Gospel Story Finder

It’s something like the experience of a young girl who was walking with her grandmother. The song of the birds was glorious to the little girl, and she pointed out every sound to her grandmother.
“Do you hear that?” the little girl asked again and again. But her grandmother was hard of hearing and could not make out the sounds.
Finally, the grandmother knelt down and said, “I’m sorry, dear. Grandma doesn’t hear so well.”
Exasperated, the little girl took her grandmother’s face in her hands, looked intently into her eyes, and said, “Grandma, listen harder!”
There are lessons in this story for both the nonbeliever and the believer. Just because we can’t hear something doesn’t mean there is nothing to hear. Two people can listen to the same message or read the same scripture, and one might feel the witness of the Spirit while the other doesn’t.
On the other hand, in our efforts to help our loved ones experience the voice of the Spirit and the vast, eternal, and profound beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ, telling them to “listen harder” may not be the most helpful way.
Perhaps better advice—for anyone who wants to increase faith—is to listen differently.

In 2006, Elder Henderson and I went to live in Malawi, Africa. The company that Elder Henderson worked for had a desire to help thousands of orphan children who were dying of starvation. It was hard work in that poor country, but Elder Henderson and his colleagues built a food factory, gave jobs to many workers, and were able to feed about 80,000 children every day. It was a great experience to help so many children.
We lived in the capital city of Lilongwe. There were only a few members of the Church and no church meetings. We had a small truck, and Elder Henderson and I started to do missionary work at night. We began to hold Sunday meetings in a room where corn was stored. We found a member of the Church, Brother Ntoloa. He now was married to a lady who was not a member, and they had a little boy. One night, we visited their one-room house in a cornfield to teach Sister Ntoloa the gospel. They had one light in the room, and we could all sit together as we taught this dear lady about the Savior and the Book of Mormon. As we were starting, it began to rain. The little house had an iron roof, so the rain was very, very loud. Then… the electricity went off. Quickly, they brought two small candles for light.
“What shall we do to teach Sister Ntoloa?” we thought. It felt so empty and cold, and rain was pounding down. Then Elder Henderson turned to 3 Nephi, the story about the Savior coming to the people in America after the resurrection. We took turns reading by the small light. We had to read loudly to hear each other. When we read about Jesus Christ showing his hands and feet, a very strong feeling came into the room. The Holy Ghost came into the dark and cold and touched our hearts that the story was true. We felt warm and close. Sister Ntoloa could feel the Savior’s love for her.
Sister Ntoloa followed the feelings of the Holy Ghost and was baptized. She made the covenants of baptism that her husband had made, and together, they started a new life. Brother Ntoloa was a schoolteacher. They were poor but began to pay their tithing. One month, the government did not give the teachers their salary. Three weeks went by with no pay, and one night, the family only had a little corn to eat – not enough for the three of them. Brother Ntoloa told his wife to cook the corn. Then they went down on their knees as a family, and the father prayed. He told Heavenly Father that they had done all they could. They walked five miles to church every Sunday. They had stopped drinking tea and were keeping the Word of Wisdom. He had worked hard, and they had kept the covenants they had made when baptized, including paying their tithing. Now, they did not have enough to eat.
As they said “amen,” someone knocked at their door. It was a friend who had his arms full of lovely vegetables. He said that he had some very good luck and had extra and asked if they wanted to share his food.
They were able to have a good meal that night. It was a miracle. The Ntoloas learned that the Lord would keep His promises to them. On Monday, Brother Ntoloa received his pay. His wife started to go to school and also became a schoolteacher. Soon our little church group grew to be a branch, and Brother Ntoloa was called as the branch president or bishop. They had kept their covenants with faith. God had poured out His blessings. They were a happy family in their little house, and now they were leading and showing others how to have the same blessings.

I wish I could get in touch with the person whose letter was published in the September 1986 feedback section under the title “I wish I had a friend.” I had a very similar experience in my lifetime. When I was nine years old we moved from a ward where I had wonderful friends to a ward 30 miles away from my old one. I never fit in with the large crowd of kids my age in my new ward. I struggled along for nine years, never really quitting, but sometimes attending Mutual and Sunday School only half of the time.

But I consider myself a survivor. When I moved away to attend college I made a new beginning, and I did my best to be the “Marcy” in my student ward. I sought out those who sat alone or seemed shy, and I tried to be a friend to them. By doing this, I built up my own confidence and again found myself confident around anyone in our ward.

My story has a happy ending. I have since married in the temple and have had three children. If I could make contact with the writer of “I wish I had a friend,” maybe we could compare experiences and learn from each other and perhaps bring about a happy ending for this story, too.

My friend Melinda and I were trying to decide who to share a batch of freshly baked cookies with. After a minute of thinking, we both looked at each other and said, “Sister Cobabe!” She had been our Mia Maid adviser, and I often baby-sat her two young children. She was one of our favorite people.
We wrapped the cookies up and wrote a short note. It read: “We think you are a wonderful person. Thanks for all you have done. We hope you have a wonderful day. Love, Wendi and Melinda.”
We left the cookies on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran, leaving our surprise on the Cobabes’ porch.
In Young Women class the next week, Sister Cobabe approached me and handed me a card. I walked over to Melinda, and we read the card together. It said:
“I wanted to thank you both for the cookies. They were so good! I also wanted you both to know that I think the love you show to me and others is wonderful. I really needed a lift the day you brought the card and the cookies over. The next day, I had a death in my family. It was such a comfort knowing someone was thinking of me. Always remember you deserve only the best in life. Love you both, Sister Cobabe.”
I felt a warm feeling blanket my heart. A large smile crept onto my face. We had really helped her.
Melinda and I recalled that her name had seemed to occur to both of us out of nowhere. Now we realized that we had received a prompting to give the cookies to her.
My heart swelled as I read the note again. Even though it was only a small gesture of kindness, Sister Cobabe had really needed it. The Lord had used me to help someone else.

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.
During such a race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.
The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

An example of stepping up to serve is found in the life of our prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson, and the family of which he is a member. President Benson has described to the General Authorities how his father was called to fill a mission. He left behind his wife, who was expecting another child, his seven children, his farm, and all that he had. Did he lose anything? President Benson tells how his mother would gather the family around the kitchen table and there, by the flickering light of an oil-fueled lamp, read the letters from her husband. Several times during the reading there would be a pause to wipe away the tears that flowed freely. The result? Each of the children later served a mission. Each stepped up to serve.

May I offer two ideas that have been helpful to me when I have felt fearful? The first one came in the form of advice from Sister Michaelene Grassli, Primary general president. I served under her on the Primary General Board. We were on a training assignment together when a local leader began to describe in glowing details the auxiliary leaders who had come to that area the year before. As she told about the wonderful things they had done and expressed her hopes that we would do the same, a sick feeling began to settle in my stomach. That night after our hostess had left, I expressed to Sister Grassli my fears: I was afraid my performance would be far less than those who had come before, and I would certainly be a disappointment to everyone and probably an embarrassment to her and the Church. She said, “I have had those same feelings, but it is comforting to me to know that I need only be concerned that what I do and say is acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.” Her words brought such immediate peace to my mind that I have repeated them over and over to myself in countless situations.
As women, we like very much to please others—sometimes seeking approval so frantically that we become torn and confused by the conflicting needs of those around us. Concentrating on pleasing Heavenly Father brings peace, a respite from fear and anxiety. Think of that, young women, the next time you are asked to perform in church, or visit an inactive member of your class, or plan an activity: “I only need to worry about pleasing the Lord.” I think some of your fears will evaporate. The prophet David said: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Ps. 27:1.)
The second idea that has been helpful to me was reportedly expressed by Vincent van Gogh, a famous painter. He said, “I am always doing what I can’t do yet in order to learn how to do it.” A large part of conquering daily fear is simply doing things that we don’t know how to do—yet.
Are there things you don’t know how to do yet, that you are doing anyway? What about trying to make conversation with a young man at Mutual even though you feel very awkward? What about working hard in school even though it feels discouraging? I have often heard Sister Janette Hales, our Young Women general president, tell young people to work hard. She has said, “Working increases our abilities, and as you feel your abilities increase, you will feel more secure.”
I’ve just finished reading Eleanor Roosevelt’s biography. She was the wife of a president of the United States, but her influence went far beyond politics and position. Her life stands as a beacon to all women as someone who magnificently developed her own gifts through her service to others. This was a woman whose early life was ruled by fear and self-doubt. She described herself as an awkward adolescent, unattractively tall, with protruding teeth, dressed inappropriately, and so ill at ease with others her own age that parties and dances were dreaded occasions. How did she move from that to the kind of confidence that allowed her to contribute so widely?
She said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.” (Karen McAuley, Eleanor Roosevelt, New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987, p. 105.)
As we concentrate on pleasing the Lord rather than others and continue to work hard, doing the things we don’t know how to do yet, we will experience personal growth. We will increase our confidence in Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. This faith assures us that in the end, we will not only survive but we will know great joy and happiness.
After the death of Christ, Paul was converted and became a great missionary. He had a junior companion, whom he loved as a father loves his own son. When we pick up their story in 2 Timothy, they are separated in their service. Timothy is lonely and afraid—being a missionary can be a fearful business. Paul is in prison in Rome. He writes Timothy a letter: “To Timothy, my dearly beloved son. …
“I thank God … that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day;
“Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears.” (2 Tim. 1:2–4.)
Isn’t that a tender letter? Pretend it is coming to you from one who is mindful of your tears.
Paul then goes on to remind Timothy of his strengths: “I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee.” (2 Tim. 1:5.) He reminds Timothy that both his grandmother and his mother were women of faith.
Think of some of the strengths that your grandmothers and mother have passed on to you.
Then Paul asks Timothy to remember to use the gift of the Holy Ghost: “I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.” (2 Tim. 1:6.)
Are you remembering that you have had hands laid on your head—that you have been given a gift? Use that gift to conquer your fears!
And then my favorite part of the letter: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” (2 Tim. 1:7.)
Are those just the things you want when you are fearful—power, love, the ability to think clearly?
Paul ends one of his letters: “All that are with me salute thee. Greet them that love us in the faith. Grace be with you all. Amen.” (Titus 3:15.)
All that are with me salute you. We love you and are aware of your fears and your faith. I bear you my witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, that he loves me, that he loves each of you, and that he will help us to replace our fears with faith. I say these things in his name, amen.

Members of the Young Women and Primary General Presidencies of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints met and visited with members in six countries of the Caribbean in May during an official ten-day visit. They were welcomed by Elder Jose L. Alonso of the Seventy, second counselor in the Caribbean Area Presidency, and Elder Hubermann Bien-Aimé, Area Seventy.
Sister Cristina B. Franco, Second Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, and Sister Becky Craven, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, arrived in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, on Friday, May 18, 2018. Other countries visited on their tour were Guadeloupe, Barbados, Saint Vincent, Trinidad and Tobago, and Puerto Rico.
“I know that sometimes it is hard to defend our beliefs, to stand up for what we believe when everyone else is not doing the same in the world. But we must stand up for what we believe, even if we stand alone,” encouraged and invited Sister Franco to a group of young men and women during a devotional in Haiti.
Haiti is home to more than 23,000 members of the Church. It will be the second country in the area to have a temple, which is now under construction. Both sisters had an opportunity to visit the temple site.
“You are going to have a new temple, and I know that probably most of the youth have not had the opportunity to attend a temple yet. But that blessing is coming quickly, and you will have the opportunity to minister in the temple for your ancestors,” said Sister Craven to the youth in Port-Au-Prince.
After three days of meetings, trainings, and visits in Haiti, they traveled to Guadeloupe and Barbados where they held leadership trainings, a young single adult family home evening, and a visit to an early morning seminary class, comprised of 10 students in Abymes, Guadeloupe.
During one of the gatherings with the members, Sister Craven stated: “The distractions lead us away from our responsibility to minister to each other. So, we always have to be careful about the things that we get involved in. The things that we do can distract us and often the things that we forget to do can be a distraction from our spirituality.”
They arrived in Saint Vincent the morning of May 23rd for a leadership training meeting with Primary, Young Women, Relief Society and priesthood leaders of this small island, home to 683 members of the Church.
The next stop was in Trinidad and Tobago, where both sisters comforted families in their homes and also trained the leaders of that country.
Devrani Barrios, a Church member from Trinidad and Tobago, remarked: “It was good, I enjoyed it. Their sense of humor and their interactions with the kids was amazing. The prayer they left with my family is unforgettable.”
Taramatie Kotiah, another sister from Trinidad manifested: “I truly enjoyed the home visits. The sisters were very friendly with us all, as if we knew each other. They have such a welcoming spirit. They taught me what ministering truly is.”
The last destination of this international tour was Puerto Rico, where there are also more than 23,000 members. The interactions with the two general auxiliary leaders was a comforting time for members on the island.
“I liked very much that they set the example for us. They taught us how we have to start ministering now, because to minister is teaching the Savior’s way,” said Elizabeth Vasquez from Puerto Rico.
“To see that these leaders took their time to come here and give us these messages, brings me a lot of joy because it shows how much they love each of us, even though they don’t necessarily know our names,” said Erika Ruiz, a young woman from Puerto Rico.
This trip occurred after the last general conference, where President Russell M. Nelson announced a new emphasis on ministering, a personalized approach to caring for the temporal and spiritual needs of members. It focuses on flexibility in addressing the needs and circumstances of individuals throughout the world.
“Ministering is about love and being a friend and inviting others to participate and is about helping each other. But it also helps us as well become more like our Savior when we love as He does. And so it’s impacted the tour greatly because that’s what we’re talking about,” stated Sister Craven, concluding the visit in the Caribbean.

As a young teenager, David continued to work on the farm and later attended the University of Utah, graduating in 1897. During his years at college he played football, played piano for a dance band, and was elected president of his senior class. He had made his professional plans as graduation drew near, but shortly before receiving his diploma he received a letter from President Wilford Woodruff, calling him to serve a mission in Great Britain. It was a major decision—and he struggled with it, as must many young men and women today. He decided to set aside his plans and accept the call.
His first months in the Scottish conference, where his father had served years earlier, were not easy, as is the case for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. …
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel … [people’s] prejudice [against the Church] gave me the blues.
“As [my companion and I] were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’ …
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to resolve the problem because she really wanted me in the quartet.”

His suit is brand new. So is his white shirt. Elder Enrique Hernandez is on his way to the airport to fly from San Jose, Costa Rica, to the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Guatemala City. After thirteen days, he’ll return to Costa Rica to serve his mission.
Why are missionaries—rather than the elder’s family—taking him to the airport? “My parents aren’t members of the Church,” he says. “And they are too poor to take me all the way to the airport. I awoke each family member this morning and said good-bye before I left.”
He explains that his father, who is sixty-four years old and unemployed, didn’t want him to go. Only Enrique and his sister have had jobs to support the family of seven. Now he will be gone, and his income will be missed.
“It was hard to leave them this morning,” he says. “I wonder how they will get along without me. I hope the Lord will bless them.”
He sits pensively as the van speeds toward the airport. “I’m strengthened by the example of the pioneer brethren,” he says. “They left their families, often in poor conditions, to serve the Lord as missionaries. If they could do it, I can too!”

“Do you have a rope?” the man in the boat called out. The man’s family had been fishing when their boat motor stopped. They had no way of getting to shore. Weldon’s dad steered his boat closer. Weldon’s brothers got a long rope and threw one end to the man. When the rope was securely tied to both boats, Weldon’s dad slowly towed the man’s family and their boat to shore.
Looking at the rope, Weldon asked his mom, “Is our rope strong enough to pull the boat?”
“Look closely at the rope,” Mom replied. Weldon could see the rope was made of lots of individual strands twisted together. “When all the strands work together, the rope is strong—just like our family,” Mom said.
Weldon asked, “What do we do to make our family strong?” Mom said he was strengthening their family each time he answered, “I will!” and happily did his assigned jobs or was kind to his brothers and sister.

The house at 402 Cinnamon Street was covered with a blanket of darkness. The moon lit up the yard in dim, random patches, almost as if playing a game of hide-and-seek in the cloud-covered sky.
Gentle whispering of sleep echoed about the bedroom. In her dream the Grand Ballroom was even more beautiful than Amy remembered. The catering manager, dressed in suit and tie, was motioning with his arms.
“And, Miss Harding, your guests will enter the ballroom through these doors. Inside to the right on a table will be the wedding book to sign. Next will be a table for the gifts. Proceeding on around, the guests will meet you and Steve and your families here. We’ll have flowers and trees, and this is where the photographer will be taking pictures. Then the line proceeds on past the wedding cake.”
Amy slept peacefully in her bed. She was oblivious to the clouds, once small in number, building forces in the sky. In the midst of Amy’s pleasant dream, a storm was brewing.
Headlights from a passing car threw fleeting shadows across the bedroom wall. Amy pulled her blanket up over her shoulders and turned over. A flash of light streaked across the midnight sky. The bolt of lightning and accompanying crash of thunder awakened Amy with a start.
She stared at the darkened walls, going over the list in her mind.
She could hear her mother’s comments. “… a wedding cake, and we remembered to ask for the little pink flowers on the top. The invitations are all addressed, waiting to be mailed. I called the florist today. Do you think we’ve missed anything?”
Thunder continued to rumble. It seemed like tiny earthquakes were shaking the ground. In the excitement of her temple marriage, was she forgetting something? Was she leaving out some small detail, overlooking an important element?
Amy moved to the window to part the curtains. To Amy, who was always fascinated with electrical storms, it just seemed like a big show in the sky. As the rain pelted against the windowpane, Amy’s thoughts flashed back to her date with Steve that evening.
“You look great, Amy. But maybe you’d better bring along a jacket. The evenings can be cool.” Steve, dressed in his college sweatshirt and baseball cap, had been waiting for Amy. “Sorry, I’m late. You know how that dumb car is.”
Steve opened the car door for her, then walked around to his side. He was over six foot four, and his legs fit awkwardly behind the wheel. He turned onto the freeway and lowered the visor to keep the sun from blinding him. “Did you go to the hotel this morning?”
“You wouldn’t believe the ice sculptures, Steve. The catering manager showed me pictures. The largest one on the main buffet is of the temple, complete with the Angel Moroni. Oh, and get this! One sculpture is of two love birds kissing, and they’re sitting on a heart.”
Steve stared straight ahead at the road while Amy rattled on. “And another one is our initials on a huge pedestal.”
Steve hit the turn signal, glancing in his rearview mirror before making a turn. “Couldn’t we just use ice cubes like normal people?”
Amy nudged Steve hard with her elbow. “It’s for decoration, not to keep the punch cold. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have made the arrangements without you, Steve. I keep thinking I’m missing something.”
Steve shook his head. “Naw, that’s okay. I don’t know anything about stuff like that. I trust your judgment.”
The drive to the park was fun. They drove around a few minutes before claiming a small picnic table nestled under several shade trees. Amy and Steve sat quietly for a few minutes, watching a little bird hop around and listening to a tiny stream nearby.
Amy dug her tennis shoe into the soft soil, leaving a ridged imprint. Then with her toe she smashed a fallen leaf, brittle from lack of nourishment. Steve sneezed. The trees brought out his allergies. Amy crunched another leaf. Steve sneezed again. Amy stepped on another leaf. Steve continued to sneeze. She tried, but she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Steve, please take an allergy pill. Your sneezing is driving me crazy.”
Steve reached for an allergy pill. He swallowed it without water. Then he leaned back, squirted two drops of medication into each eye, squinted, then raised his head. His eyes were tearing and were as red as the nose of a clown.
“I get the allergies from my mom. Sometimes I just wish I could have inherited my dad’s crooked toes. You can at least hide them.”
Steve’s voice dropped off. He didn’t remember much about them. Both parents died when he was young, and his aunt had raised him. But certain small memories were imprinted forever in his mind.
Amy reached over and took Steve’s hand. “Steve, we haven’t forgotten to invite a relative of yours to the reception, have we?”
Steve picked up a broken twig and drew Xs and Os in the dirt. “You know, I keep thinking we’ve forgotten something, too. And I’m wondering if we ought to spend so much money on a wedding band for me. And it bothers me that so much is being spent on the reception.”
Amy was agitated. “Rings represent forever, an endless circle. You know, like you and me. You are getting that wedding band. And you know how much the reception means to my mother. We can’t take that away from her.”
“I’m sorry, Amy. You’re right. It’s just that material things have never mattered much to me. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a couple named Young who used to sit in front of me every Sunday during sacrament meeting right after I joined the Church. They always sat so close together even though they had a bunch of kids crawling all over them.
“When they bore their testimonies I could really feel they understood what the Church meant to the other one. So I started praying for a girl I could take to the temple who really understood what the Church meant to me.”
Steve squeezed Amy’s hand. “I found her. I found her the night you bore your testimony at that fireside.”
Amy squeezed back. “I’ll always remember that night. I’d been a member two weeks. It took a lot of courage to stand when I hardly knew anything. I didn’t have Primary when I was young or Sunday School. But I did know one thing for sure the night I stood up. I knew the Church was true.”
Steve dropped his stick and took Amy by her shoulders. “We’re learning the answers together. We’ve been able to share so much.”
Steve put his arm around her. “Amy, I do want this wedding and reception to be everything you and your family want it to be. So let’s do something. How about if right now we start a special fast? Just the two of us. If something is missing, some small detail or someone we’ve forgotten, then we can find it. What do you think?”
Amy shrugged her shoulders. “Fasting is hard. But okay. Starting right now, for 24 hours?”
A tap at Amy’s door brought her back to the reality of her bedroom.
“Is that you, Mom?”
A soft voice responded. “Yes, dear. I couldn’t sleep and saw your light.”
Amy walked over to the door. “Come on in.”
Amy’s mom looked troubled. She sat beside Amy on the edge of the bed, pulling her robe tight around her.
“What’s wrong, Mom? I’ve heard you wandering around downstairs tonight. Is it the storm?”
Her mother stood up and began to pace. Her slippers made little squeaky noises across the hardwood floor. “I really like Steve. And I have the reception to look forward to. But honey, you’re my only child. I want to be at your wedding. Why can’t I go inside the temple?”
Amy lowered her head. This was hard for her too, having her parents missing from the sealing ceremony.
“Mom, I’m going to invite the missionaries over Sunday. I think they will be able to explain to you why nonmembers aren’t allowed in the temple. If only you knew how much I want you to be there.”
Her mother walked over and lifted Amy’s chin to look into her eyes. “It’s hurting your father, too, Amy. He understands very little about this church you have joined. But he knows how happy it has made you. Maybe it would help to have someone explain why we can’t go inside the temple. I’ll let your dad know they’re coming.”
She kissed Amy’s cheek. “Good night, honey.”
After her mother left the room and closed the door, Amy lay back on the bed. As she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes were drawn to the light fixture. Suddenly she imagined herself standing in the Grand Ballroom staring up at the chandeliers. The diamond-shaped crystal had tinkled delicately. Amy finally fell asleep.
The morning was almost gone when the phone rang on Amy’s nightstand. Amy was startled from a deep sleep. After grabbing the phone by instinct, it took her a moment to realize what she was doing.
“Hello.”
The caller hesitated. “Uh, hello? Is that you, Amy? It’s Steve. Were you still asleep?”
Amy pushed her hair away from her face and sat up. “Yeah. What time is it?”
The line was fuzzy. “Around nine I guess.”
“You sound so far away. Where are you calling from, Timbuktu?”
Steve chuckled. “No, but close. Somewhere near Storm Mountain. The car is acting up, and I stopped to cool it down. I’ve been rock climbing.”
Amy had a momentary vision of Moses climbing the mountain to talk to God. “Sounds pretty heavy. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so much when you’re fasting.”
“I know, but ever since I started fasting I’ve been haunted by the impression that something very important was missing. I just had to get away to see if I could find out what it is.”
Amy heard a loud clunk. Steve had dropped the phone. “Oops, sorry. Hey, could we come up here for the Young Adult activity tonight? Campfire, games, and dinner. We could break our fast then.”
“But what about that history report you wanted to finish, Steve? Isn’t it due soon?”
“Yes, but it can wait another night. I’m afraid I’ve discovered what it is that’s missing, Amy. It’s not something missing from our wedding. It’s something missing in our lives, especially my life.”
Amy tried to clear her mind to think. “Well, okay. Pick me up at five, the car willing.”
Amy hung up the phone and sat staring at it for a minute, confused. Deciding not to think about it, she spent the afternoon with her nose buried in college textbooks and trying to keep her mind off food.
A large group had already gathered when Steve and Amy arrived. They had to stop twice to fiddle with the car. Steve lifted the hood as soon as they parked at the campsite while Amy visited with friends. Food was cooking, and the young people were throwing frisbees and playing badminton.
The smell of hamburgers teased hearty appetites, and the food was gone in minutes.
The sun began to set. More firewood was gathered, and everyone sat close together around the warmth of the campfire. Steve and Amy huddled together on a fallen log.
Roger, always the unspoken leader, suggested they play a game, one that his dad always loved to play for Family Home Evening.
One boy, Aaron, chided him. “Oh, brother. Not “button, button, whose got the button.’”
Everyone laughed.
Roger shook his head, leaning closer to the fire. “No. This game is called ‘Search Your Soul in Two Minutes or Less.’ And I’m the emcee.”
Roger squinted, trying to make out the familiar faces around the smoky campfire. He pointed to Heather. “Okay, Heather, you have two minutes to answer the first question. Ready?”
Heather shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
“Heather, why do you live the gospel?”
Heather, her short brown hair barely visible around the hood of her parka, was thrown off guard. “Come on, Roger, how can I answer a question like that?”
Roger smiled, enjoying the challenge. “I didn’t say the game was easy, did I?”
Heather lowered her head and took her full two minutes.
“Time’s up, Heather. Let’s have the answer.”
Her voice was shaky. “I lived with my Heavenly Father before I ever came here. I live the gospel because it’s the only way to get back to his presence.”
The group huddled even closer. Roger chose his best friend next.
“Okay, Craig buddy, reach down into your soul. Why do you live the gospel?”
Everyone expected a wisecrack. But instead Craig reached into his back pocket and dug through his wallet. He passed around a picture. Everyone leaned close to the light to make it out. The picture was worn with frayed corners.
“I have five brothers and two sisters. I have two parents who drive me crazy but love me even when I’m driving them crazy. I have aunts, uncles, cousins, and twin nephews two weeks old. My sister and her husband are staying with us for a little while. The babies kept us up almost all last night. I guess I live the gospel because for some stupid reason I want it to stay this way. I want to be with my family forever.”
Amy and Steve held hands. Roger pointed to Kathy. “Okay, greenie, you’re the newest member. In two minutes or less, why did you join the Church?”
Kathy stared at the fire, watching the little sparks jump in the air and burn themselves out. She appeared to look at Roger, but with a serious look seemed to see beyond Roger or anything else in the radius of the campfire.
“I’ve never been a happy person. I really don’t know why. Maybe I thought no one really cared. The elders were interested in me as a person. One was from Maryland, the other from England. That’s a long way to come to give me a message.
“I listened and knew it was true. I am happier. And I’m beginning to understand why. Without the Church in my life, something was missing. And if it hadn’t been for those elders sacrificing to go on a mission, it would always have been missing.”
Amy felt something creep up her back. She could hardly breathe. She turned to Steve and, through the light of the fire, saw in his eyes the answer he had brought down with him from Storm Mountain. Their eyes pierced through each other.
Amy jerked her hand away and hurried from the circle. She began to run. Through the shadows of darkened trees, Amy ran faster and faster, wishing she could run forever.
“Amy, wait! I can’t see you! You’ll fall or something! Amy, get back here!”
Steve couldn’t tell which direction Amy had headed. He stood still for a moment, then heard movement to his left. He saw Amy struggling up a steep incline. His heart was in his stomach, envisioning her falling over the edge. He followed her, watching her trip several times, holding onto tree roots and small, jagged rocks sticking out from the hillside.
At last Steve stood at the top, the whole valley lying before him in a panoramic view. The lights twinkled like Christmas trees. He spotted Amy crouched beside a large boulder.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her gently, not wanting to frighten her and have her jerk away. Amy sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“Amy,” Steve said breaking the awkward silence, “today when I was climbing, I couldn’t think about anything except those four sets of missionaries I went through during my conversion. Elder Snow gave up a baseball scholarship. Elder Decker postponed his education. Another missionary’s father had to work two jobs to support him. And then all I thought about was a postage stamp.”
Amy shook her head, pulling a weed from the soil and picking it apart. “You climbed Storm Mountain, fasting and everything, and all you could think about was a postage stamp?”
Steve’s voice was barely audible. Amy knew right away he was going to talk about his mother. “Once when I was six or seven years old and my dad was out of town, my mom needed a postage stamp to mail Uncle Robert’s birthday card. We lived in the country. The mailman would pick up the mail but couldn’t sell us stamps. Mom couldn’t wait until Dad got back home with the car or the card wouldn’t arrive at the right time.
“Mom sent me to Mrs. Harold’s down the lane. She was an old lady who kind of looked after Mom and me when Dad was on the road. Of course Mrs. Harold loaned me the stamp, and we mailed the card on time. But the next day Mom told me we were going to pack a picnic lunch and walk the two miles to the post office to buy a stamp to replace the one we borrowed from Mrs. Harold.”
Steve picked up a little rock and tossed it down the hillside. “I remember saying to her, ‘Why don’t we just bake her some cookies or just give her ten cents to cover the cost of the postage stamp?’
“And then I said, ‘We could wait until Dad gets home in a few days and drive to the post office. Why today? What’s a couple more days?’
“Mom put her arms around me. Then she said, ‘Because today is the day we owe for the postage stamp, not tomorrow or the next day.’”
Steve tightened his arm around Amy. “Uncle Robert got his card when he needed it, and the debt was paid when it was owed.”
Amy buried her face in her hands, crying. “You’re telling me there isn’t going to be a wedding? After all the plans, all the dreams, you’re telling me that you’re leaving me for two years?”
Steve was sniffing and rubbing his nose, but not from his allergies. “Amy, look how the town is all lit up. We have the gospel here. But there are areas of the world that are pitch dark. Christ said, ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature’ (Mark 16:15). I have to light up that little corner of the world that’s dark, Amy. Our corner.”
The drive home was a quiet one. When they pulled into the driveway, Steve looked at Amy as he turned off the ignition. He started to speak, but before he could say a word, Amy threw open the door and bolted from the car. Tears were streaming down her face. Steve got out and stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then he lifted the hood of the car, almost out of habit, while he glanced out of the corner of his eye as Amy slipped into the house.
When Amy walked in the front door, she was glad it was quiet. She wanted to go to her room to be alone. After opening her door and then closing it quietly behind her, she turned on her bedroom lamp.
The room was just as she had left it.
Amy glanced down at her engagement ring. A wave of deep sadness swept over her. She took a soft handkerchief and tried to polish the setting. The diamond didn’t seem to sparkle as brightly as it had the day in the jewelry store. She pulled her ring from her finger and placed it in her jewelry box.
The rain began to plink against her windowpane. Thunder was barely audible in the distance as tears flowed down Amy’s cheeks in torrents. She loved Steve so very much. But did she love the gospel more? And if she sacrificed Steve for just a little while, if she could somehow bear it, would both loves merge almost as one, making both even stronger?
Amy walked to the window. Rain was coming down faster now as Steve huddled under the hood trying to make some kind of adjustment. She looked at the terrible storm lurking on the horizon. The trees were beginning to bow and the house began to creek from the wailing wind sneaking through unseen cracks.
Amy went to her closet and pulled down a rain hat and coat. She grabbed a black umbrella from the top shelf. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, leave Steve out in that downpour trying to fix the car by himself.
When she came up behind him, he jumped, startled.
“How many times do you suppose we’ve fixed this dumb car, Steve?”
Steve turned. The umbrella barely covered the both of them. Steve looked like a drowned rat.
“Well, I don’t have my calculator handy.” He jokingly patted his shirt pocket. “But off the top of my head I’d say if we’ve fixed it once, we’ve fixed it a hundred times—in just the last two weeks.”
Amy moved closer, pushing his wet hair from his eyes. “Seems like whenever we’re in the car and feel something isn’t running right, we get out of the car together, lift the hood, and look inside, right?”
Steve nodded, wiping his forehead with a greasy hand.
“And we fix whatever is wrong and continue on to where it was we were heading. Is that what we’re trying to do tonight?”
Steve couldn’t resist hugging her. “Yes, Amy. And as I was going to say as we drove into the driveway, I love you. But I just want to pay our debt now, while we owe it. Two years is a long time, I know, but what did Roger say tonight? ‘Who said the game was going to be easy?’”
Amy felt her heart would break as Steve kissed her gently. He didn’t have to tell her it was a kiss that would have to last two years. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Amy knew Steve would go to the bishop in the morning. But then a bright hope flooded Amy’s thoughts. Sunday was also the day her parents agreed to see the missionaries. A lot could happen in two years.
They fixed the car. Amy went inside as Steve drove away in the yellow car. Amy went to her room, changed into her nightgown, towel dried her hair, and then knelt beside her bed. There was nowhere else to go with all the hurt she felt inside.
She prayed with all her heart for comfort. At first she just felt sick even trying to say the words, but a feeling of peace started in a little corner, building and building until she felt the warmth of a blazing fire.
As Amy fell asleep that night, outside a terrible storm was raging. The lightning cracked across the sky, the thunder boomed, the dark clouds could be seen hovering over the neighborhood around the house at 402 Cinnamon Street. But through the raging storm, Amy slept peacefully in the midst of pleasant dreams. No matter what transpired in the ominous sky, for Amy and Steve this particular storm was over.

I contrast that to the excitement a young couple shared with me. When they moved to a new ward, the husband, who had served exceptionally well with our youth, was called to an administrative position to work with adults. I was a little sad when he wasn’t still assigned to youth because of the good rapport and respect he engendered with them. But his wife said, “Don’t worry, President, my husband is still working with the youth—I’m teaching the Laurels.”
This young couple had the right idea. They knew that since they were one, they shared, where appropriate, the positions each held. They knew that they needed each other’s help to be successful.

“Kish!” the young Eskimo girl exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Thinking that she heard Kish, the family’s lost Siberian husky, scratching at the outside door, Jen-ni threw aside her stitching and dashed across the one-room sod house. Pushing aside the heavy furs hanging from the first doorway, she moved swiftly through the partially underground tunnel to the outside door.
Frigid Arctic air thrust itself like a thousand sharp ice needles against her face as her eyes searched the sunless, semidarkened landscape. “It’s only a loose fitting on the door,” Jen-ni commented as her mother stepped up behind her.
“Is it because it’s Christmas Eve that you think you hear these sounds?” her mother asked. “Kish disappeared three months ago. Is it reasonable for you to expect her back?”
“You’re right,” Jen-ni admitted, “but I often think I hear her scratching outside the door.”
Jen-ni knew that neither her mother nor her father could explain the beloved dog’s sudden disappearance. The big husky had been the only sled dog allowed inside as a family member, and Jen-ni yearned for her canine companion. She missed their daily romps. Once, Jen-ni had lain ill for days with a high fever, and Kish would not leave her side. The dog had growled when anyone attempted to move her away.
“Come back to your work,” her mother urged, stepping back into the dim tunnel. Inside the living quarters, Jen-ni dropped down on the white bearskin rug beside the round table where she had been stitching faces on the small Eskimo dolls her mother had fashioned.
The family’s handmade articles—the small dolls, Father’s carved buckles of bone and ivory, and Mother’s fancy fishbone necklaces—were sold regularly to Mr. Morris, a Christian missionary who operated the village trading post in connection with the missionary school. The handmade articles helped pay for her brother Rira’s board and room at the school.
“Mr. Morris will be here before the day hours are over,” Jen-ni’s mother remarked as she moved the Caribou stew to a hotter spot on the small stove. “He’ll pick up all the things we have finished.”
“He’ll have a message from Rira, too,” Jen-ni eagerly added, “and the gift!” Jen-ni’s eyes brightened when she thought about the gift Rira had written he was sending to his sister. She hoped that the gift would be the daintily dressed, lifelike doll Rira had described seeing at the trading post. Her excitement kept growing, along with her hunger.
The bowls were on the table and Father had the items packed inside the deep hide bag by the time they heard Mr. Morris stomping the crusty snow off his boots. Stepping inside, the fur-covered man seemed to fill the room. The babble of friendly greetings commenced.
As soon as she could politely do so, Jen-ni’s mother asked, “What is the message from Rira?”
“Rira was fine, the last I saw him,” Mr. Morris replied. “I’ve been on a two-week trek down the strait where I’m starting a new school. In fact, I traveled out of my way to pick up your items. However, as soon as I see Rira, I’ll tell him that his family is fine and wishes him a merry Christmas.”
Jen-ni’s spirits fell, causing a lump in her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. She realized that if Mr. Morris had not been at Rira’s school for two weeks, he couldn’t deliver the gift. Now there would be no Christmas gift to unwrap.
The minute their guest was seated, Mother served the steaming stew.
Although Jen-ni no longer felt hungry, she tried to show her good manners. She listened intently while the adults talked, and before they left the table, Mr. Morris retold the Christmas story. Jen-ni felt thankful that she knew the story, and she visualized every scene. She pictured the bright star lighting the countryside—a countryside very different from her own.
In less than an hour the family watched Mr. Morris depart, cracking his long whip above the barking dog team as the sled creaked across the snow.
The oily lamp smell lingered in the room long after Mother blew out the flame and the family retired upon their sleeping platforms.
Jen-ni curled up in the soft furs, but she could not sleep.
It was such a tiny noise at first that Jen-ni didn’t stir. When it came again, she raised up on her elbow. Then she scrambled to her feet and stumbled in her haste to get through the tunnel. Why is Mr. Morris back? she wondered.
She pulled open the door, and Mr. Morris stepped in, carrying something furry and bulky in his arms. In the vague light Jen-ni recognized the familiar shape and reached Kish just as the bedraggled husky jumped excitedly down against her, knocking her backward. Jen-ni’s joyful cries mingling with the dog’s happy barking brought her parents hurrying into the tunnel, where they all joined in the happy homecoming.
Jen-ni fastened her arms tightly around Kish’s neck while Mr. Morris told about finding her.
“Your home was hardly out of sight when I saw this dim figure creeping toward me in the snow. As it made my dogs grow restive, I stopped my sled. Fortunately I heard her whining before I drew my gun. Knowing it was a dog, I went closer. I could see that she was all right, but her paws were badly torn from her trek across the ice needles with no protective sealskin boots.
“She was headed this way, so I brought her back by dogsled.”
“You found the right place,” Jen-ni’s father replied. “We’ll always be grateful to you.”
“I’m just glad I saw her,” the missionary answered. “Now I must go, for I have a long journey ahead of me.”
As the man’s tall frame disappeared into the landscape, Jen-ni looked skyward a moment. “Although you can’t see the Christmas star,” she whispered to Kish, “if there’s happiness and wonder in your heart, it’s there.”

In the conspiracy to take his life in which the Laws were involved, two young men had been invited to the secret meetings – Dennison L. Harris and Robert Scott. They consulted with the Prophet. He asked them to go and observe.

At the risk of their lives they attended these meetings and reported back what they had heard. Prior to the last meeting they reported their expectation that at that meeting everyone present would be asked to come forward and take an oath to be willing to take the life of Joseph Smith. The Prophet wept.

Now he knew by natural means as well as by his presentiments what was happening. The young men heroically attended the meeting as he suggested, and narrowly escaped with their lives when they were put under pressure to take the oath.

I have had that experience in my own family. When our children were small, my wife and I sometimes punished their disobedience by making them go to their room or sit on a chair. I remember one particular time when one of my daughters who was about four or five was sent to her room for punishment. When she started her door was closed but pretty soon I heard it quietly and slowly open. It wasn’t long before a little foot appeared in the doorway and slid carefully into the hall. After a few minutes part of a body began to appear. Gradually, she extended more and more of her body into the hall until only her hand was left in the room. She then asked, “Can I come out of my room now?” In her mind she was still in her room because her hand was there, but the rest of her had escaped. She had basically disobeyed the order to stay in her room, but was going through enough of the motion of being there that she could think that she wasn’t violating what she was told. Too often in life we are like my daughter pretending to be obeying the Lord when in reality we have left the spirit of it far behind.

As my mother told me when I complained of how hard something was, “Oh, Hal, of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. Life is a test.”
She could say that calmly, even with a smile, because she knew two things. Regardless of the struggle, what would matter most would be to arrive at home to be with her Heavenly Father. And she knew she could do it through faith in her Savior.
She felt that He was close to her. In the days she knew she was about to die, she talked with me about the Savior as she lay in her bedroom. There was a door to another room near her bed. She smiled and looked at the door when she spoke calmly of seeing Him soon. I still remember looking at the door and imagining the room behind it.
She is now in the spirit world. She was able to keep her eyes on the prize she wanted despite years of physical and personal trial.
Looking back, I now see how that gift of charity—the pure love of Christ—strengthened, guided, sustained, and changed my mother in the struggle on her way home.

Last year, students from Mesa Skyline Seminary in Arizona agreed to work together in creating a habit of daily scripture reading. They accepted the challenge to read the scriptures each day for at least 15 minutes. For every three days a student did this, he or she could write his or her name on a new wooden block.
As the blocks were earned and marked, they were glued together, eventually forming a replica of an ancient American city the students affectionately called “Zarahemla.” After seven weeks of reading and learning, a total of 1,750 blocks were cut, earned, and labeled with a name. The replica city was 12 feet in length, 8 feet wide, with a city wall, four corner towers, a large temple at the center, and hundreds of smaller buildings and shops within.
Building the city of Zarahemla “got me into the habit of reading my scriptures longer,” says Marissa Madsen, 16. “I really appreciated seeing something physically being built as a reminder of my testimony growing as I continued to read the scriptures.”
Randy Chavez, 17, agreed that the project was a big success. “It was nice to be unified as an entire seminary to achieve one large goal, and I felt excited to do my part. Because of the project, I read more frequently and longer.”

One day I went for a stroll with my two daughters, aged three and four. We walked by beautiful homes and gardens with flowers of spectacular colors. We saw tall trees with disorderly wildflowers clustered around them, which were lovely, too.
Then the girls saw some dandelions that were blooming like small bright suns. They each picked one. To their disappointment, the yellow blossoms soon withered into grey shadows.
“Why did you pick them?” I asked, thinking it was time for a lesson.
“Because they were so pretty!” both cried.
“Are they pretty now?”
“No,” answered my older daughter. “Throw them away!”
I explained that it’s best to admire nature without interfering. When living things are rooted up, they weaken and die. The girls understood.
They returned to their play, while I thought about those little flowers. I remembered the less-active people at church whose testimonies didn’t receive the nurturing necessary to survive difficult times. How easy it is, I thought, if our testimonies are not rooted in faith and constantly nourished, for them to wither and die.
Suddenly my heart trembled as I recognized in this humble analogy the answer to a problem that had been troubling me.
My husband had stopped going to church, and I had been contemplating becoming less active myself, just to avoid conflict. It would, I reasoned, be only “temporary.” I had been praying, trying to know the right thing to do. Now Heavenly Father had given me the answer.
That night when my husband came home, I told him about our outing and about the dandelions. I told him that if I did truly love him—and he knew that I did—it was due, in great part, to the attention and care I received at church. It was because each Sunday I was in the Lord’s garden, being fed by his Spirit and by the love of my brothers and sisters. It was because I was watered every day as I read the scriptures. All of these things helped to make me the person that loved him. They made me the person that he loved.
He smiled and gave me a kiss as a token of peace. And I gave thanks for the message I had received that day—in the form of two dandelions.