Gospel Story Finder

Take just a moment now and think about the choices below:
You really want to take some art and graphics classes, but you wonder if you have the time to take them and play basketball and do well in your core classes, too. What do you do?
A friend you haven’t seen for a while wants you to go to a new movie you’re dying to see. You haven’t put your day’s mileage in yet (remember, you ought to jog but you tend to put it off), and you know you’ll never do it if you go with your friend. What do you tell her?
You would love to have one best goofing-around friend—the kind of friend you tell everything, call anytime. To develop that type of relationship, however, you’ll have to slack off on some of your responsibilities at school.
Easy choices to make? They weren’t always easy for Dylann. “It’s a real effort to not be distracted, to stay motivated,” she notes. Of her senior year she says, “I found myself without one really close friend.” And although Dylann is an exceptional student (she has been honored nearly as much for her academic achievements as for her athletic ability), she admits that her “grades did suffer a little bit. I could have had A’s in things I got B’s in.” All this led Dylann to write about certain regrets in her Sterling Scholar Portfolio last spring: “Sometimes, although I’ve tried to fill my life with exciting and interesting activities, I feel a touch of regret that I haven’t had enough time to pursue everything that I would like to experience. I have not had time to study as much as I would like nor have I practiced the guitar and the piano to my satisfaction.”
To get some things, you often have to give up other things. Many of us have a hard time accepting this truism emotionally: we want it all and refuse to choose what matters most. Thus our energy and talents dissipate into a thin cloud of indecision. Not so for Dylann. She knows how to choose, and she isn’t afraid to do it.
This is not to suggest that Dylann doesn’t have a lot of fun on her way to being the best. Although she couldn’t do everything she wanted to in high school, she still made time to take advanced placement classes, to sing, to participate in student government, to order out at a local drive-in.

Children in the Oakridge Farms Ward, Farmington Utah Oakridge Stake, gathered for an activity where they tied quilts. The quilts were later donated to the Church’s Humanitarian Center.

The exhibit, which featured paintings and sculpture depicting the Willie and Martin handcart companies that were caught in snowstorms on the plains of Wyoming while traveling to Utah in 1856, may still be viewed online by visiting the museum’s Web site (www.lds.org/churchhistory/museum).
The exhibit followed the pioneers’ difficult journey to Utah, from boarding ships in England to crossing the snowy plains of Iowa and Nebraska. The end of the exhibit depicted a renewed sense of hope as valiant rescuers brought the beleaguered handcart pioneers to safety in Salt Lake City.

Beckham loved to fish with Grandpa. He even caught a little fish!
But when Beckham told Mom about it later, he might have told a little lie.
Beckham won a jumping contest with his friends.
But when he told Dad about it, he might have told a little lie.
The next day, Beckham’s family went to the zoo. He even got to feed a monkey!
But when he told Grandpa about it, he might have told a little lie.
Wow! Did you really feed a dragon?
Well, no … it was just a monkey. But people won’t think I’m cool if I tell them what really happened.
You don’t need to make up stories for people to like you. Telling the truth is the best choice. And just being you is enough! Heavenly Father thinks so too.
Besides, feeding a monkey is pretty cool.
This story took place in the USA.

One young girl became famous for keeping the lights burning during a terrible storm. Abbie Burgess and her family lived at Matinicus Rock, off the coast of Maine, where Abbie’s father was the lighthouse keeper. On January 19, 1856, Captain Burgess sailed to town to buy supplies. He needed to buy oil for the lamps, food for his family, and medicine for his ill wife. He left Abbie in charge of the lighthouse.

Captain Burgess only expected to be gone for a few hours, but soon after he left, a huge storm came up that lasted four weeks, and he couldn’t sail home. During all those weeks, while her younger sister cared for their mother, Abbie kept the lights burning. All night she stood guard to make sure that not one light went out. She often had to scrape the ice off the windows so that the light could shine through. In the morning she would eat breakfast and then go to bed. When her father finally returned, he told Abbie, “Every night I watched for the lights. Every night I saw them. Then I knew that you were all right.” Like many lighthouse keepers over the years, Abbie Burgess was a brave and dedicated keeper of the light.

Three sisters who live on an island near Tavira, Portugal, are so committed to attending Church meetings that each Sunday finds them walking half a mile to a waterway, where they are rowed across, then walking another five miles to the chapel. Sister Pereira is 62, Sister Neves is 73, and Sister Jesus is 84. These sisters get together every day to read the scriptures and strengthen each other spiritually.

Seedlings bound on unknown flights
Are sailing through the autumn sky.
Fluffy milkweed parachutes
And thistledown balloons float by.
Tiny airmen chart their course
In search of proper landing strips.
Fertile soil and rain and sun
Will welcome tiny seedling ships.

I remember watching Elder Dallin H. Oaks when, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he served as Area President in the Philippines. I saw him counsel with others about the challenges facing the Church in our country. I saw the great love he has for building the Church and creating opportunities to bless members’ lives. From his example I learned that Apostles care not only about the Church as a whole but also about individuals.

The children enjoy their Primary classes. Cillian looks forward to playing games in Sharing Time. Cathal has been preparing for his baptism. He eagerly stated, “I already have my baptismal clothes. And my dad has shown me the right way to stand in the water before being baptized.” Padhraig is enjoying the scripture lessons in his Primary class. Colin has been diligently working to complete his Gospel in Action award. The boys’ three-year-old sister, Una, really likes being a Sunbeam.

I steered well clear of Randy that year and probably would have avoided him for the rest of my school life had I not been transferred in eight grade to a new English class midway through the school year. When I got to Mrs. Snyder’s class, I was assigned a seat almost in the back, next to a diorama of The Red Badge of Courage, and right in front of Randy Herrman.
I shuddered and took my seat.
The trouble started a couple of days later—just after Mrs. Snyder passed out a homework quiz.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?” Randy whispered to the back of my head.
I spun around. He had his face scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to look like Popeye, or worse, a psycho. I turned back to the front of the class and saw Mrs. Snyder take a quick glance around the room and then return to the pile of papers on her desk.
I didn’t know what to do. Any idiot knew that cheating was wrong. But Randy had bitten a Ding Dong in half, with the wrapper still on. I didn’t want to find out what he could do to me.
“A pronoun,” I whispered back without searching my conscience any further.
“How do you spell that?” he asked.
“P-R-O-N …”
And that’s how it went for the next few months. I’d provide answers to quizzes and tests with the unspoken understanding that Randy would not bite me in half. I’d never been so happy as when the bell sounded to end that school year.

However, during much of his life, the veil covering the post-mortal life had been thin. As a young missionary in Hawaii, he had received a dream/vision that strengthened his faith and built his confidence. Through the years that followed, it helped him chart his course and gave him assurance that his labors were acceptable to the Lord and to his predecessors in the presidency of the Church. In the dream, young Joseph encountered his uncle, the Prophet Joseph, and was fortified in his desire to remain free from the taints of the world. In addition, he learned at an early age that the separation between mortality and immortality is subtle and that the Lord frequently permits an intermingling of the inhabitants of the two spheres.

Many years ago when I was practicing law, I was consulted by a woman who wanted a divorce from her husband on grounds that, in my opinion, seemed justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. In a chance meeting with her on the street, I noticed that the years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once-beautiful face.
After we passed a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then she startled me by disclosing, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again and had known then what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

When I was 14 years old, my sisters and I were the only members of the Church to attend our school in England. People began to discover that I was a Mormon, and it was not uncommon to have jokes or weird looks directed at me. While I did get questions, they were limited to rumor and gossip, and I soon grew tired of the negative attention. A lot of students simply avoided me. One girl in particular seemed quite wary of me. One day I bumped into her in the hall and felt that I should talk to her, but she would not talk, and without saying anything, she rushed away. This gave me the false resolve that church and school were two different worlds and should never meet.
A year later an American family moved into my ward, and their children attended my school. One of them, Annie, was in my year and soon became quite popular. I started seeing students from my school appearing at ward youth activities. One evening at a joint Young Men and Young Women activity, I saw the girl who had always avoided me. She was a friend of Annie’s, and she sheepishly came over to me. It turned out the reason she had avoided me was she had been told some outrageous stories about the Church, so she was afraid of talking to me. She ended up coming to seminary and taking the missionary discussions.
I realised that I had been wrong in keeping my two lives separate. Annie was the example that made me understand that I had missed so many opportunities for missionary work. I felt ashamed. If I had been more diligent, maybe I could have been a better example to those who might have been looking for the truth only the Church could provide.

But sometimes change is necessary. In your case, you may need to eliminate some things from your hectic schedule—even if you are doing everything for all the right reasons! It’s a difficult lesson to learn, but none of us can have it all—no matter how talented and committed we may be. American figure skater Debi Thomas, for instance, found that she could not attend medical school and train for the Olympics at the same time. She finally decided to concentrate on her skating and return to medical school at a later date. You may need to make a similar decision. Determine for yourself what things matter the most to you and devote yourself to those.

Some years later in Cusco, a city high in the Andes of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room that opened onto the street. It was night, and while Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He wore only a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.
On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This starving street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.
Later the little boy returned. He slid along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. When he was near the point where the woman would see him again, I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.
Then, as something symbolic, I set him on Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer the hungry little boy darted out into the night.
When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about my experience. He was deeply moved and told me, “You were holding a nation on your lap.” He said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”
As I have visited Latin American countries nearly 100 times, I have looked for that little boy in the faces of the people. Now I do know what President Kimball meant.

In 2021, despite not being able to meet up in person with her choir or her mentor, Hazel decided to again enter the Milton Keynes Festival of the Arts and Drama competition again. COVID-19 lockdown regulations demanded video entries. Hazel rose to the challenge, practising while being recorded by her teenage son to ensure she could submit her best possible video. She and her son had to overcome obstacles, hunting around the house for the optimum lighting and sound.
Hazel was especially concerned when she discovered that the videos would be put online so everyone could watch them. Hazel said, “This threw me. It was not as bad as when I did my first public solo for charity, but I admit I didn’t do so well then. However, I was determined I would send in my entry, so I submitted it despite knowing the errors I had made and the cooker alarm going off in the background. However, I did ask them not to put my video online if it was just too embarrassing.”
She continued, “I was convinced I did not have a chance to win a place at all. I had not been able to have lessons for many months, so I resigned myself to not participating in the competition. I also wondered if it was likely to go ahead due to the current global situation. In addition, I was stepping right out of my comfort zone by singing ‘a cappella’ (i.e., unaccompanied by music). This was something I had to do because I had no suitable accompaniment or backing track.”
She explained that while some might say when singing a cappella that it allowed them to sing in their way (any errors being intended), it is not so. Each entrant was required to send in a copy of the sheet music for this competition, so the adjudicators knew exactly what singing was intended. Furthermore, without a backing track, there is nothing to hide any errors. Hazel informed the adjudicators that she did not wait out the musical interludes but allowed the song to flow, which was approved of in their feedback.
Hazel waited anxiously for the results. She shared, “I like this competition for amateur singers, on a comparable basis to why I love being a member of The Wing Singers—it is open to all ages and all abilities. From what I can tell, you do not have to live locally to enter. The competition covers music, dance, drama; and the website is already showing details of 2022 competition.”
She confided that joining The Wing Singers choir and entering this competition twice is all part of a journey. The entry for 2021 was very different from her entry in 2018. This time she had no encouragement, not even her singing tutor. Hazel did not even tell her tutor until after she had sent in her submission. This journey was part of her need to support herself and celebrate her attempting hard things, for managing her reaction to obstacles, and overcoming her deep-rooted negativity and self-doubt.
“Encouragement and praise were not something experienced in my home life as a child, quite the contrary—it was full of abuse, shame and negativity in many forms, most of which I blocked out for about half of my life. For the other half of my life, I have been learning about the abuse, the effects on me, my character, confidence, and self-worth.
“In the short time between the competition deadline and my 60th birthday, I happened to see a video on social media that helped me understand me more than anything else has done in my life, especially when dealing with putting up barriers and not achieving all that I hope to. It also, briefly, left me with the feeling that I cannot change; that I could never succeed.
“So, as I look back at this now, knowing all the mistakes and everything else surrounding my entry, I feel I have done some good in starting to break down another barrier and push against Satan and all the negativity I can be bombarded with.”
Finally, Hazel had news of the competition results. When the envelope arrived, she was happy to see the positive feedback. From experience, she knew that awards are always genuine, as is the feedback.
“I was delighted … but not as delighted as I was when I went to return the feedback page in the envelope and realised on the other side was a certificate! I was extremely excited to see I had been awarded 2nd place, with commendation, in my chosen category.”

When the young women of the Rose Park Second Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah, got tired of putting up with a skimpy selection of formal dresses, they took matters—and the dresses—into their own hands. Spending an evening at a local dress shop owned by Beehive Elise Carnahan’s grandmother, the young women drew the line for modesty by trying on a new line of formal dresses.
Amid the bustle of fittings and alterations, the young women learned some practical ways to make dresses modest.
“I had a cute black dress, and we added a bolero jacket that covered my back and shoulders,” said Laurel Leslie Abalos. “The jacket made the dress a beautiful, modest option. We didn’t even have to alter the gown.”
For Elise, the alterations were a little more extensive, but the result was just as rewarding. With the help and expertise of her grandmother, Elise constructed sleeves for her dress. “When you’re modest,” she said, “you can focus on what matters: how you act. I want to enter the temple one day, so I need to prepare now for that day. One of the ways I do that is by dressing modestly.”
Eager to share their new modest formals and show others how easy it is to be modest, the young women’s next step was to put on a fashion show. After a flurry of distributing flyers, making announcements, decorating, and preparing refreshments, the young women were ready to share the confidence and joy they found in being modest.
Yanyn Flores, a Mia Maid with Down syndrome, spoke through her actions at the fashion show. Her participation showed everyone how modesty is important to her.
Alyssa Reed, a Laurel, also told why participating in the show and modeling modesty was important. “Modesty shows respect for your body as a temple. You also respect the people around you, the gifts you are given, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Mia Maid Kiko Makaya adds, “I want to set a good example to those around me by dressing modestly.”
And for Beehive Jonni Klus, modesty is a way of staying true to herself. “Modesty shows that you are happy with just being you.”
The fashion show was a packed event and a great success. Many more young women mentioned how dressing modestly helps them to be confident and focus on who they are rather than what they wear. Young Women leader Desirae Carnhahan was happy to see how the fashion show blessed their lives. “Our girls now know that modest additions are worth the extra effort,” she said.

“What do you want to do today?” Camille asked as she ran inside with her friends Jasmine and Deryn.
“My cousin showed me the funniest video!” Jasmine said. “We should watch it.”
“Awesome!” Camille said as she hurried to tell Mom that her friends were here. I wonder if I should tell Mom we’re on the computer, Camille thought. But she was already on her way back to the family room.
By the time she got back, Jasmine had already logged on to her favorite online video site. Deryn and Camille crowded around the computer, and the girls giggled as they watched a puppy chase after a tennis ball. When the video ended, the screen filled with links for other videos.
“Click that one!” Deryn said, pointing to a music video. “I love that singer!”
As the video played, Camille started to feel uncomfortable. She didn’t feel very good about the words or the dancing. She had liked the dog video, but this wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to watch.
“Let’s watch another one!” Deryn said, and Jasmine clicked another link.
Camille started to feel sick, but Deryn and Jasmine seemed to really like the videos—they were singing along and dancing—so she didn’t say anything while Jasmine and Deryn watched more and more videos.
When her friends went home, Camille wandered back to where Mom was working at her desk. “How are Jasmine and Deryn?” Mom asked.
“They’re good, but …” Camille paused.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “But what? Is something wrong?”
“We started watching videos online,” Camille said. “And at first they were OK, but then we started watching videos I didn’t feel good about. I just wanted to go play, but Jasmine and Deryn wanted to watch more. I didn’t know what to do.” She slumped down in a chair.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Mom said. “The Internet is good for lots of things, but sometimes just one click can take you somewhere you don’t want to be. We can also waste a lot of time without realizing it. What can we do to fix this for next time?” Mom asked.
Camille thought for a second, then said, “Watching a few videos is fine, but maybe after that I could come up with something else for us to do.”
“Great!” Mom said. “And if a video makes you uncomfortable, it’s important to say something. Never be afraid to stand up for yourself.”
“OK,” Camille said.
“That’s how you can do your part. But I can do my part too. How about we make a new family rule? Whenever your friends want to watch videos online, Dad or I have to log you on to the computer and be in the family room with you. That will help keep you and your friends safe. Can you agree to that?”
Camille nodded. “I think I know what to do next time.”
A few days later, Jasmine and Deryn came over after school again. “Hey, I found more music videos,” Deryn said. “We should watch them!”
Camille took a deep breath. “I don’t really like those videos,” she said. “But we can watch something else instead. I’ll go ask my mom to log us in.”
“I can just find them,” Jasmine said.
“No, Mom needs to,” Camille said, “She wants to make sure we watch good things online. And I do too.” She ran off to find Mom. After they’d watched a few videos, they could make smoothies or paint their nails. This way they could all have fun.

In the following years I visited the Wilson home regularly. They welcomed me and remembered me as Evan’s friend. At first we just talked about Evan and what a great power for good he had been in our community. I remained the Wilsons’ home teacher for 15 years, and I tried to be like Evan and help whenever I could. Mike and Joan became my good friends and blessed my life in return.
Although Joan did not return to activity and Mike did not join the Church, I will always treasure their love and friendship. I was serving as bishop when Joan passed away. At the time of her death, Mike donated a large sum to the ward missionary fund. That money supported a missionary from our ward who joined the Church as a teenager and had no family resources to allow him to serve. Mike’s contribution indirectly touched the lives of the many converts that young elder taught.

“Visits to this house are certainly a waste of time,” my visiting teaching companion said as we knocked on the weather-beaten door of a small and sagging house located behind another house. “We never find anyone home.”
I glanced at her and nodded, as the peeling paint dug deep into my knuckles with the repeated firm raps; but we lingered, hoping today might be different. It wasn’t, and we finally walked back along the heavily overgrown path to the street.
“Well, we’re really (see Matt. 5:41) trying to see this woman,” I said as we climbed into the car. “Even locating her place was a monumental accomplishment.”
Hidden from view by a larger house in front of it, the shabby little place had been difficult to find when we had made our first visit six months earlier. Altered ward boundaries had brought a few new families into our ward from another ward, and this sister had been added to our district. When the address seemed incorrect, we had persisted, and after stopping at two service stations and inquiring at several doors, we had finally followed the overgrown path and discovered the small house. But that discovery was followed only by disappointing silence.
Since no telephone number showed on Judy Kearns’s information card, we had checked the directory service, only to learn that she had an unlisted number. A look at the ward records showed us that she was an inactive convert of three years who was supporting two small children by herself.
With each visit we had left a friendly note asking her to telephone us, but there was no response. We had even left some fruit at her door and had stopped by on a weekend, but we were always met by empty silence.
“Just another lost cause,” I thought as we drove down the street toward home, but my conscience nagged. Had we really gone the extra mile? What was the extra mile? By gospel standards, it was not just filling an assignment, I remembered, but caring enough to magnify an opportunity to successful fulfillment. True, we had put our toes into the extra mile, but that was only a tiny distance, and full steps could be taken.
That night, after four telephone calls, I managed to locate the visiting teacher from Judy’s previous ward. The information I got was vague, but I did get the unlisted telephone number. As I hung up, a little stirring of excitement lifted my spirits, and I eagerly dialed her number, only to be met again with the disappointment of prolonged, hollow, unanswered ringing. I tried again the next day and evening, but with no success.
While I was on my way home from a late-afternoon dental appointment several days later, the thought flashed into my mind that Judy, too, might be on her way home. It was the end of the normal working day, and she must go home once in a while. Would she resent a visit at such an inconvenient time? On a quick impulse I swung the car in her direction and decided to take a chance. Stopping my car at the curb and looking down the long driveway, I could see the usual empty car stall, so I switched off the motor to wait. When twenty-five minutes had ticked by I shifted nervously, knowing my own family would be arriving home wondering where Mom and the usual dinner aroma was.
Uneasily I waited another fifteen minutes and was just getting ready to leave when an old, weather-beaten Volkswagen pulled into the driveway and filled the stall. By the time Judy had unloaded two small children from the car and located her house key, I was on the porch explaining who I was and expressing delight in finally having the opportunity to meet her. She responded with a cool, uncomfortable attitude, but my friendliness won and she invited me into her small living room.
I initially centered my attention on her young son and daughter, while they showed me their art work from nursery school and described in detail the skinned knee under Gary’s bandage. This gave Judy a chance to relax and observe me. Slowly she warmed up to my interest in her children, and she hesitantly began sharing some of her struggles to protect them from the ravages of a shattered marriage. I learned that her husband had left her and the children to find what he called his “personal freedom.” In her determination to survive, she began working at a job that did not pay much and was taking night classes to become a dental assistant. She had placed the children in a neighborhood christian church school, and was attending Sunday services there as well. It really didn’t matter where they went to church, she said, as long as they went.
My visit was short, but I had established a relationship and made an appointment for another visit on her day off. At the door, I looked straight into her eyes and bore my testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel, and begged her not to deprive her precious children of the chance to share in its beauty. Her eyes filled with tears and I squeezed her hand as I left.
Anxious to take another step for Judy, I tried to communicate with her home teacher. After three telephone calls devoted to locating someone with the latest list of assignments, I learned that the ward executive secretary would be the one with whom to talk. He wasn’t home when I called, and after repeated attempts all evening, I finally gave up.
Two nights later, I tried again, only to find he had left her records at church and that I should call the clerk’s office in a few nights to get the information. I called as suggested, but no one answered, and I began wondering if it really was important to contact the home teacher.
My visiting teaching companion was delighted when she learned I had actually made an appointment with Judy, and she brought new enthusiasm to our efforts as we approached the little house in the rear. Judy was waiting for us and received, with appreciation, the still warm cookies we had baked for her. The first part of our visit was light and friendly, but then Judy began sharing her fears and concerns for her children, the devastating feelings of inadequacy she had, and the agony of her financial struggles. We offered sympathy and dried her tears, but I knew more must be done. At the door I asked about her home teacher and learned she had never seen one since coming into our ward boundary. I was indignant! How could six months have passed without an assignment?
Sunday morning I was at church early to talk with the executive secretary. On investigation, we found that Ray Greer, a responsible, dedicated elder, was Judy’s assigned home teacher. I was baffled, and tried to locate him at church, only to learn he was on a two-week vacation. I was amazed at how many obstacles cluttered this extra mile I was trying to walk and I determined not to let them stop me. With that in mind, I contacted Ray on the day he arrived home. As I asked my questions, he looked at me in blank confusion. He knew nothing of Judy Kearns, or of an assignment to be her home teacher, and we quickly realized that the communication chain had dropped a link someplace along the way. I handed him Judy’s unlisted number, gave him notes on my information, and told him my urgent concern for her. He expressed appreciation for my help and seemed eager to correct the situation.
In a few short weeks the extra mile had turned into a miracle mile. It was the miracle of God’s organized plan in operation, the miracle of dedicated men honoring their priesthood, the miracle of women who care. It was thrilling to see the process in full operation, to see people eagerly following the Lord’s outlined programs. It was exciting to know that I belonged to his church.
Ray not only had an immediate visit with Judy, but he also invited her to share dinner and home evening with his family that week. At that gathering the children responded to each other, and soon Judy was enjoying the deep interest of Ray’s wife, who offered to come and drive them all to Sunday School. Judy was hesitant, but the children were eager, and she finally agreed.
Coming back to church gave Judy a new awareness of the importance of the restored gospel, and before leaving she had met the bishop, talked with the Relief Society president, and agreed to let one of the Primary officers pick up her children from nursery school to attend Primary. When the bishop learned that Judy would soon be a trained dental assistant and was concerned about a job, he asked the ward employment director to start looking for dentists who might be prospective employers. By the time Judy was certified, he had three good interviews waiting. She was offered all three jobs and chose the highest salary offer.
A few weeks later the Relief Society president visited Judy to request her help in giving some information about dental care to the night Relief Society. Judy responded and enjoyed meeting other working sisters who shared many of her same problems. She became a steady supporter of Relief Society. Then the bishop decided it was time for a Church calling. Junior Sunday School seemed to fit her schedule best, and in a short time Judy was one of its outstanding teachers.
Then Ray Greer, who had been concentrating on finding her a better place to live within the ward boundary, found an excellent home for them. While the elders moved her belongings, the night Relief Society put paper on the shelves and the Sunday School officers prepared food to make it a party. Judy had become special to a lot of people and a very vital part of our ward.
On the fast Sunday when Judy stood to bear her testimony for the first time, the chapel was especially quiet as we all listened closely. She humbly acknowledged her new-found security in the knowledge that the Lord walked with her and that his gospel brought the serenity to overcome fear and inadequacy. Tears of gratitude flowed down her cheeks as she expressed love for all those who had helped lift her life with their caring. As she finished, most of us reached for our handkerchiefs and sensed the elation of shared victory. Wiping my eyes, I marveled at the beautiful process that had brought about Judy’s transformation. And I knew, incredible as it seemed, that it had all begun with some meager efforts to go the extra mile in my visiting teaching assignment.
I realized that day with a new clarity that, insignificant as we may feel in the service of God, each of us possesses the ability to put His great plans into operation, to release marvelous power that changes and builds lives, to provide the outlet for dedicated, vibrant service. But this tremendous potential can move ahead only when we create the momentum, when we release the dams and allow God’s magnificent glory to go forward and make the extra mile a miracle mile!