the inside.
President Thomas S. Monson cautioned: “Some of our greatest opportunities to demonstrate our love will be within the walls of our own homes. Love should be the very heart of family life, and yet sometimes it is not. There can be too much impatience, too much arguing, too many fights, too many tears.”2
When troubles persist and become destructive to family life, there can be more serious causes of conflict, including immaturity, selfishness, desire to win power struggles, and pride. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught, “I have long felt that the greatest factor in a happy marriage is an anxious concern for the comfort and well-being of one’s companion. In most cases selfishness is the leading factor that causes argument, separation, divorce, and broken hearts.”3
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also commented: “When one considers the bad feeling and the unpleasantness caused by contention, it is well to ask, ‘Why do I participate?’ …
“… It is important to recognize that we choose our behavior. At the root of this issue is the age-old problem of pride.”4
Whatever the cause, we need to learn new skills and soften our hearts when problems persist.
There are many causes of conflict, ranging from superficial personal biases to deeper ingrained communication styles. In addition to overcoming selfishness and immaturity, couples will face other common causes of conflict including such factors as the following:
Newlyweds learning to adjust to one another’s styles
Natural differences between men and women
Edginess prompted by exhaustion
Different opinions on how to best raise children or manage finances
Children learning to use agency
Different likes and dislikes
Overreactions to stress
Lack of understanding or skill in resolving conflict
Many marital or family conflicts arise because of uncontrolled anger. If we’re not careful, we can follow an angry incident with constant thinking about how we were wronged. The longer we ruminate the more reasons we can generate to justify our perspective. This brooding can prevent us from calming down, and when a second wave of anger emerges before the first is resolved, hormonal reactions can lead to additional outbursts.
For example, in a counseling session, Marilyn described how frustrating it had been to lie in bed after she and her husband had yelled at each other. “I knew I was in the right,” she said. “I knew he was going to flip on the light and apologize, but he never did. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. When I heard him start to snore, I couldn’t stand it—I jumped out of bed and yelled at him some more and then went downstairs. Can you believe that he still didn’t apologize?” Marilyn’s experience is a good example of how not to deal with angry feelings.
Habits, even short-term ones, can seem hard to break. But spouses can learn skills to help. Here are some useful practices:
Challenge thoughts quickly. In our example, Marilyn could have said to herself, “It seems like I’m right, but I’m blowing it out of proportion. My relationship with my husband matters more to me than what we’re arguing about.”
Allow your emotions to calm before you try tackling a problem. Wait out the chemical reaction that may be taking place.
Find a distraction. Choose to think about something else or take a walk.
Write down your thoughts. For some, this helps to increase self-awareness.
Let it out in productive ways. Yelling about your feelings won’t help you “get it out of your system.” The more you vent in an angry manner, the more intense your feelings will become.
Listen to calming music or read uplifting literature.
Start over. Catch yourself in the beginning of a disagreement. Research has shown that the first three to five minutes of a conversation lays the foundation for what is likely to follow. Say, “This is going in a bad direction. Let’s start over.”
Strengthening Marriage, an LDS Family Services’ manual, recommends three steps for resolving conflict: (1) expressing views, (2) exploring concerns, and (3) selecting mutually satisfying solutions.5 These steps are based on a communication and sharing model that is cooperative and addresses the issues of all concerned.
Each individual shares views in an honest but non-attacking manner. Sometimes thoughtful reflection resolves the problem as it becomes clear the disagreement was merely a misunderstanding. For example, a wife who thinks her husband is selfishly insisting that she attend a high school basketball game with him instead of going out to dinner for a date, might come to understand that he is less interested in basketball than in showing attention to a player who has stopped attending his Sunday School class.
Couples explore concerns at a deeper level. The focus is on understanding and accepting one another’s concerns. Continuing the basketball example, the wife, while understanding her husband’s concern for the student, might believe that he is developing a pattern of always putting the needs of others before those of the marriage. In this case, a more thoughtful discussion must be held in which each expresses feelings in a sensitive manner and opposition gives way to cooperation.
Couples brainstorm and decide on mutually satisfying solutions. The focus is on what each individual can do to address the concerns rather than on what their spouse can do. Such negotiation can test maturity and patience but, over time, lead to a belief that there is safety in expressing feelings and confidence that each person’s desires will be addressed. Our couple may agree to spend one Friday night together at a basketball game, one Friday night in which the husband attends the game alone, and two Friday nights doing couple activities. It is not as important how the couple chooses to spend Friday night as it is that the quality of the decision-making process is satisfying to both.
Wonderful blessings flow from resolving conflicts in an atmosphere of love. These include security; personal growth, which leads to inner peace; increased faith; enhanced character; and personal righteousness.
When conflicts are resolved, new patterns can take their place. The door then opens for spouses to express positive thoughts and demonstrate support. Sister Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President, said: “Words have surprising power, both to build up and to tear down. We can all probably remember negative words that brought us low and other words spoken with love that made our spirits soar. Choosing to say only that which is positive about—and to—others lifts and strengthens those around us and helps others follow in the Savior’s way.”6
Couples who have made long-term progress in resolving conflict reap desirable rewards. A husband of a previously troubled relationship said, “It’s hard for me to look back on how it used to be and believe that it was real. How could I have treated my wife the way I did? I’m grateful for the Spirit getting my attention and for the patience my wife has shown to me.”
Overcoming conflict takes conscious effort and follow-through. The very next thing you say or do can start more positive communication patterns in your marriage. You too can reap the fruits of the Spirit as experienced by the Nephites: “There was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults … ; and surely there could not be a happier people” (4 Nephi 1:15–16).

Jeffrey Yee, 11, and his younger brother Ryan, 6, performed the parts of James and Joseph Kirkwood. James was one of the young heroes of the pioneer trek. He, his mother, and his three brothers had come from Scotland, and they set out together to cross the plains with their handcart. James took care of his four-year-old brother, Joseph. When Joseph was too tired to walk any farther on Rocky Ridge, James carried him. When they finally got to the camp, James set his little brother down safely by the campfire. James died beside the fire from the cold and exhaustion.
“I think that he was very responsible and brave. His little brother must have been grateful for a brother to look up to,” Jeff says about his character. “Because he was kind to his little brother, he helps me know it’s not nice to make fun of my little brother. He usually needs help because he is so young, so I try to help him.”

I have always had faith in our Father in Heaven and in Jesus Christ. But the Church was another matter for me. I believed it was like any other church; it was one church among many capable of leading me to salvation.
Why then was I a member? I had been searching for a church that fit my religious principles. When I found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I knew I had found a “good religion,” one espousing doctrine I already believed from my study of the Bible. That knowledge was enough for me, I decided.
But as I attended church and listened to talks and testimonies, a desire began to grow in me to discover for myself if the Church actually was the restored Church of Jesus Christ—the only true Church upon the earth. I decided to read the Book of Mormon—something I had not done before. I realized, of course, from reading the Church magazines that I would not gain a testimony if I did not study with faith and a heart open to receiving a witness from our Heavenly Father. And so I studied, and I received a witness that the Book of Mormon is true.
Yet I still had doubts about the Church. I wanted a clear and definite affirmation from God, something remarkable that would make me feel sure. I knew I should not ask for a sign, but the thought dominated my mind and likely kept me from receiving the testimony I sought. The more I sought a confirmation in this way, the more rebellious I felt. Then I began to lose hope.
One day during an institute class, the teacher presented a video portraying a person much like myself—one who was not sure of his testimony. He sought counsel from his bishop, and the bishop explained that our Father in Heaven looks for moments to answer our prayers, but we must be attentive and receptive to the Holy Ghost. The bishop in the video also said that learning to recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit requires time and a humble heart.
These words touched me deeply. I recognized that I had never listened to the voice of the Spirit regarding the Church because I had been unwilling to do so. From the time I began praying for a testimony of the Church, the answers had come to me quietly, little by little, but I had refused to hear.
During that institute lesson I felt a change in my heart that I could not understand, and the heavy burden of doubt I had carried for nine years left me. I now accepted what I had previously doubted.
But even then I was tempted to fight against the Spirit. I told myself that what I was feeling was just a passing impression, an emotional response to the film. This war continued inside me as I left the classroom, so I found a place to be alone. And there the presence of the Holy Spirit came to me more clearly and finally liberated me from my doubts. I was filled with incomparable joy. A weight was lifted from my shoulders.
Now I can say with full conviction that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true Church, restored in these last days by Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith. This testimony is precious to me. With it, I feel spiritually prepared to receive the greater light and knowledge the Lord and His Church have to offer.

The Lord said to his own, “O ye of little faith.” Aren’t we all? Once when far away from home, after three days of quite intense suffering, I finally admitted to my companion, Brother Harold B. Lee, that I was in distress. He gave me a sleeping pill he had, then knelt by my bed and blessed me. Though I had gone through three nights in pain and almost without sleep (it was then 3:00 A.M.), I was fast asleep moments after the blessing. I am now ashamed to confess that the next morning when I awakened, my first thought was of the potency of the pill. Then, as hours passed and I knew the effect of the pill must have passed, the distress did not return, and I fell on my knees in remorse to ask forgiveness of the Lord for having given credit to the medicine rather than to him. Months passed and still there was no return of pain or distress. I am ashamed, but I probably represent numerous people who have done likewise. O we of little faith! “Brother A. was not healed.” “Sister B. got well, but it was a long process.” “Brother C. would have gotten well anyway.”

There was no obvious reason for the prickle of alarm that raced up Snow Wolf’s spine when he saw the dead horse, but he decided to leave the snowy trail anyway and investigate. The Indian youth had been taught that to survive he must trust his instinct even more than his sharp eyes and keen ears.
The corpse was not that of an Indian pony. There were thick callouses caused by straining against a harness. One foreleg was broken. Mercifully, the suffering animal had been shot. It died about ten days ago, he decided after studying the signs. Deep wagon ruts led eastward. So the settlers could not have gone very far with only one horse to pull such a heavy load.
Snow Wolf looked around and strained to hear above the howling wind. Swirling snow narrowed his dark eyes to slits. Threatening clouds and a sudden drop in temperature had halted his hunt. Sensing that a blizzard was coming, he was loping back toward his village. Now, although he saw no danger, he proceeded more cautiously. Because of past incidents, there was a mutual distrust between his people and the settlers.
The youth picked up the faint scent of wood smoke. He hesitated, then turned aside to follow it. It could be a hunter from his village. But unless a brave were injured, he would not make a fire and camp so close to home in such threatening weather. The coming blizzard would rage for several days.
When he saw the crude shelter and a wagon, Snow Wolf stealthily made his way from one tree to another. It was a white man’s camp! He circled the clearing and saw that only a mud and stone fireplace and three log walls had been thrown up and roofed. It was not enough shelter for the raking blizzards common to this area where snow piled in fifteen-foot drifts. Three walls were nothing more than a windbreak. The settlers will not survive the coming storm! he thought.
A white woman huddled close to a meager fire with two small children wrapped in quilts. The oldest child’s face was red with fever. Both were wracked with constant coughing. There was no cooking pot over the fire. They had no food! Snow Wolf’s conscience felt the weight of the three fat rabbits dangling from his belt. His family had venison, buffalo meat, and fish they had dried in the fall. But will it be enough to outlast the blizzard? he wondered.
A horse plodded into the clearing, dragging a log. It was led by a tall man, who staggered with weariness and whose face was gray with fatigue. Snow Wolf knew that the man could not finish the remaining wall alone before the storm hit with its killing temperatures—not without food, at least. And building the cabin had robbed him of time to hunt.
The youth was deeply troubled about the plight of the little family. He was willing to share his food and to help build the wall, but he was hesitant about approaching them. It could be dangerous if they misunderstood his motives. A series of deep, croupy coughs from one of the children made him decide to risk the danger.
The frightened parents whirled and stared with dread and disbelief as Snow Wolf stepped out from the pine trees. He shouted his tribe’s word for friend and stood, waiting tensely, ready to leap back into the forest if anyone reached for the gun he saw leaning against a wall.
They didn’t understand the word, but their fear vanished when they saw the rabbits Snow Wolf held out toward them. An enemy would not bring food to his victims. The youth smiled as the blond woman took the rabbits and nodded her thanks. He walked to the log and lifted one end, to show his willingness to help.
Snow Wolf led the father to a ravine where floods and erosion had downed many tall trees—trees that would provide logs faster than felling them with an axe. The youth used the horse to drag them to the cabin site, while the white man trimmed them and notched the ends so they could be lifted into place. Chinking the gaps between the logs with moss instead of mud was easier and faster. When the wall was waist high, Snow Wolf motioned the woman and children inside. The wall was closed with canvas and a quilt was hung over the doorway to provide more protection while the men continued working.
The last log was in place, and the father was making a door from one side of the wagon bed, when he realized that both his horse and the Indian youth had vanished! He felt betrayed. Snow Wolf had hauled in a giant pile of firewood and given them food. He had worked hard to help build the wall. Did he help us only for an opportunity to steal our remaining horse? The man sighed in disappointment. Losing the horse was bad, but losing what he had thought was a friend was far worse.
The man nailed the door into place and straightened his aching back. He stood back and looked with pride at the snug cabin. His family could not have survived without it, and he could not have finished it without Snow Wolf’s help. The youth earned the horse, so I won’t begrudge it, he decided.
Smoke curled from the chimney and was snatched away by the wind as the full force of the blizzard struck. The father filled his arms with cut logs outside and came reeling into the warmth of their new home. The smell of rabbit stew was tantalizing. He decided that he would not mention the loss of their horse to his wife, who was already so worried about the children.
After supper, he split logs and made two sleeping platforms for beds. He tried not to hear the choked coughs and labored breathing of the little girls as he worked on benches and made a long table. But fear clutched at his chest nevertheless. The children were restless and feverish as their mother hovered over them, her face white and drawn. She was so worried that she hadn’t even thought to ask about Snow Wolf. How alone they were!
Suddenly there was a loud bump; then snow swirled into the room as the door burst open. The couple stared incredulously as Snow Wolf and an elderly Indian woman entered, bringing food and buffalo hides. How could they have found their way in such a blinding blizzard!
Sarah hesitated only a moment, then moved aside to let the Indian woman bend over the sick children. Expertly the Indian woman crumbled herbs into the water boiling on the hearth, and soon the cabin filled with steam and an aromatic scent. She warmed a pungent salve and rubbed it on the feverish children, then raised their heads to give them sips of the herbal drink to stop their coughing. Soon the children drifted off to sleep.
How quiet the cabin seemed, even with the lashing wind outside. The two women needed no words as they sat together near the hearth, occasionally nodding at each other in perfect understanding.
Snow Wolf and the father carried in more supplies, then stacked cut logs to the ceiling on both sides of the fireplace. Together they made a brush shelter for the horse.
The children slept, no longer struggling for each breath. They were almost cool when their mother walked over and tenderly touched them. Her lips quivered and her eyes were misty as she looked around the cabin, so cozy now in the firelight, and then into the faces of their new friends.

As a student at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University), Ezra mustered the courage to ask Flora Amussen for a date. The youngest of the six children raised by her widowed mother, Flora was “the most popular girl in town,” a tennis star, actress, student-body vice-president, and a leader in many activities. Nevertheless, the “farm boy” continued what he described as an “inspirational and soul-satisfying courtship.”
But the romance was postponed by Elder Benson’s mission call to England. He labored in Newcastle, where he became a mission leader. He often dressed in the plain clothes of a workman while preaching to the unemployed on the streets. After two and a half years, he returned home and proposed to Flora. But she decided to serve a mission herself. When she returned from Hawaii, he had graduated from Brigham Young University. They were finally married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 10, 1926.

A few months ago I was in a distant area of the Church. A fine-looking young man came up to me and said somewhat impatiently, “Bishop Brown, how long does it take, anyway, to process a mission call?” I said that I was not sure but I did not think it would be too long. We had a short, very pleasant visit. Afterward I asked the stake president about him. He seemed so desirous of serving a mission, and yet he appeared to be older than most prospective missionaries; he appeared to be in his mid- or late twenties.
The stake president informed me that at one time this young man had been acknowledged as one of the top three drummers in the leading rock bands of the United States. He had previously recorded with Columbia Records and had made a lot of money. He had been totally involved in that scene. One day, he put a gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger. It went off but, miraculously, did not kill him. During his convalescence, he learned of the gospel. He was converted and baptized and now was preparing himself to go on a mission.
He now had an understanding of eternal life. The contrast between his earlier life and now caused many things of the world to seem hollow and meaningless. With this new light and knowledge the things of God were rich and rewarding, and now his whole desire was to achieve eternal life and influence the lives of others so that they would have the same desire.

You probably have not seen too many photos of General Authorities in their young adult years with facial hair that would disqualify them from enrolling at BYU. Well, I was not then a member of the Church. I was a university student working part-time at McDonald’s, where I met a young woman who was sufficiently alert to see some potential in me and to encourage our relationship, for which I am most grateful. She would often arrange with the manager—unbeknownst to me—for us to be assigned the closing shift together. As she had no transport home, I would give her a lift, and we quickly fell in love. It was she who introduced me to the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
So I recommend McDonald’s! And I recommend finding an eternal companion who will always love the Lord first.

Ieuan Barry, born of wonderful parents, was diagnosed with autism as a young child. His parents were attentive to his needs and Ieuan has learned to stretch himself in life. When the opportunity to represent Wales at the Commonwealth Powerlifting Championships came about, he and his family engaged in the necessary fundraising to be able to attend and go and do. An inspiration to his peers and family, as he represented his country in Auckland, New Zealand in November 2022.
At first I had no idea where my journey in sport would end up, but, at the age of 16, I was taking my GCSE’s and I decided that I would like to get physically and mentally better – fitter in general – so I started doing a bit of everything; a bit of cardio, a bit of running, a bit of weights. Unstructured and unplanned. I started out by looking carefully at my diet, did some research into nutrition, and became more particular about what I ate.
By the time I was 17 I started to get more organised in my thinking about nutrition and exercise and gradually introduced changes that helped me do it properly – I got to know the things I needed to do.
I feel like it gives me something that I’m really good at. I can do what a lot of people struggle to do. It’s consistency and longevity. I think about this moment in time, so I appreciate what I had to go through, progressing step by step, little by little. A lot of people like to get success in the short term, but I’m thinking long term and I definitely hope to be competing in the sport for as long as I can. I have aspirations to go down the coaching route as well, coaching other people, having my own business.
It’s interesting to try and explain as sometimes it can be quite difficult to interact with other people because the way my mind processes social situations is a bit different to other people. For example, if some people are joking and messing around, sometimes I might not really take it as a joke. In other ways my autism helps me to work to a routine and stick to it regardless of how I am feeling on a day-to-day basis. It gives me a determination to achieve my goals no matter what.

A lot of people are thankful to Shawn for their introduction to the gospel. One of his favorite activities is helping the missionaries. When invited, he sometimes travels across four or five states on an airline or in his own plane to tell an assembly of investigators about rodeoing and the gospel. He explains some of the finer points of bronc riding and then winds up the meeting telling them why the gospel is so important. After a recent trip to an Indian reservation where he explained about the gospel and how to ride broncs, he said, “I guess this approach has helped opened a few more doors for the elders.”

I saw a wonderful example of the healing power of the atonement in the life of a fellow American a few weeks ago on TV. One of the TV news magazines was interviewing the wife of one of the heroes who stormed the cockpit of United flight 93, which was apparently intended to crash into our nation's capital. As I watched and listened to her speak of her beloved husband, I marveled at how she could maintain her composure. There was obviously a lot of love in her heart. I could see the light of Christ in her countenance, even through the television airwaves. I knew her wounds had been healed through the atonement of Christ. I just knew He had borne her grief and carried her sorrows. And uttered a prayer of thanks to Him for consoling her.

Dave and Rosemary Smart were live-at-home missionaries assigned to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Maine. They learned of a young seaman in the coast guard who would soon leave for three months’ sea duty. The seaman and his wife, members of the Church, had three children.
Until the Smarts contacted them, the young couple were unaware of military relations missionaries. They were relieved to know that Elder and Sister Smart would be nearby to offer support to the family in the absence of their husband and father.
The Smarts introduced the couple to the manual Becoming a Self-Reliant and Resilient Family. They explained how to find it in the Gospel Library and on the Gospel Library app. The app version would be of benefit to the seaman when he was at sea and there was no wi-fi aboard ship. He realized that the manual would benefit him and his family and that it would assist him in his job. As a health services technician, he often counsels others.

Six weeks later I was baptised and committed to becoming the very best I could be. My testimony was much bigger than my actual knowledge of the gospel, so I was frantically studying and seeking answers. Trying to keep the Sabbath day holy was difficult with a husband who was not a member.
I asked a visiting District Presidency member to give me a list of things to avoid—what I was not allowed to do. He told me to avoid any activity that would pull me away from God. So I asked him for a list of things I must or should do. He told me to do all those things that would help me draw nearer to God.
At the time I didn’t think he was very helpful at all, but keeping the Sabbath day holy isn’t about lists of do’s and don’ts. There is no scorecard where we add up the ticks to pass. For me it is about learning and growing, recharging my spirit and refocussing myself and my life on achieving my eternal potential—striving to become more like the Saviour. This week I may spend six hours working on family history; next week I may lie on cushions in the lounge reading Book of Mormon stories with my granddaughter. The 2-hour church schedule gives us a little more time to work on the areas where we need the most growth. The new curriculum materials are designed to empower us as we teach our families AND strive to perfect ourselves. We all have different strengths and weaknesses, and we’re all at different stages of our development, so our choices will be personal and may be totally different from those of another family.

It was late at night, I was the only cashier on duty, and there wasn’t another soul in the entire grocery store. As I wiped down the checkout counters, I began humming.
My humming quickly turned into singing. I started singing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). I don’t usually sing hymns for fun, but I sang energetically until the sight of someone stopped me.
An older man approached.
“I know that song,” he said. “How do you know it?”
“It is a hymn we sing in my church,” I said.
“Are you a Mormon?”
I responded that I was.
He told me his wife had been a Latter-day Saint and had passed away from cancer in 2011. He said “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was sung at her funeral. I expressed my condolences and told him my older brother passed away in 2011 while serving a mission in Chile. We also sang that hymn at his funeral. The Spirit touched our hearts as we marveled at this “coincidence.”
“So do you think you’ll see your brother again?” he asked.
I had asked myself the same question countless times. In the difficult months after my brother died, I struggled with doubts. Eventually, Heavenly Father blessed me with a sweet knowledge that families are forever. I still had questions, but I met the man’s gaze and declared, “Yes, I do!”
“You have a lot of faith,” the man said. “My wife used to say we should have ‘a perfect brightness of hope.’” I agreed and quoted the rest of 2 Nephi 31:20, that we should love God and all men, press forward, feast upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.
“That’s it!” the man said with tears in his eyes. “That’s what she would say! How did you know that?”
I told him it was in the Book of Mormon. He asked me how he could get a copy. I told him how to do it online. The man shook my hand, thanked me by name, and left.

Although we had both been members of the Church since our teens, because of our Buddhist background, we didn’t have any Christmas traditions for our young family. Then, when the Tabernacle Choir performed in Japan in 1979, we became friends with choir member Mary K. Zackrison. That December and every December since, we have received copies of her family Christmas letter, the “Zackrison Gazette,” complete with Christmas messages, updates on her family, and information about important events in the Zackrisons’ lives.
The Zackrisons inspired us to develop a tradition of our own. The next year, we decided to take a picture of our children arranged in a Nativity scene to send out to friends and family. Starting the year after that, we began cutting out photographs of the children, which we arranged in various Christmas-related settings, and then taking another photograph of the whole scene to make into a card.
In the years since then, we have created cards of the shepherds hearing the angels’ tidings, of the Nativity, of the visit of the Wise Men, and so on. Our children have surprised us with their enthusiasm and creativity for these projects. We send cards each year to many family members, friends, and coworkers. Many of the recipients say they look forward to our cards every year.
Creating Christ-centered family traditions can be challenging, but it can also be a lot of fun. Last year we exchanged our 19th annual Christmas card with the 41st annual “Zackrison Gazette.”
Ken-ichi and Aiko Ishikawa,Kasugai Ward, Nagoya Japan Stake

“Good morning, birthday boy!” Mama said. “Come and get some birthday breakfast.”
Marcus jumped out of bed and hurried to the kitchen to eat his sweet oatmeal and berries. “Thanks, Mama!”
After breakfast, Marcus ran to his room and reached under his bed for his box of drawing things. Marcus loved oatmeal, he loved soccer, and he loved race cars. But most of all, he loved drawing.
Marcus pulled out his notebook and markers. He started drawing a race track with a bright orange race car zooming around.
Pretty soon his race car was almost perfect. All it needed was some cool red stripes. He pulled the lid off his red marker. But it was all dried up!
Oh no! Marcus thought. I wanted to make the stripes red!
He grabbed the blue marker. Oh well. I guess blue stripes will be OK, he thought. But the blue marker was all dried up too.
Marcus frowned. He definitely needed new markers. Usually he got a new set of markers for his birthday, but Dad had just lost his job. His family didn’t have a lot of money right now. So Marcus would just have to wait. At least he would still get a birthday cake tonight.
With a sigh, Marcus put his drawing things back in the box and slid it under his bed. Soon his friend Peter would be over to play.
When the doorbell rang, Marcus ran to the door.
“Happy birthday!” Peter said. “We’re the same age again!” Peter was exactly one week older than Marcus and lived nearby. Marcus loved having a birthday in the same month as his friend.
Marcus and Peter played soccer in the backyard. Then they built rocket ships out of boxes. Marcus had so much fun that he almost forgot about the markers.
Then there was a knock at the door. “Marcus,” Mama called. “Auntie is here to see you!”
“Happy birthday, Marcus!” Auntie said. She handed him a present wrapped in bright paper.
Marcus tore off the paper and couldn’t believe what he saw inside. A new set of markers! And even better, there were two of each color.
“Thanks, Auntie!” Marcus gave her a big hug. Then he ran to his bedroom to finish his race-car picture. Peter watched him add the last red stripe. It was perfect!
When the day was over, Marcus lay in bed and thought about his fun day. He got to play with his best friend, and he got new markers!
But a thought kept bothering him. Peter was really quiet when Marcus opened his birthday present from Auntie. Did my present make him sad? Marcus wondered.
Then Marcus remembered something. Peter’s dad had lost his job too. What if Peter didn’t get any presents on his birthday? That thought made Marcus sad. But maybe there was a way he could help.
The next morning, Marcus woke up early. He found the crumpled wrapping paper from his present. He pulled out his markers and wrapped one of each color in the paper. Then he put the present by Peter’s front door and hurried away before anyone could see him.
When Marcus got home, he looked at his set of markers. There was only one of each color now. Marcus sighed. Then he pictured Peter unwrapping his surprise and smiled. Maybe Peter would come over to play after he found his present. Then they could draw race cars together!

The minute Robert woke up he knew the weather was still stormy. He was glad. Maybe I can stay home from school today, he thought.
Ever since he and his parents had moved to Pinehills in late summer, Robert had been unhappy. Each school morning when he awoke he felt a nagging dread in his stomach.
Robert dressed and went into the kitchen where his mother and father stood in the doorway, looking out at the dark day. He was still clinging to the hope that his mother would let him stay home, but all she said was, “Be sure and wear your warm shirt, Robert.” There was not a word about staying home.
A horse’s hooves sounded outside. A man called, “Ready, Mr. Shaft?”
Robert’s father answered, “Be right with you,” as he put on his yellow slicker and hat.
“Are you going to help build up the dam on Indian River?” Robert asked his father.
“Yes. Every man in town is needed there, Robert. After a week of rain Pinehills’ reservoir is in danger of spilling over.”
Robert’s mother looked worried. “Indian River runs right beside the schoolhouse,” she said. “What if the dam should break?”
Robert’s father tried to ease her concern. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “We’ll be there to watch it all day.”
After his father had gone Robert sat down at the table. He wasn’t hungry and he wanted to say, “I don’t feel well, Mother,” or, “Maybe I should stay home to be with you,” but she would know he was only making excuses.
“Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” Mother insisted, so Robert choked down a few mouthfuls and then, with dragging footsteps, he set out under gray clouds that sagged nearly to the tops of the trees. Down the hill he trudged, his feet swishing through the wet leaves. He sniffed the brown smell of mud. I wish I could walk to some faraway, enchanted place and never have to go to school again, he thought.
But Robert soon reached the clearing where the one-room schoolhouse stood.
Two girls immediately ran up to meet him. Freckled Rebecca skipped on one side of Robert, and Patricia walked on the other side of him. Together they chanted, “Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee. He’ll come back and marry me. Pretty Bobby Shafto.”
Then both girls giggled and Robert continued on to school, feeling miserable and lonely. He couldn’t remember who first used the nursery rhyme to tease him, but soon every child in school began chanting, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” whenever they saw him. Robert felt he didn’t have a single friend.
When he reached the schoolhouse, Robert slumped in his seat in the back row where he was the only sixth-grader. He watched the teacher write words on the chalkboard. Robert thought Miss Parker was the one pleasant thing about school.
Turning around she asked, “Has the rain started again, Robert?”
“No, Ma’am, but the clouds are full,” he answered.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Parker said, looking worriedly out the window. “Maybe I should send the children home. Indian River runs so near the school.”
“My father said every man in town is watching the dam,” Robert told her.
“Well, then I’ll begin school,” she said. “Will you please ring the bell for me?”
Students hurried past Robert as he stood beside the door clanging the brass bell. No one spoke to him except to whisper, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” or tease, “Where’s the silver buckles for your knee?”
Slumped in his seat, Robert watched Miss Parker as she listened to the first-graders read. He couldn’t help smiling when Amy Andrews read aloud. She looked too tiny to be in school.
A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning made Robert and the other children jump. Just as Miss Parker said, “Don’t be frightened!” another rumbling noise shook the schoolhouse. It was the loudest sound Robert had ever heard, a heavy shuddering rumble very different from thunder.
Everyone in the room except Robert sat so still they appeared frozen. He rushed to the door and shouted, “The dam broke! Here comes the water!”
The boys and girls began to cry as Miss Parker ran to the door and stood beside Robert. They looked out at the water swirling and roaring only a few feet away from where they stood. No longer held by the dam, the water leaped from the riverbed, rushing toward the schoolhouse. Water was coming inside the schoolroom now and Robert’s feet were wet.
“Robert, help me push my desk under the attic trapdoor,” Miss Parker directed. “Then lift the children up to me if you can.”
Robert and the teacher shoved the desk beneath the little opening in the ceiling. He put a chair on the table, then climbed up to push the door aside and helped her into the attic.
“Get in line by grades,” she called down. “Youngest first. Robert will lift you up to me.”
One by one, as the water rose higher in the room, the children climbed onto the desk. Straining, Robert lifted each child high enough for Miss Parker to grab his wrists and pull him into the dim, dry attic.
When the last child in line was safely inside Robert started to climb up himself. “Amy? Where’s Amy Andrews?” Miss Parker called.
The other children cried, “She isn’t here! Where’s Amy?”
Robert jumped off the desk into the still-rising water and began to search the schoolroom. He finally found Amy clinging to a chair that had floated into a corner.
“Put your arms around my neck, Amy,” Robert told her. “Hold tight so I can lift you into the attic.”
But Robert’s legs weren’t strong enough to carry both of them through the swirling water. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t reach the desk.
Up in the attic the children kept calling, “Come on, Robert!” He saw Miss Parker’s anxious expression just as the rushing water swept him off his feet and through the open door.
Robert never knew exactly what happened next. He only remembered swimming as hard as he could with Amy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Then they were on a log that swept them swiftly downstream.
Robert couldn’t tell where they were. Sometimes it seemed he and Amy stayed in one place while trees and houses rushed by. Other times he looked down at the racing water and grew so dizzy he was afraid he would fall off the log. Then he’d shut his eyes and tell Amy softly, “Don’t let go!”
At a place where the river curved, the log slammed into a high bank and stuck there, but Robert knew he couldn’t climb the steep, muddy bank. His legs felt like soaked wood and it was almost more than he could do to hang onto the log with his weary arms. Amy was crying and Robert held her close as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send someone to find us.”
The long hours seemed to creep slowly by. At last the most welcome sound Robert had ever heard came from the bank above them. It was his father’s voice. “Here they are!” he shouted. “I’ve found Robert and Amy and they’re alive!”
It was two weeks before the flood damage was cleaned up and the school could reopen. And as Robert set out through the early morning sunshine he wondered how it would seem to be back in the schoolroom again. He was glad he had been able to help Miss Parker but he dreaded the teasing of the children as much as ever.
Walking slowly, Robert was nearly to the schoolhouse when he heard someone shout, “Here he comes!” Then someone else called, “It’s our Bobby Shaft who went to sea!”
Suddenly Robert was surrounded by all the boys and girls in the little school. Everyone was happy to see him. And even the old nursery rhyme sounded good when Amy Andrews ran up, slipped her small hand inside of Robert’s big one and said, “My pretty Bobby Shafto!”

Last fall I found myself with a wonderful but challenging opportunity to develop and teach Primary training through a video made entirely in Spanish. At one time in my life I was a Spanish speaker, but recently I had been speaking Portuguese and knew what it would take to relearn Spanish. I did all the things each of you do to complete a task that feels extremely difficult. I found help from capable and dedicated Hispanic sisters. Together we studied, prayed, fasted, and worked long hours. The day arrived to go and do the thing the Lord had asked, and we not only were fearful but felt our work was inadequate. We had worked up to the moment of delivery, and nothing more could be done. I wanted to start over.
Each of our husbands gave us priesthood blessings, and peace and calm started to come. Like angels, help came in the form of a sweet husband who set the alarm on his watch so he could pray for me every half hour during the recording, a cameraman whose eyes radiated “Good job,” and Primary leaders who had confidence in the workings of the Spirit and were able to communicate that with power. We ended up with a finished film that was helpful for our Spanish-speaking leaders. All who participated in it were partly surprised and entirely grateful for its success. We walked as far as we could go, and when we thought we might abandon our carts and drop by the wayside, angels somehow pushed from behind.