Gospel Story Finder

“By our standards the villagers of San Gabriel had very little, but they gave beyond their means. We were constantly showered with gifts of flowers, food, and mementos. But our first realization of how much they cared was exemplified by a six-year-old girl. As we were leaving the village after our fourth visit, young Cielo ran up to us with a bouquet of flowers. Before she could speak she burst into tears. After moments of surprise and confusion we were told that she had to return to school the next week and would not be able to attend our lessons again. Her unexpected display of emotion touched us deeply. As we tried to hold back our own tears, we assured her that we would visit her on Sunday.
“There were other such incidents during those weeks that also left lasting impressions, but our final visit was a fitting climax. As we sat in that humble, one-room chapel for the last time and felt the rain trickle in through the leaking roof, we were moved. We couldn’t hold back the tears as the members presented each of us with an onyx necklace they had made themselves. Through her tears one sister commented, ‘The chapel cries too because you must leave us!’
“As one man handed us each a box of candy, he earnestly asked us to convey the love of the Mexican people to the Saints in the United States.
“He wanted us to know that they too love the gospel. He wanted the world to know that Saints exist in San Gabriel.”
Carol Peterson, Fort Worth, TexasStana Smoot, Centerville, Utah

It was a gorgeous spring day about a week before school let out for the summer when my father and the house came barging back into my life. I intended to call my best friend, Marge, and go down to the corner for a pop before I started my homework. I picked up the kitchen phone and put the receiver to my ear without even realizing mom was on the extension in the bedroom. The first thing I heard was my father’s voice.
"Cathy is my daughter," he was saying. "I don’t think a week of her summer vacation is too much for me to ask."
"I know," mom answered, "but I have to leave the decision up to her …"
I hung up the phone quietly and went upstairs to my room. My school books were lying on my bed. I opened one and pretended to study, but my thoughts were far from algebra. My father wanted me to spend a week of my summer vacation with him. I didn’t want to. Why did he have to keep barging into my life and messing it up? I’d just get things straightened out, and suddenly he’d appear again to jumble them back up.
Mom tapped on my bedroom door. "Cathy," she called.
"Come in," I replied, pretending to be deeply engrossed in my studies.
Mom entered and sat on the edge of my bed. "May I talk with you a minute?"
"Sure," I said trying to sound nonchalant. "But I have a lot of homework to do."
"Your father just called," mom said in a voice that displayed no emotion. She always talked of him that way, trying not to prejudice me against him.
"Oh? What’d he want?"
"He wants to see you. He’d like you to come visit him for a week over summer vacation."
"What’d you say?"
"I said it was up to you."
I pretended to think for a moment, but my mind was already made up.
"I don’t think I can, mom. I’m planning on getting a job, and I don’t think anyone would hire me if right off the bat I said I had to have a week off."
"Yes, I can see that, but he does want to see you. Maybe you could work something out. Maybe go for a weekend."
"I don’t know …"
"Cathy, he is your father."
"I know he’s my father," I had to struggle to keep back the resentment that statement contained, "but I’m going to be really busy this summer."
"Too busy to go for even one weekend?"
I looked at mom. She could see right through my transparent excuses. "Well, maybe one weekend," I conceded.
"Fine, you pick the weekend, and I’ll call your father tomorrow to make arrangements."
I often thought it was odd that my father lived in the same city we did, and yet we never saw each other. But it was a big city, and we lived at opposite ends of it, and I really didn’t care if I saw him or not.
The house was the same as I remembered it, except for new furniture in the living room. But there was still the same stale odor of smoke. Though he never did it in front of me, I knew my father smoked. It was part of the reason why he had never taken mom and me to the temple. My father was just about the same too. He was still tall and thin with a receding hairline, except that what hair he did have was now speckled with gray.
"Hi, Cathy," he said when I arrived at the white Spanish house.
"Hi."
"You’ve sure grown up the past few years."
"Yes, that does have a tendency to happen," I replied dryly.
He laughed nervously.
"Can I put my stuff away?"
"Sure. Put it in the second room on the right down the hall. I should have dinner ready when you’re done."
I went to the room he indicated. It had green carpet and green, blue, and white striped wallpaper. It reminded me of a hotel room. I hadn’t brought much, so it didn’t take me long to unpack. When I was finished, I wandered into the kitchen. My father was taking a casserole out of the oven. "I’ve become a pretty good cook," he said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
We didn’t talk much during the meal. He made several attempts at conversation, and I answered as simply as I could.
"What are you doing this summer?" he asked.
"I’m getting a job."
"Oh? Where?"
"At the Chicken Barn. I’m waiting on tables."
"Going to make a lot of money, huh?"
I shrugged. "Just enough to help pay for my school clothes and cheerleading uniforms."
"You a cheerleader?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess I’ll have to come to the Chicken Barn and donate to your school wardrobe."
I shrugged again.
"You’re pretty active at school, aren’t you? You starred in your school play last year, didn’t you?"
"How did you know?"
"Your mom told me."
"Oh?"
"I came and saw it. You didn’t know that, did you?"
I looked up startled. "You did?"
"Yes, opening night. You were really good. I even sent you some flowers. Did you get them?"
"They were from you?"
"Yes."
"I didn’t know that. The card wasn’t signed. I thought they were from Robbie Fletcher."
"Your boyfriend?"
"I wish."
"Are you disappointed they weren’t from him?"
I just shrugged once more. "I’m kind of tired tonight," I said. "Do you mind if I go to bed now?"
"Go ahead."
I’d just settled into bed when I heard a noise outside. I peered out the window and saw the silhouette of my father on the porch. In his hand I could see the glowing ember of a lighted cigarette. He never smoked in front of me, almost as if he didn’t want to admit to me that he did it. How dumb did he think I was. "What a hypocrite," I said to myself. Then I laid back down in bed.
When I woke up Saturday morning, there was sun streaming in the bedroom window. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was.
When I did, the brightness of the day seemed to dull a bit.
I found my father in the kitchen fixing breakfast.
"Good morning," he said.
"Hi."
"Here’s breakfast. I hope you like your eggs sunny-side up."
"That’s fine."
"What shall we do today?"
"I don’t know."
"We could run down to the amusement park."
"I’m kind of old for that," I said, determined to be as uncooperative as possible.
"Well then, how about going to the beach?"
"I’m kind of tired of that. Edward takes us there all the time." I hoped my reference to Edward would bite a bit, but if it did, my father gave no sign of it.
"Then I guess we can always just stay home and visit. I’d like that. This house is kind of lonely just me here. It’d be nice to visit."
"If you’re so lonely, why don’t you get married?" I asked bluntly.
My father was good at not acting surprised by my frank comments. "Well," he replied, "I guess I never met anyone besides your mother who I loved enough to marry."
All the bitterness I’d ever felt welled up inside of me, and it was impossible to keep it out of my voice when I replied. "If you were so in love with mom, why did you desert her?"
My father put down his fork and looked across the table at me. "I don’t know what your mother has told you about me and what happened …"
"She hasn’t told me anything. In fact, she’s bent over backwards to keep from portraying you as a villain."
"Well then maybe it’s time someone did tell you something."
I expected him to tell me a real sob story with him as a poor picked on man and mom the domineering nag of a wife, so I steeled myself to defend her. But I was surprised when he spoke.
"Cathy, your mother and I, we’re human."
All kinds of sarcastic replies raced through my mind like, "Oh, I’ve waited all my life to glean this bit of wisdom from you." But I kept my mouth shut and my father went on.
"We make mistakes. Some mistakes can be corrected quickly; others haunt you for the rest of your life. When your mother and I were married, we were young and naive. We still clung to some of those silly ideas about finding beautiful princesses and handsome princes and living happily ever after. We didn’t realize that everyone marries imperfect partners and the wise spend the rest of their lives working together to become better. We both expected love and each other to be perfect immediately. My idea of a perfect wife was one who left me alone to do whatever I wanted. Your mother wanted a husband who’d take her to the temple. I always said I would, but I wasn’t going to be pushed. I figured there was plenty of time for that, and there were still things I wanted to do first. Anyway, one day we discovered we’d pushed and pulled ourselves right out of each other’s lives." He paused and seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then he went on. "Oh, I guess if we’d been a bit more mature or if we’d really tried, we could’ve made things work. But it was easier to just call it quits. For a long time I blamed your mother, and by the time I realized how wrong I was being, it was too late; your mother had remarried. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great that she’s found Edward. They seem to be happy enough."
"They are."
"Well, I guess what it boils down to is that you’re all I have left, Cathy."
I poked at my food.
"Hey!" he said. "Why don’t we go shopping. I’ll buy you a new outfit."
"You don’t have to do that," I said.
"I want to. After all, why should I make my contribution to your wardrobe through the Chicken Barn when I can give it directly to you?"
I laughed. "All right."
I watched my father that day as we shopped. I had always been under the impression that if I was around my father long enough, I’d see him sprout fangs and claws. He didn’t, and I realized that I had spent a long time looking at him through eyes tainted by bitterness and selfishness. As I pushed them aside, I could see my father as he was—a lonely man who’d made mistakes and was paying for them.
When we got home from shopping, my father excused himself to go outside. I knew he was going to smoke and watched out the window. There was a look of disgust on his face as he lit the cigarette. He smoked it hastily with short puffs. Then almost angrily he dropped it to the ground and crushed it out with his foot. I let the curtains drop then, so that he wouldn’t know I’d been watching.

President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke about how the Sabbath day blessed his life as a young professional: “I first found delight in the Sabbath many years ago when, as a busy surgeon, I knew that the Sabbath became a day for personal healing. By the end of each week, my hands were sore from repeatedly scrubbing them with soap, water, and a bristle brush. I also needed a breather from the burden of a demanding profession. Sunday provided much-needed relief.”1

When I was 10, I got very bad allergies. I normally played outside in the summer. Not that year! My allergies made it hard to breathe. I mostly stayed inside. Everything I wanted to do, like playing soccer, took a lot of extra energy.
After that year, my allergies came back every summer. We couldn’t find medicine that helped. But we did find that I could breathe better in the bathroom than anywhere else in the house. So from May to August I slept in the bathroom. My family didn’t complain. They let me sleep there every summer for five years.
Illustration by Mark Robison
At the start of each summer, my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. Year after year, he blessed me that my allergies would go away. My mom, sisters, and brother all prayed for me. But the blessings and prayers didn’t fix my allergies right away.
My allergies taught me a lot of important lessons during those five summers. I learned to do hard things. I learned to rest so I could use my energy wisely. I learned not to be afraid. Finally, when I grew older, my allergies did get better.
Today I can work hard for a long time, even after other people get tired. I still take time to rest so I can use my energy wisely. And I am not afraid, because I have faith in Jesus Christ.
It may sound funny, but today I am grateful that I had bad allergies! They were a blessing because of the lessons they taught.

I have a sweet friend who some time ago found herself in such a state. I do not know, nor need I know, what her problem was, but she did summon the courage to go tearfully to her bishop to confess. A Church court was held. She was excommunicated and began the difficult process of repentance. Quite a long time later, after the spiritual healing had taken place and at the time of her baptism, she expressed great appreciation to a bishop who had shed tears of caring for her, even while being firm in the steps that must be taken; to a dear friend in Relief Society, who, she said, had helped her “to understand and forgive all those who couldn’t understand or forgive” her; to those who had helped to keep her testimony strong in those quiet, desperate times when “coming home again” seemed nearly impossible.

I recently had a note from this friend, married now in the temple with a lovely family. She says, “Tell the sisters that it is all worth it. Tell them how beautiful and joyful life can be when you keep the commandments.”

I thought about Sister Shaw’s parting testimony at an earlier sacrament meeting. “This is my last Sunday here,” she had said. “Before I leave I feel impressed to share an experience with you.”
I thought about the story Sister Shaw told.
“I felt loved and secure in my home ward,” she had said. “I had lived there all my life. When my husband and I moved here, I was terrified to attend a strange ward, and didn’t want to go for several weeks. But soon I felt a great emptiness in my life and vowed to attend the next meeting.
“I entered the church with great fear. As people went to their classes, I hoped someone would introduce himself or herself and show me the way to go. I knew I should say something to someone, but my tongue wouldn’t work. People walked by, visiting with their friends. Some even smiled at me. It wasn’t long until the doors were closed and the halls were empty. Crying in despair, I turned and left.
“That night I turned to the one person I knew I could count on: Father in Heaven. ‘Dear Father,’ I pleaded. ‘I have always been active, but I’m afraid to go to a strange ward. I can’t do it alone.’
“The next morning I opened my door to a nervous stranger who said, ‘Hello. My name is Neva Gillman. I really don’t know why I’m here, but I had the strongest impression to come by and ask if you would like to come to Relief Society with me.’
“Smiling through my tears, I invited her in.”

“After jogging along several hundred miles the monotony was broken by our cattle stampeding. It seemed the longer we went and the harder the cattle worked, the easier they got frightened. The one that terrified me the most was at night. We had had one or two before so the cattle were prepared for one at any moment. I think it was on account of the Indians, or it might have been the large herds of buffalo that we saw daily, that our company was counseled to corral their animals every night. At night the cattle were turned out to feed, they were watched and herded, then brought into the corral. It was made with wagons formed in a large circle with the wheels touching each other with one opening to drive them in, then log chains put across the opening, so they were perfectly secure.
“We were in buffalo country. We had heard what a terrible thing their stampedes were, that not long before a large herd had started on their mad run and that when those in front came to a high bluff of the Platte River, they dashed in and made a bridge for the last ones who trampled to death and drowned their companions.
“One night about two o’clock the whole camp was peacefully sleeping when all at once there came an awful sound of tramping and bellowing, the ground shook, our wagon trembled and rocked. It flashed through my mind in a moment that a herd of buffalo was stampeding and that we would all be trampled to death. So I covered my head and prepared to die. Mother soon called out to Phebe and myself as there was no sound from our little bedroom (the front end of the wagon). I gave a smothered answer from under the bed clothes that I was alive.
“All at once there was a change. It was our own cattle broken out of the corral. Something had frightened them and then they started on their wild, mad run. They had run around and around inside and then broken through the log chains. Nothing could stay them. They scattered over the country for miles and miles. It took our men days and days to gather them back again, and a sorry looking lot they were, those that were left, for some died from exhaustion and others were killed. One pair of the captain’s cows ran up a very steep hill, fell backwards and broke their necks—one pair less to pull his wagon and one pair less to milk (oh the delicious milk—what a luxury on the plains).
“In that stampede there were two or three men hurt, one quite badly. He was a gold digger going to California who had overtaken us and was traveling with our company a while. The California emigrants traveled much faster than the Mormon emigrants. In trying to stop the cattle he was knocked down and trampled on. His groans were hideous. I did not see him again until one day the next winter, when he called on us. During all the time he was there he was down on his knees. He could stand up but could not sit down. I never heard from him again after he left for the gold mines. Old cattlemen say that tame, domestic horned cattle are the most crazy and wildest of all animals in a stampede. It is very singular, but they seem to start all at once, just as if a bolt had struck every one at the same instant.”

It seemed impossible for Pat and Peggy to make any friends in the strange big city where they had just moved.
One night Father noticed their sadness. “Let’s have a party,” he suggested.
At first Pat and Peggy were delighted. They talked excitedly of ice cream and cake and big red balloons, but then they stopped. “Who can we invite to a party?” they cried. “We don’t have any friends.”
Father’s eyes twinkled as he answered, “Oh, we won’t worry about inviting friends right now. Let’s have an Enemy Party. We’ll just invite all those unfriendly boys and girls in your class at school and see what happens.”
That is exactly what Pat and Peggy did. Almost everyone came who was invited, and when they left, they all said it was the best party they’d ever attended.
Even though everyone had a wonderful time, Pat and Peggy never had another Enemy Party. They no longer knew anyone to invite, because suddenly they had only friends at the new school!

It was also a time of spiritual tempering. When Lucy had been given up to die from consumption, she covenanted to serve God all her days and to seek “the religion that would enable [her] to serve him right,” even if “obtained from heaven by prayer and faith.” She was healed and faithfully sought that religion for the next two decades, not yet understanding that her own son would introduce her to it. “For days and months and years,” without ceasing, she “continued asking God … to reveal … the hidden treasures of his will.” Joseph Sr.’s mistrust of organized religion did not let him share her quest among the churches she had access to, but it did not become a source of contention between them. Rather, she prayed sincerely for consolation and was comforted by a dream that assured her Joseph Sr. would accept the truth when it was presented to him.

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
A year later, what I wanted more than anything else was football shoulder pads and a helmet. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were, shoulder pads and a helmet, except they were sized to fit Goliath—who, by the way, was six cubits or about nine feet tall.
“Mother, they’re too big,” I said.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said again. “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
I think back on those days with some tenderness. Curiously enough, I also look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph; you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to “grow into” our responsibilities. The Lord has His eye upon you. He loves you. He knows you. He knows your triumphs and your trials, your successes and your heartaches.
He knows that at times you may look at the challenges you may face and may think they’re too big to handle. He is, however, willing and ready to help you as you grow into the men and women you are to become.
I would like to share with you five principles that, if lived and incorporated into your lives while you are young, will assure happiness and peace throughout your lives, no matter what trials and temptations come your way.
It is essential that you know and understand that our Heavenly Father loves you like a son or daughter, because He is the Father of your spirit. That makes you His literal child, spiritually begotten of Him.
As such, you have inherited the potential to become like Him. His greatest desire is that you grow in this life line upon line, becoming more like Him so that one day you can return to His presence.
God’s love is complete and without limit for you and for all mankind (see John 3:16). He is perfectly just and merciful. He is perfectly kind and understands your circumstances and condition. He knows you better than you know yourself.
God’s commandments are not given to limit or punish us. They are exercises that create character and sanctify souls. If we disregard them, we become spiritually flabby and weak and without defense. If we keep them, we can become spiritual giants, strong and bold in righteousness.
Day-to-day obedience to God’s commandments is indispensable.
We can come unto Christ as we learn to love Him and as we study the scriptures diligently. How do we show our love for the Savior? He gave us the answer: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
Every one of you can read something in the scriptures each day. You should spend some time pondering and studying the scriptures. It is better to read and ponder even one verse than none at all. I challenge each of you to read something in the scriptures every day for the rest of your lives. Few things you do will bring you greater dividends.
Learn of your Savior. Jesus Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane more than you can comprehend. He suffered similarly on the cross, where He gave His life to pay the penalty for our sins if we will repent. And then in His ultimate triumph, He was resurrected and broke the bands of death, making the Resurrection available to all.
The more you understand the Atonement and what it means, the less likely you will be to fall prey to temptations of the adversary. No other doctrine will bring greater results in improving behavior and strengthening character than the doctrine of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It is central to God’s plan and is preeminent in the restored gospel.
The gift of the Holy Ghost is one of the most precious gifts you can receive in mortality. The principal mission of the Holy Ghost is to testify of our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. If you are careful in keeping the commandments, the Holy Ghost will help you learn more about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
The promptings of the Holy Ghost may come to you in a still, small voice. You cannot grow spiritually unless you first rise above the things of the world that clamor for your attention. Some of the world’s music is degrading, vulgar, and inappropriate and will drown out the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Avoid objectionable television shows and movies, evil Internet sites, and all forms of entertainment that portray or encourage immorality and violence. Shun pornography like a deadly, contagious sin and disease. Bringing into your body substances forbidden by the Lord in the Word of Wisdom will prevent you from feeling and recognizing the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
Since my youth, I have always been impressed by the fact that our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, would answer the heartfelt prayers of a 14-year-old boy who was searching for the truth. Just as He answered Joseph Smith’s prayer, our Heavenly Father will answer your prayers in His own time and in His own way.
The more I know of the Prophet Joseph, the more I love him, the more I yearn to follow his example, the more I appreciate what our Father in Heaven and His Son have done in restoring this gospel that is destined to fill the earth in these, the latter days.
President Gordon B. Hinckley is the successor and guardian of those priesthood keys that were first restored to the Prophet Joseph Smith. In mortality, only one man at a time holds and exercises all of the priesthood keys; today that man is President Gordon B. Hinckley.
Follow the teachings of our modern-day prophet. He is inspired of the Lord to teach us those things that are necessary for us to live happily and righteously.
You are a chosen generation. You have been raised up by the Lord to carry His Church and kingdom into the 21st century. You have been chosen by the Lord to come forth on the earth when wickedness and evil are very powerful. But you are up to the challenge.
That does not mean you will not face your share of heartaches, challenges, and trials. Since the days when I first stuffed cotton into my ice skates and put on oversized shoulder pads and helmet, my life has been filled with experiences and challenges that seemed at the time too big for me.
But every day I try to put Heavenly Father first in my life, I try to come unto Christ and follow Him as my Savior and Redeemer, I nurture the companionship of the Holy Ghost, love and revere the Prophet Joseph, and listen to and follow God’s prophet today. As I do those things, I am confident the Lord will bless me.
Even after all these years, I can still hear the voice of my mother: “Be grateful for what you have, Joseph. Don’t worry; you’ll grow into it.”
It is my prayer that we may all grow as our Heavenly Father wants us to.

Our youngest daughter, Abby, saw a unique opportunity to stand as a defender of the role of mother. One day she got a notice from her children’s school that they were having Career Day presentations at the school. Parents were invited to send in an application if they wanted to come to school to teach the children about their jobs, and Abby felt impressed to apply to come and speak about motherhood. She didn’t hear back from the school, and when Career Day was getting close, she finally called the school, thinking they may have lost her application. The organizers scrambled around and found two teachers who agreed to have Abby come talk to their classes at the end of Career Day.
In her very fun presentation to the children, Abby taught them, among other things, that as a mother she needed to be somewhat of an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, teaching, music, literature, art, finance, decorating, hair styling, chauffeuring, sports, culinary arts, and so much more. The children were impressed. She finished by having the children remember their mothers by writing thank-you notes expressing gratitude for the many loving acts of service they received daily. Abby felt that the children saw their mothers in a whole new light and that being a mother or father was something of great worth. She applied to share again this year at Career Day and was invited to present to six classes.
Abby has said of her experience: “I feel like it could be easy in this world for a child to get the sense that being a parent is a secondary job or even sometimes a necessary inconvenience. I want every child to feel like they are the most important priority to their parent, and maybe telling them how important being a parent is to me will help them realize all that their parents do for them and why.”

Dad leaned back in his chair. “Do you remember a few years ago, when our family went backpacking in the mountains?”
“I think so.”
“You were very little then, but you wanted to carry your own pack. I’m afraid that it got pretty heavy long before we reached our campsite.”
“I remember now.” Katie’s face brightened. “I was tired, so we sat down to rest beside a stream. And then, when we started out again, you walked right beside me. The pack seemed much lighter then, and I was able to carry it all the way to camp.”
“Did you know that I was helping you?” Dad asked quietly.
“You mean by walking beside me and singing with me?”
“Yes. And also as we walked side by side, I was reaching out my hand and lifting the pack up off your back.”
“You were?” Katie looked at him in surprise. “And I didn’t even know it. No wonder my pack felt lighter—it was!”

When my Great-Grandma Edwards died, my sister, Mia, and I were sad. Even though my parents told us we would see our great-grandma again someday and be a family forever, we were worried.
My dad told us that we could pray to have our questions about Grandma Edwards answered at general conference. I prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was happy. Mia prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter, who had already died.
During the Sunday morning session of conference, we listened, and we heard the prophet answer our questions! President Monson said that when people die, it’s as if they go into a room filled with all the family members they love who died before them. So Mia knew that Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter. Then President Monson read a part from the Book of Mormon that says the spirits of the righteous go to a state of happiness (see Alma 40:11–12).* Grandma Edwards had always tried to choose the right, so I knew she was happy.
Mia and I were so happy to know that the prophet speaks for God and that God answers our prayers. We aren’t worried about Grandma Edwards anymore. We know that if we follow her example of choosing the right, someday we will see her again.

What! Me teach that class of unmanageable teenagers? Trouble comes in bunches, I thought as I walked out of the bishop’s office.
My husband was serving a tour of duty in the military, and I had come home to be with my grandmother, who had terminal cancer. Two active preschoolers, a new baby, a ravenous old furnace that required hand-shoveled coal in subzero weather, Grandma’s failing health, and now the thought of one more responsibility were more than I could bear.
I cried all the way home. I had heard all about that Sunday School class of 16-year-olds. But the bishop told me that the bishopric had fasted and prayed about what to do and “the Lord had sent me.”
At first I was bitter. But eventually, as I prayed, I began to remember the things the Savior had done for me. I realized that the least I could do for him was teach that class. Though the idea still seemed overwhelming, my attitude changed, and I went to work. Before long, I was anxiously trying to reach the teenagers in my Sunday School class. As the months passed, I came to know and love each of them.
Still, with all the other pressures I had, Christmas that year found me in anything but a joyous mood. That Christmas Eve, I sat alone near the Christmas tree in my living room trying in vain to put together a train set for my little boy. I could see the heavy snow falling outside, and suddenly a terrible aching filled my heart. I felt alone. I thought I had been doing better, but tonight, with my husband halfway around the world, my burdens overwhelmed me. Seeing Grandma slipping away, caring for the little ones, putting up with the weather, feeding the furnace, struggling with the train—it all seemed more than I could bear. I bowed my head and tearfully cast my burdens on the Lord.
As I knelt there, I heard a knock at my door. It was late, and I wondered who on earth it could be. I opened the door to find three of my Sunday School boys standing there, covered with snow. They had been sledding and had seen my light and decided to stop in to wish me a Merry Christmas. I invited them in and filled them up with hot chocolate and pie.
Soon they had the train set together, and we finished wrapping the Christmas presents. Everything looked beautiful. Each boy hugged me, thanked me for being such a good teacher and friend, and wished me Merry Christmas before they left. I stood watching them go under the streetlights. Suddenly my burdens felt lighter, and that night I knelt to thank Heavenly Father for sending them to me.
A few weeks later Grandma worsened and had to be hospitalized. It was necessary for me to stay nights with her there, and I cherished these last hours alone with my grandma. The girls from my Sunday School class took turns staying with my children while I was at the hospital. Another girl came after school every day to cook dinner for my family so I could get some rest. The boys built a coal shed and rigged a chute so I didn’t have to carry coal anymore. They tended the old furnace and did all the heavy work. I was surrounded with love and caring from each one of those young people. I couldn’t have made it without them.
Grandma died in May, and my husband eventually returned home. It has been years since that winter when my class of “unmanageable teenagers” helped me, but I will never forget the lesson I learned. I know far better now that we can do anything the Lord asks us to do and that the blessings we receive from our service far outweigh our efforts.

Wilford Woodruff’s family suffered along with the others. In October, while Wilford cut timber, a falling tree struck him and broke some of his ribs. Soon after, his little son Joseph caught a severe cold. Wilford and Phebe attended to the boy constantly, but nothing they did helped, and soon they buried his body in the settlement’s newly plotted cemetery.
Some weeks after Joseph’s death, Phebe delivered a baby prematurely, and the child died two days later. One evening, Wilford came home and found Phebe distraught, looking at a portrait of herself holding Joseph. Losing the children pained them both, and Wilford longed for when the Saints would find a home, live in peace, and enjoy the blessings and safety of Zion.
“I pray my Heavenly Father to lengthen out my days,” he wrote in his journal, “to behold the house of God stand upon the tops of the mountains and to see the standard of liberty reared up as an ensign to the nations.”27

David and Linda Bradshaw, Rachel Bennett, Martin Reynolds, and Gwen Craig are the only Latter-day Saints at their school, so seminary has proved especially helpful to them when their peers have questioned their beliefs.
“My close friend, Mandy, came to school loaded with anti-Mormon literature,” says Linda, “but because I had studied the scriptures I was able to find answers for her that I wouldn’t have known two years ago. Even if she doesn’t accept the gospel now, at least I’ve been able to put right all the strange ideas she had about the Church. And who can tell,” she added, “as Mandy grows older she may remember and inquire again.”

Perhaps President Benson’s most challenging call came in 1946 at the close of World War II when he was appointed president of the European Mission. His specific assignment was to reopen missions and to ease the suffering among members of the Church in the war-torn countries of Europe. Overcoming incredible difficulties caused by lack of transportation and basic supplies, President Benson was able to facilitate relief efforts for many European Saints.

Betsy King Duzette waded into the frigid water of the Mississippi River. The 58-year-old widow and convert from Connecticut was then baptized for her uncles, mother-in-law, and her husband’s stepfather.
The Prophet Joseph Smith had recently taught the Saints, in August 1840, about the doctrine of baptism for the dead. In their excitement, they performed baptisms in the river, since the Nauvoo Temple was not completed. Women were baptized for men and men for women. Soon, however, the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that baptisms for deceased ancestors must be done in dedicated temples (see Doctrine and Covenants 124:28–35). And in 1845, Brigham Young announced that women should be baptized for women and men for men.
Betsy’s husband, Philemon Duzette, had died six years earlier. She braved the chilly waters to be baptized for his deceased relatives as well as her own. That included baptism for Philemon’s stepfather, Jesse Peas, who died 50 years earlier when Betsy was a young girl. She may never have met him but likely knew of him and knew his name and his relationship to Philemon and his mother, Martha Wing. Betsy had known Martha when she was alive.
Betsy was baptized as proxy for Jesse almost immediately following the revelations on baptism for the dead. And she and her husband named one of their children after Jesse. Philemon’s biological father, also named Philemon, died when he was an infant, and Jesse Peas became his stepfather when Philemon was three and helped Martha raise him.
Just as Betsy King Duzette believed and trusted when she waded into the Mississippi River on behalf of her stepfather-in-law, we, all of us, can be connected, sealed, bound, and welded together eternally.

The idea was to find something to help build a bridge between Mormons and their non-Mormon friends. And what could be better than an evening of dramatic hilarity, asked the fun-loving youth of the Brisbane Stake in Australia. Of course, with the Australian bush country only miles away and with many tales of derring-do among men of the bush being heard every day, it did come as a bit of a surprise that the youth chose to put on a musical on the life of that fearless American damsel, Annie, in Annie Get Your Gun.
Perhaps it was because it gave the Brisbane Scouts, Venturers, and Explorers a chance to whoop and holler as they mimicked Buffalo Bill, Chief Sitting Bull, and others. The result: a show that ran a full week, played before 1,700 patrons, received newspaper and TV coverage, and attracted at least 600 nonmember friends. One of these, a prominent bank official, said, “Thank you for the opportunity of not only enjoying this show but of making some Mormon friends.”

John Oii introduced his small ancestral village of Kuriva to the gospel in September 1986 when he returned from Port Moresby to bury his son, who had died from a snakebite. During a traditional two-month mourning period, Brother Oii shared stories of Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni. So many villagers were interested that Brother Oii requested missionaries to teach the eager listeners while he acted as interpreter.

By March 1987, 40 Kurivans had been baptized, and a small branch had been organized. That same month, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve dedicated a one-room, thatched-roof chapel that members had built out of local materials. Membership in the branch has more than quadrupled since 1987. With help from the seminary program, 15 young men have prepared for missions. Most of them have served in Papua New Guinea.