Gospel Story Finder

Through this process of drawing lots, my mother acquired my grandpa’s old paint can. My grandpa had been a painter for most of his life. He painted cars mainly but would do other things, too. When I was little, I sometimes used to watch him work. I used to watch his skilled hands in awe as he slowly, yet with confidence and pride, painted our car. Grandpa loved his work. He had an attitude of perfection and always did his best. I wondered why he did his job this way, since he received the same payment regardless of how carefully he worked. I later came to realize that an inner pride made him want to do his best. From this attitude and the quality of his work, he earned a reputation as an excellent painter.

Jason Smyth, a member of the Londonderry Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, never dreamed of becoming a star athlete. In fact, the Northern Ireland teen always considered himself an average sportsman, perhaps even more so because he suffers from Stargardt’s disease, a hereditary condition that has destroyed all but his peripheral vision.
However, at 16, Jason’s hidden talent emerged and a PE teacher encouraged him to attend a sprinting training day. Eighteen months later Jason qualified for the Junior Commonwealth Games in Australia. The competition would be a turning point in his life.
“It was there I began to understand and realize what this was all about. For training so little and to qualify already, I just kind of thought I would like to make a career out of this,” says Jason.
Now, three years later, Jason has made quite the career. He has won the 100m and 200m races at both the 2006 Paralympic Games in Holland and the 2005 European Paralympic Championships in Finland, setting record times for both races in each competition. He also holds the Junior Irish record times for the 60m (6.91 seconds) and the 100m (10.61 seconds) races.
Despite such success, as a 19-year-old, Jason heeded the prophet’s counsel and applied to serve a mission. But, because of his visual impairment, his application was denied. Jason graciously accepted the decision and also accepted a new challenge: to find other ways to serve.
Jason’s success as a sprinter has opened less conventional forms of missionary work.
“I now have an opportunity to be a missionary in a different way—through sprinting,” says Jason.
He has found that rather than knocking on doors, he can bring the Church out of obscurity by sprinting past finish lines and setting new records, all the while setting a good example.
Already, Jason’s success has created a buzz as others find out about the Mormon sprinter who doesn’t train on Sundays and also abstains from tea, coffee, alcohol, and drugs.
His success has made him the subject of several media-related publications—including Ireland’s biggest newspaper. Many mention his Mormon lifestyle.
“When they get to know me, they know the way I live my life is different,” Jason says.
Jason competes in both outdoor and indoor competitions, so he trains virtually all year. His practices usually last up to two hours and are twice a day.
Then there’s the travel. In the last three years, Jason has visited countries such as China, Finland, Portugal, Sweden, Holland, and Hungary. Last spring he spent time training at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
With increased success, doors continue to open for Jason. Last year he received an Irish Sport Grant, which enabled him to employ a full-time coach and secure sponsorships.
With each success, Jason has to give more time and energy. He understands what is expected of him. “It is my career,” he says.
Though training and racing keep him busy, Jason makes sure that his free time is reserved for his family, which Jason says is the root of his success.
“My family had a big part to play in the start. They encouraged me to keep up sprinting and see how I do. They take me to training and watch me race,” he says.
In addition, Jason also finds strength in the Church.
Although the Church is relatively small in Northern Ireland, Jason has inherited Irish pioneer heritage. His grandparents were baptized in Ireland in 1957, and his parents have remained strong in their membership.
Jason continues to build on this heritage. Even though he was the only member in his school, he graduated from seminary through independent study. He also finds time to serve as a branch missionary.
He credits his strong testimony of the gospel to his family, especially his parents.
“My parents taught us by example the way to live our lives,” he says.
Jason also mentioned that attending Church activities and socializing with friends who lived the same principles are another source of strength for him. “People at my branch are very supportive of me,” Jason says. “They like seeing me do well.”
As for his future, Jason’s long-term goal is to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012. But for now, Jason just wants to secure a second consecutive championship at the 2008 Paralympics in Beijing and to qualify for the Under-23 Championships in Hungary this July.
Jason says that one of his greatest achievements so far is making a life out of something he enjoys. He has learned to be self-sufficient and feels he has matured through his experiences.
“Being able to travel the world and getting paid to run—for me, nothing is better,” he says.
For Jason, the experience has been a powerful lesson that with a lot of hard work and dedication, anyone can achieve their dreams. “You just have to work hard if you really want it—and enjoy it as well,” he says.
For more on serving despite challenges, read “Determined to Serve,” New Era, Mar. 2007, p. 48.

For the past 20 months, our family has been blessed with the privilege of having a very special baby.
Little Paxton, our grandson, was born with a very rare chromosomal deletion, a genetic disorder that distinguishes him, literally, as one in hundreds of millions. For our daughter and her husband, an uncharted, life-changing journey began when Paxton was born. This experience has become a crucible for learning special lessons tied to the eternities.
Dear Elder Russell M. Nelson, who just spoke to us, taught:
“For reasons usually unknown, some people are born with physical limitations. Specific parts of the body may be abnormal. Regulatory systems may be out of balance. And all of our bodies are subject to disease and death. Nevertheless, the gift of a physical body is priceless. …
“A perfect body is not required to achieve a divine destiny. In fact, some of the sweetest spirits are housed in frail frames. …
“Eventually the time will come when each ‘spirit and … body shall be reunited again in … perfect form; both limb and joint shall be restored to its proper frame’ (Alma 11:43). Then, thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can become perfected in Him.”1
To all of you who have challenges, concerns, disappointments, or heartaches with a dear one, know this: with infinite love and everlasting compassion, God our Heavenly Father loves your afflicted one, and He loves you!
Some might ask when faced with such suffering, how could Almighty God let this happen? And then that seemingly inevitable question, why did this happen to me? Why must we experience disease and events that disable or call precious family members home early or extend their years in pain? Why the heartaches?
At these moments we can turn to the great plan of happiness authored by our Heavenly Father. That plan, when presented in the pre-earth life, prompted us all to shout for joy.2 Put simply, this life is training for eternal exaltation, and that process means tests and trials. It has always been so, and no one is spared.
Trusting in God’s will is central to our mortality. With faith in Him, we draw upon the power of Christ’s Atonement at those times when questions abound and answers are few.
After His Resurrection, when visiting the Americas, our Savior, Jesus Christ, reached out to all with this invitation:
“Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy. …
“And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.”3
Great strength can be found in the words “all the multitude … did go forth”—all, brothers and sisters. We all face challenges. And then the phrase: “that were afflicted in any manner.” All of us can identify, can’t we?
Shortly after precious Paxton was born, we knew Heavenly Father would bless us and teach us special lessons. As his father and I put our fingers on his tiny head in the first of many priesthood blessings, the words came into my mind from the ninth chapter of John: “that the works of God should be made manifest in him.”4
God’s works are definitely being made manifest through Paxton.
We are learning patience, faith, and gratitude through the balm of service, endless hours of intense emotions, tears of empathy, and the prayers and expressions of love for dear ones in need, especially Paxton and his parents.
President James E. Faust, my boyhood stake president, said: “I have a great appreciation for those loving parents who stoically bear and overcome their anguish and heartbreak for a child who was born with or who has developed a serious mental or physical infirmity. This anguish often continues every day, without relief, during the lifetime of the parent or the child. Not infrequently, parents are required to give superhuman nurturing care that never ceases, day or night. Many a mother’s arms and heart have ached years on end, giving comfort and relieving the suffering of her special child.”5
As described in Mosiah, we have witnessed the Savior’s pure love given to Paxton’s family, which love is available to all: “And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”6
One night early in Paxton’s life, we were in the neonatal intensive care unit of the wonderful Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, marveling at the dedicated, undivided attention given by the doctors, nurses, and caregivers. I asked my daughter how we would ever pay for this and ventured a guess at what the cost would be. A doctor standing nearby suggested that I was “way low” and that little Paxton’s care would cost substantially more than I had estimated. We learned that much of the expense for care given in this hospital is covered by the generous gifts of time and monetary contributions of others. His words humbled me as I thought of the worth of this tiny little soul to those who were so carefully watching over him.
I was reminded of a familiar missionary scripture that took on new meaning: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”7
I wept as I pondered the limitless love our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, have for each one of us, while learning in a powerful way what the worth of a soul is, both physically and spiritually, to God.
Paxton’s family has learned they are surrounded by countless heavenly and earthly ministering angels. Some have quietly slipped in when needed and silently slipped out. Others have been at the door with food, doing the laundry, picking up the siblings, calling with encouragement, and especially praying for Paxton. Thus another special lesson learned: If you come upon a person who is drowning, would you ask if they need help—or would it be better to just jump in and save them from the deepening waters? The offer, while well meaning and often given, “Let me know if I can help” is really no help at all.
We continue to learn the important value of being aware of and interested in the lives of those around us, learning not only the importance of giving help but also the overwhelming joy that comes from helping others.
Dear President Thomas S. Monson, who is such a magnificent example of lifting the downtrodden, said: “God bless all who endeavor to be their brother’s keeper, who give to ameliorate suffering, who strive with all that is good within them to make a better world. Have you noticed that such individuals have a brighter smile? Their footsteps are more certain. They have an aura about them of contentment and satisfaction … for one cannot participate in helping others without experiencing a rich blessing himself.”8
Though we will face trials, adversities, disabilities, heartaches, and all manner of afflictions, our caring, loving Savior will always be there for us. He has promised:
“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. …
“My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”9
How grateful we are to our Father in Heaven for our champion Paxton. Through him the Lord has manifest His works and continues to teach us these valuable, sacred, and special lessons.
I would like to close with the words from a beloved hymn:
We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er;
Happy are we! Happy are we!
Soldiers in the army, there’s a bright crown in store;
We shall win and wear it by and by.10
Brothers and sisters, it is my hope and prayer that we will continue to bear nobly our burdens and to reach out to those among us who are suffering and in need of being lifted and encouraged. May we each thank God for His blessings and renew our commitment to our Father in Heaven of humble service to His children. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Many young artists dream of someday publishing their own book, and Katie Lynn Beck, 18, actually made it happen. Katie won first place in a national publishing contest for youth for her original story and illustrations, which were later published as a children’s book called The Moas.
The message of the book is to believe in yourself and develop your talents, and that’s exactly what Katie encourages children to do as she teaches writing and illustration at elementary schools throughout her state. “I’m grateful to people in my life who encouraged me to develop my talents, and now I’m trying to do that for others,” says Katie, a member of the Smithfield (Utah) 13th Ward.

In May 1921, President David O. McKay (1873–1970), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, visited Sauniatu. He was so beloved that his departure brought great sorrow to the people, who wept and kissed his hands as they sang their farewells. The scene was so tender and heart-wrenching that Elder McKay dismounted his horse, hung his umbrella on a tree branch, and raised his hands to leave an apostolic blessing upon the land and the people of Sauniatu.
Today, a monument stands where that event took place. A portion of the apostolic blessing is shared on its plaque. President McKay blessed the people that their hands would be able to produce the necessities and comforts of life. He prayed that the plantations would be fruitful, and the leaders would be wise. He asked for a special blessing on the mothers, fathers, young men and women, and especially the little children. Above all, he prayed that they might have a ‘clear understanding of the truth’ and make rapid progress in gaining a knowledge of God and His work. ‘May thy peace abide here in the village of Sauniatu.’

As a child, Elder Morrison and his family attended church meetings of another denomination. When he moved in with his uncle’s family to attend high school, he attended Latter-day Saint meetings with them and then meetings at his church. An early-morning seminary teacher invited him to attend seminary, where he met Hannah Nyarko.
“She was very intelligent and would give great comments,” he said. “It really gave me the edge to want to study more.” After studying the Book of Mormon that year, he said, “I was ready for baptism.”

In L’viv, a city in western Ukraine, Yuri Voynarovich and his family started searching for truth when he was just 10 years old. For years they visited different churches. Then his uncle invited them to attend a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and Yuri’s parents were soon baptized and confirmed.
“I didn’t go at first,” Yuri says. “I kept searching on my own.”
But his parents, who knew the Church was true, didn’t give up on their son. They invited Yuri to English lessons and youth activities as well as Sunday meetings. Finally, the missionaries themselves invited him to English classes.
“I couldn’t say no to them,” Yuri says. So he went. Then he went to church. Eventually he too was baptized.
“Since that day I’ve had many more experiences that have built and molded my testimony and character into who I am today,” he says.
“I often see people who suffer from bad choices they’ve made,” he says. “I understand sometimes it’s hard because of temptations and peer pressure, but we shouldn’t give up. Later we can see the blessings that come from obedience.”
Yuri, now 17, serves as the branch mission leader and branch clerk in L’viv.
“I am so thankful for the Church and all it has done for me,” Yuri says. “I love this Church. I encourage everyone to hold to the iron rod and never let go.”

Helped by her daughter-in-law, Mary, Elizabeth had been compiling her personal history, but had been killed in a car accident before the work was done. Mary felt impressed to complete the work and make it available to the family.
Elizabeth’s history has greatly influenced her posterity. “Grandma is still a part of our lives,” says Carol, Mary’s daughter.
“When I see my grandchildren go to the bookshelf and take down that history,” says Mary, “I know why I felt so strongly compelled to finish it—so her posterity would know the legacy she left.”

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

A mission had always been a goal of mine, ever since being in Primary and singing “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission”.
Unfortunately, being diagnosed with a brain tumour at the age of 16 shattered that dream. I started to suffer with depression and anxiety while still struggling with the day-to-day issues from my illness.
In 2017, I had begun to prepare to serve in the Birmingham England mission office. I was to spend a few days a week working in the office, and the remainder of the week resting at home. A few weeks before this was due to start, while having a routine check-up, I was told my tumour had grown and that I would need radiotherapy. I felt the world was telling me that the goal I had, of serving a mission, was never going to happen.
Fast forward to December 2020, my physical and mental health weren’t great, and I was struggling to just wake up and get out of bed most days. I remember fasting and asking for help. I was impressed with the idea to work on my physical health. I had hidden away at home for a long time. I decided to mix walking with fundraising for the charities who had helped me since my diagnosis. I ran a yearlong fundraiser while doing virtual-walking challenges, with the goal of climbing Mount Snowdon at the end of the year. The year went great! My physical health improved massively, as did my mental health. I climbed Snowdon in August, four months before I had planned.
In 2021, the service-mission programme started in the UK. This led me to look at serving again. I am now two months into my service mission—it is the best decision I have ever made. I was set apart at the same time as my younger brother, Elder Joseph Peedle, who is serving in Helsinki, Finland. It was amazing to be set apart on the same day! During my preparation for starting my mission, I learnt a lot about being patient and how things are done in the Lord’s timing.
My service mission has saved me. It has given me purpose and focus. I felt lost for a long time and this mission ‘found’ me. I love the gospel and I love our Saviour and our Heavenly Father. Trust in the Lord, everything will work out!
Read more about Elder Peedle’s work as a service missionary in the next article, “Historic Times Lichfield Stake Service Missionaries”.

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, the cows were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, [and] my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

I’m a time traveler. No, I don’t have a machine. I don’t need one. Sometimes it’s a smell, sometimes a scrap of music, perhaps the way a shadow falls across the sidewalk. That’s all it takes to whirl me back into the past to relive a long-forgotten moment in time.
Today it was the sign in the window of a rent-all shop. It said something about pumping iron for a sleeker you. Underneath was an iron bar and a pile of big heavy metal disks.
The moment I glanced at that window I was a 13-year-old girl again, talking to my little brother Jamie. And I don’t say little just because he was three years younger than I was. The poor kid was skinny.
Anyway, I was a 13-year-old again, and Jamie was forlornly bending his right elbow and probing hopefully with his left hand. He pinched all around the spot where his right bicep should have been. “Why don’t I have a muscle?” he sighed, giving up at last. “I eat plenty of food and ride my bike a lot. Some nights I’m even in bed early. I know kids who don’t even keep the Word of Wisdom and still have muscles. Is it fair?”
Using Job as my text, I began to counsel him on the virtues of longsuffering, but Jamie was not in a biblical mood that day. He just walked away, still flexing his arm grimly, as if giving justice a chance to make things right.
A few days later he burst into the house with a huge smile on his face. “I’m going to have muscles!” he shouted. “Big ones!”
I asked how this miracle was to be accomplished.
“Barbells!” he said.
“Barbells?”
“Look,” he said, “Braithwaite’s Rental Center has barbells in the window. I’m going to rent a set and work with them until I look just like Charles Atlas.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
He smiled in what he must have thought was a winning way. “Of course I don’t have enough money to rent a set all by myself.” He eyed me hopefully.
“Too bad, little brother. Remember, I’m saving my allowance for a membership in the Y swimming classes. You’ll have to earn the extra money yourself.”
His face fell, and he glanced at his spaghetti-noodle arms as if he could see gigantic muscles dwindling away before his eyes. The smile came back fast, though, and the muscles with it from the look on his face.
“I’ll earn the money doing errands,” he said. “There must be lots of folks in town who have jobs they don’t want to do themselves. I’ll start raking in the dough tomorrow.”
The next day was Saturday, and Jamie set out early in the morning to earn his muscle money. It was afternoon and I was washing my hair, when he dragged back into the kitchen and plopped down on a chair.
“Well?” I asked between rinses.
“Don’t ask.”
“I’m asking.”
“Well, the first house I tried was closed up. I guess Mrs. Roberts is away again at her sister’s. Then I offered to baby-sit Alex at the Johnsons’, but Mr. Johnson is home on vacation, so he’s helping with the baby.”
House by house Jamie recounted his failures. Then he settled into a gloomy silence.
As I toweled my head dry, a thought darted into it. “Did you try the cottage with peeling paint at the end of the street? The yard is a real mess. I’m sure they could use some help, whoever they are.”
Jamie shook his head. “Who they are is old Tom Winters. He’s the meanest old flinthead in town. If your baseball accidentally lands in his yard, he comes shuffling out on the porch and waves his cane at you. He acts like you’d committed a crime or something.”
He fell silent again for a while, and I thought I could see greed struggling with fear.
“On the other hand,” he said at last, “his yard really is a mess. Since he’s so picky even about stray baseballs, maybe he would pay to have it cleaned up.”
He was hooked on the idea, but I could see that he was scared of it too. It was time for a little psychology. “I don’t blame you for being afraid,” I said. “A guy like that, anybody might be afraid of him.”
“Afraid?” he said, squaring his skinny shoulders. “Afraid of old Flinthead? I’m going to ask him for work right now!” and he marched out the kitchen door.
Just before the door slammed shut I couldn’t resist one last word of advice. “Remember—dead men build no muscles!”
When Jamie returned, he didn’t seek me out to report results. I discovered him down in Dad’s basement workshop rummaging around.
“How did it go?”
“Oh, Mr. Winters told me there was plenty to do around his place,” he said offhandedly, peering over, under, and around the large workbench.
“So how much is he going to pay you?”
He mumbled an answer.
“What?”
“He can’t pay me anything.” He went on to explain that old Tom had been expecting his son to come home on a visit and set things straight, but his son had taken ill. “He told me I was a brave one to even knock on his door.” Jamie managed a grin and then took up his search again, peering into this cupboard and onto that shelf.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “I’ll help you find it.”
“An old saw Dad gave me. I need it.”
“What for?”
“Never mind.”
I reached out and ruffled Jamie’s blond hair. “Come on, tell me,” I coaxed.
He backed off, looking sheepish. “I need it because I’m working for Mr. Winters.”
My mouth dropped open. “But you said he couldn’t pay you!”
Jamie blushed. “He can’t.”
“You mean you’re doing it for free?”
Jamie gulped. “Well, he’s got bad hands and a bad back. That’s why he’s so cranky and why his yard is such a mess.”
“So how are you going to pay for your rented weights?”
Jamie didn’t seem to hear me. “It’d be hard for him to pick something up off the ground. His fingers are all twisted up with arthritis, and he’s all bent over double. I just told him I’d gather up some tree branches. It’s no big deal.”
“Softie!” I scoffed, but I was lost in admiration. To think that Jamie, my little brother, was actually sacrificing his muscles just to help the town flinthead.
For the next few weeks, Jamie was away from home a lot—almost all day every Saturday, and an hour or two on weekdays too. He didn’t say much about it, but I knew where he was. I had been touched by his gesture, but I hadn’t really expected him to stick with it like this.
Several times my curiosity became too much for me, and I actually sneaked over to old Tom’s place to see what was going on. Every time Jamie was hard at work—mending, clearing, painting, stacking. But mostly he was sawing and chopping the many dead limbs that littered the yard.
He worked steadily, his breath coming in short white puffs in the cold air. At first he had to pause every few seconds to rest, but as the weeks passed he began sawing in long steady strokes for many minutes at a time. Meanwhile, old Tom’s yard was looking better and better, and the woodpile against the shed at the bottom of the garden was growing gigantic.
Jamie always came home at night exhausted. But there was something about him—something in his face, something in his voice—that made it harder and harder to think of him as little Jamie.
One night he didn’t go.
“What’s the matter?” I said. “Have you gotten tired of working for the flinthead?”
“His name’s Mr. Winters,” Jamie said, “and I’ve finished all the work over there.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” I said. “I’m impressed. You really did all that work for nothing.”
Jamie shook his head. “I think you know better than that,” he said. “I got paid all right.”
I put on a look of mock distaste. “You mean all that syrupy stuff like the rewards of love and service?”
He nodded. “That and something else.” His grin reached right up to his eyes. He slowly bent an elbow. With wonder I saw beneath his shirt the unmistakable swelling of a hard-earned, well-deserved muscle.

And, if you look to the left of the pulpit where Bella bore her testimony of prayer, you’ll see Nicolas, a teacher, putting away the sacrament trays after the meeting.
It might sound strange, but Nicolas’s testimony of the priesthood began with a head injury. “I was Rollerblading down a hill with a mate, and I hit something and cracked the back of my head open.” At 10 inches, the “crack” was more like a canyon, and the doctors said Nicolas would not pull through or he would have severe brain damage. A priesthood blessing from his dad and others in the ward proved the doctors wrong. “That experience gave me quite a shining testimony of the priesthood,” Nicolas says. The Lord preserved his life through the power of the priesthood, and Nicolas plans to honor his priesthood by serving a mission.

Thelma Taylor was happy with her calling at her local family history center in Mesa, Arizona, USA. For 17 years she assisted, guided, and supported men and women in their quests to find their ancestors. A move to Coolidge, Arizona, in 2005, however, put 40 miles (64 km) between her and the family history center whose patrons she had faithfully served.

Nearly blind and unable to drive, the 83-year-old woman feared her inability to travel to Mesa would mean the end of her family history service. Then a thoughtful leader offered a solution to this problem in the form of a Church-service mission Sister Taylor could perform from home. Since 2006 she has served as a FamilySearch Support missionary for the Church, using her home computer to help people do their family history work.

“It has blessed me beyond my ability to count all the blessings,” she says of her experience. “I’ve grown so much in that area in family history and in my ability to serve.”

Though her eyesight is poor, Sister Taylor—who now supports six fellow missionaries—can increase the font size on her computer enough to read patrons’ e-mails and respond to their questions.

Sister Taylor didn’t learn how to operate a computer until she was 66 years old, but she says it is a beneficial, useful skill. “Your age doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re not too old to learn how to use a computer.”

“This is an ideal situation for me because I can continue to learn and serve,” Sister Taylor said. She said her Church-service mission has helped her to feel useful at an age when her options are limited.

The work is fulfilling and contagious. “The spirit of this work gets into you and doesn’t turn you loose,” Sister Taylor said. “No matter your age, you can be of real service as a FamilySearch Support missionary.”

Many years ago, when I was a young boy during the decade of the 1960s, I would attend church with my family each Sunday. At that time, we would attend Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the late afternoon. I remember attending junior Sunday School and sitting in the Primary room with other children as we sang Primary songs such as, “Jesus Once Was a Little Child,” “When He Comes Again,” and “I Am a Child of God.” One particular Sunday morning, as I sang with the other children, I felt a warmth fill my heart. It went from my heart to my chest, and then it filled my whole body. It was a warmth that brought peace to my soul. In that moment, I felt my first experience with the Holy Ghost witnessing to me that God the Father lived, and that He knew me. It was a simple experience, but it was sweet to me and one that I remember vividly over fifty years later.

Take me for example. I’d had LDS friends since I was 13, and I eventually joined the Church when I was 19. But despite learning a lot about Church culture over those years, I had a hard transition. To me, the Church culture and practices were so different that they seemed kind of weird.
I grew up in a church that in many ways is quite unlike the one you know or are coming to know. At church the ministers and choir wore robes similar to high school graduation robes. During worship service—their equivalent of sacrament meeting—the ministers gave sermons and did all the talking. Every Sunday we all repeated the Lord’s Prayer in unison and always sang the hymn “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” Babies were baptized by having water sprinkled on their heads, but confirmation happened at around 14 years old.
We used grape juice instead of water for the sacrament, and high school kids attended Sunday School with the adults in a class that talked about current issues in society.
Even our building was different from the LDS buildings I had visited. We had a large chapel modeled after Christian churches in Europe, with a high peaked roof and tall, stained-glass windows. There was a cross in the choir loft. A beautiful, tall bell tower stood out front. I loved ringing that bell after church services. It was heavy enough that it could lift a small child off the ground as the rope went up and down.
Our customs and social beliefs were different too. We were taught that it was OK to drink alcohol or smoke. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend as a teenager was OK. In fact, we were taught that you could even have sexual relations before marriage as long as you believed you were in love. We never talked about having a testimony. The first time I saw a fast and testimony meeting—wow! I couldn’t believe how odd that seemed. No one ever stood to share their beliefs like that in my church.
Coming to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wasn’t just about learning new doctrines, such as the premortal life and baptism for the dead; it was a change in culture and lifestyle and expectations. Resolving those differences was a hard road to walk.
The first six months after my baptism were really hard. I almost didn’t make it. Everything was so different, especially because I was attending church without my family. I still struggled with certain doctrinal points, as well as feelings of being estranged from my past.
Fortunately, my friends in the Church were patient, kind, and constant. They took me to activities, invited me to their homes for dinner and family home evening, and prayed with me. That made a huge difference not just in my joining the Church but also in my staying active and finding strength when my testimony wavered. I owe a lot to them for helping me figure things out.

“When my grandmother was about 13 years old, she was out in front of her small home in Georgia sweeping the porch. A couple of men came by and asked to talk to her parents. During that day those two men taught my grandmother and her family about Joseph Smith, the restored gospel, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That night the missionaries were driven out of the city by some other people in the neighborhood. For 23 years my family had no contact with the Church, but when the elders were finally able to return, Grandma was baptized.”

The stars hung in the icy night like frozen teardrops above the Arizona desert mesa. Old mother moon rode high, clustering her starry children about her as if to warm their chilly faces. On the snow-crusted earth below, Danny Yazzi shivered in his worn jacket as he chanted a Navajo lullaby to the small band of sheep milling around him.
As Danny stamped his feet to keep warm, he thought of the mud hogan where his mother would be preparing mutton stew. His brothers and sisters would be playing about the black pot-bellied stove, turned a cherry red by the crackling fire, while his father pounded thin slices of silver into delicate bracelets and rings.
Danny whistled softly, and the white animals, shaggy with thick wool, began to move down the sloping side of the mesa, brushing against one another. Grazing time had ended for another wintry day, and now they turned homeward toward a corral.
As Danny began to move behind them, the sheep bells fastened about his waist jingled merrily. The sounds of the bells rang through the still night. Tonight the bells seemed to ring with a different tone. Even the animals seemed to listen to the new sweet sound of joy.
Danny’s thoughts went back to the day of his last Primary class. He and seven other Navajo children had sat before a tall slender missionary who told them the story of the birth of Jesus in a far-off land called Judea. Danny remembered Elder Johnson’s words and the way the young man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. Danny also remembered how his heart had pounded with delight when the missionary told of the shepherds in the fields on that star-bright night long ago. Danny had thought about the story many times as he watched his own flock during the winter days of Christmas vacation.
Christmas! That word seemed so special to Danny now that he knew about Baby Jesus and that first Christmas night. The story of the Baby and the gentle shepherds who visited Him thrilled Danny as though he himself had stood guard that wondrous night. Danny shut his dark eyes, and the picture filled his mind—a manger, one bright star, the shaggy head of a donkey, a small newborn Child, and the white woolly curious sheep.
Suddenly the frantic bleating of a lamb brought Danny back to reality. He saw the small white animal struggling in the grip of a thorny cactus. The needles had thrust deep into the lamb’s wool and the animal was caught. Danny knelt beside the frightened lamb and gently began to remove the needles. It was slow work, but when the tiny lamb was finally freed, it rubbed its soft head against Danny’s knee in thanks. Then the lamb scampered off to join the flock already nearing the corral.
Danny’s moccasined feet moved quickly over the thin crust of snow as he saw the thick smoke rising from the small mud chimney. Soon he would be sitting in the warmth and light, and the chill of the night air would be forgotten as he snuggled beneath the heavy sheepskins on his bed.
The sheep bells jangled in time to Danny’s steady steps. Their Christmas magic took Danny back to the small classroom again, and he seemed to hear once more how Elder Johnson had finished the wonderful story. Danny could remember the tender words and the question that followed as the elder looked into the eager faces about him and smiled, saying, “Jesus loves you. How will you love Him?”
Danny sighed as he pondered those words for the hundredth time. What could he do to show the love and happiness that filled him when he thought of that first Christmas. He knew that money could purchase many gifts, but Danny had no money. “No,” he sighed to himself, “I have no money, and so I can give no gifts.”
Soon the sheep found their way into the protection of the corral and quickly began to bed themselves down. Danny closed the wooden gate and then paused for a moment. He looked carefully at the sheep, counting them to be sure they were all there. He knew that one lost sheep meant a return to the grazing grounds and a long search until the stray was found and returned.
The door of the hogan swung open, and Danny’s mother, dressed in her warm velvet blouse and long skirt, was watching for him. Her smile was gentle as she gazed out at her eldest child and waited for him as he entered the warm dwelling. With hands outstretched to the fire, Danny smiled at his younger brothers and sisters as they looked up from their play.
Danny’s father knelt in one corner of the small round room. His delicate hammers and chisels lay about him as he worked his skill on the silver and turquoise. Danny felt a thrill of pride as he watched the slender fingers molding and shaping the metal into beautiful jewelry.
But a pang of sorrow shot through Danny as he looked upon these faces that were so dear to him. What gift of love did he have to give?
“Danny,” his mother’s soft voice called. “It’s Christmas Eve. Your father and I met with some missionaries while you were away to school. What they have told us is good and feels right in our hearts.” She paused and glanced at Danny’s father.
The man stopped his work and looked up at his oldest son. The words he spoke were low and steady. “The elders have told us that you learned the story of the first Christmas while at school.”
The children stopped their play and gazed in admiration at their brother, who was learning many new things at the far-off school.
Danny felt a glow in his heart. He seemed to hear the joyous ringing of the sheep bells, and the picture of the manger and the gentle shepherds returned to him as he thought about the first Christmas. A voice seemed to whisper, “This is the gift of love you can give.” At last Danny knew what gift he could give to his beloved family!
Danny turned to his father, who gently smiled and then said, “We have been waiting for you. Come, my son, and tell us the story of Jesus.”

The next year, when I finished high school, I went to the city to attend a university. The family I stayed with turned out to be members of the Church. On Sunday morning they invited me to come to church with them. Since I’d heard a lot about this Church, I decided that I would try going once.
I ended up attending church many times. I couldn’t help but feel peaceful every time I was there. People there were nice, always shaking hands with me. The Church was different from what I had thought. Soon I started taking discussions from the missionaries. I met with the missionaries for almost two years.
I knew I wanted to be baptized, but my baptism had to be postponed because of my struggles with the Word of Wisdom. It was difficult for me, but eventually I was ready for baptism. I was fortunate to be baptized by my older brother, who had returned from his mission only months earlier. When I remember that moment now, I cry sometimes. It was the happiest moment of my life.

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