Gospel Story Finder

Mrs. Kaufman, my German teacher, was late as usual. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I was particularly frustrated with grammar and needed the extra instruction time. Another 10 minutes passed. I was annoyed when she finally appeared. Several students had already left, assuming class was cancelled.
When the bell rang for break, Mrs. Kaufman apologized, saying that class would be cut short. She would postpone the upcoming exam another week to give us time to study. Relieved, I began to pack up my books when another classmate asked, “Mrs. Kaufman, is everything all right?” Mrs. Kaufman choked back tears as she explained that her father had just passed away. I felt horrible. Mrs. Kaufman was dealing with something on a spiritual level and I hadn’t even noticed.
That night I thought of Mrs. Kaufman and her father. As I read my scriptures, I felt peace knowing that Heavenly Father had a plan. I wondered how sad I would be if I didn’t know about the plan of salvation. I could feel the Spirit prompting me to share the peace I felt with Mrs. Kaufman and give her a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I tried to ignore the prompting. I was afraid to give Mrs. Kaufman a Book of Mormon because she was my teacher. But I decided to move forward anyway. I found a German copy of the Book of Mormon and also wrote Mrs. Kaufman a letter bearing my testimony. I wrapped them up and placed them in my backpack to give to her.
When I got to class the next day, I squirmed uncomfortably. I thought of the wrapped German copy of the Book of Mormon in my backpack. I couldn’t focus as I thought about whether I should give it to her. I prayed for confidence. At the end of class, I placed the parcel into her hands. I stammered my condolences and began sharing my testimony. As I spoke, I felt the Spirit, and the words came easier. I saw tears in Mrs. Kaufman’s eyes as she listened. When she unwrapped the gift and read the words “Das Buch Mormon: Ein weiterer Zeuge für Jesus Christus,” she smiled and asked me if this was a book from my church. I nodded. She promised she would read it.
The following Thursday she told me that the Book of Mormon had given her comfort. I was glad I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost and that I was able to give Mrs. Kaufman some peace by sharing my testimony with her. Now when I pick up my German copy of the Book of Mormon, I think about Mrs. Kaufman and feel grateful for Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation.

There is a hammock in our backyard. After treatments I sit in that hammock most of the day just feeling sorry for myself. I look up at the trees and think, lucky trees. Trees don’t get cancer. I look up at the birds. Lucky birds. They can just fly away from their problems. I wish I could fly away.
On one of those days after I’d been sitting on the hammock crying and feeling sorry for myself, I went into my house and watched television. The Jerry Lewis Telethon was on. The parents of children who had multiple sclerosis were telling what it is like to have a child with the disease. Most of them talked of the hope they had for a cure for their child’s condition. One woman, however, said she didn’t have any hope that her child would even live much longer, but she said that she was going to love her child as much as she could as long as she could. She also said that her family had grown tremendously from the experience. They’d learned not to let sorrow drown out their happiness.
I was so mad at myself. I was bitter. I had so much to be thankful for, and I was wasting so much of my precious time. That little boy seemed so happy. He was smiling, and his parents also seemed happy. I’m sure they felt pain because they knew they were going to lose their son, but they weren’t letting that get in their way. They were making the most of every minute they had with him.
I realized then that it doesn’t matter how much time I have left. What is really important is what I do with what I have. I decided to fight to the end.

Lately I have been thinking of a time in my life when the weight of worry and concern over an uncertain future seemed ever present. I was 11 years old and living with my family in the attic of a farmhouse near Frankfurt, Germany. We were refugees for the second time in a period of only a few years, and we were struggling to establish ourselves in a new place far away from our previous home. I could say that we were poor, but that would be an understatement. We all slept in one room that was so tiny there was scarcely space to walk around the beds. In the other small room, we had a few pieces of modest furniture and a stove that Mother used to cook meals on. To get from one room to the other, we had to pass through a storage area where the farmer kept his equipment and tools, along with assorted meats and sausages hanging from the rafters. The aroma always made me very hungry. We had no bathroom, but we did have an outhouse—down the stairs and some 50 feet (15 m) away, though it seemed much farther during wintertime.
Because I was a refugee and because of my East German accent, other children often made fun of me and called me names that deeply hurt. Of all the times of my youth, I believe this may have been the most discouraging.
Now, decades later, I can look back on those days through the softening filter of experience. Even though I still remember the hurt and despair, I can see now what I was unable to see then: this was a period of great personal growth. During this time, our family bonded together. I watched and learned from my parents. I admired their determination and optimism. From them I learned that adversity, when confronted with faith, courage, and tenacity, could be overcome.

In the spring of 1836, Charles Rich was a missionary preaching the restored gospel in southern Ohio. He had to have been disappointed that he arrived in Kirtland, Ohio, on April 12—about two weeks after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple.
He had traveled by steamship along the Ohio River and then walked nearly 100 miles (160 km). He saw the house of Lord on top of a natural rise in the landscape with its blue walls and red roof. But he was late. He had missed the dedication, the solemn assembly, and, he thought, the promised endowment of power from on high.
Although Charles Rich had missed the Kirtland Temple dedication, he learned that he and several other missionaries who had arrived late to Kirtland were going to experience the endowment. After the pattern of the ancient Israelite priests (see Exodus 29; 40), he was washed and anointed. He gathered with the others, fasting, praying, and feasting on the Lord’s Supper.
“We prophesied all night,” Charles wrote. “It was prophesied that salvation was written on every limb and joint” of his body. “I was filled with the spirit of prophecy, and I was endowed with power from on high.”
He spent the rest of his life—47 years—laboring as a disciple of Jesus Christ, building up the kingdom of God.

But then, while he was in the process of baptizing new converts in Lowell, Massachusetts, and organizing a branch there, he received a momentous letter from his mission president:

Mar. 18, 1854 In Lowell. Receivedletter from President O. Pratt. Said as I was single I could marry a wife with his approbation.

Elder Millett responded enthusiastically to this new opportunity. He completed his work in Lowell and then went to Manchester, New Hampshire, where he had some time before met a young woman who had been the only person in her family to join the Church (in fact, the others were strongly opposed to it). Acting decisively but with very evident propriety and consideration, he invited her to the home of some members to talk with him; he apparently found in her a person of similar decisiveness, because she returned and packed her trunk and traveled with him to Lowell to stay at the home of the branch president. This is how Elder Millett describes the following Sunday:

Mar. 26, 1854 Sunday. Meeting forenoon at Sister Brook’s. President Davis appointed a meeting at his house in the evening. I ordained Brother Thomas Bricker to the office of Priest. Then President Eliakim S. Davis read a chapter in the Doctrine and Covenants on Marriage. Sarah Elizabeth Glines and myself stood up and were married. Elder Davis sang and dismissed the meeting and the cake was passed around. The evening was agreeably passed by the Saints.

The Togola family learned about the gospel as they were supporting humanitarian efforts online.
Photograph courtesy of the Togola family
While I was serving as president of the Ghana Accra West Mission, I received an email from a Church member in California named Dale Wight. For some time, Brother Wight had been sending Church literature to a man named Ibrahima Togola, who lived in Mali, a landlocked country in West Africa. They had met online, where both of them were supporting humanitarian efforts.
There were no missionaries in Mali yet. However, Ibrahima was willing to travel more than 720 miles (1,160 km) by bus to Accra, Ghana, if I would arrange for missionaries to teach him. In the following weeks, I visited with Ibrahima several times online. He came to Ghana, where I met him and arranged for the missionaries to teach him. He was baptized soon after and returned to Mali. (He is now a member of the Bamako Branch, which is part of the Cote d’Ivoire Abidjan East Mission.)
Without the miracle of modern technology, think how difficult it would have been for Ibrahima Togola to learn about the gospel. Instead, he was able to engage in gospel conversations that changed his life.

Friday was fish day, and Emily always went to the market with her mother on Fridays to buy their supper. Today Emily’s mother had given her a penny to buy a sugar cake. The two of them walked down the narrow streets because Mother couldn’t afford to hire a carriage. But Emily didn’t mind. She enjoyed swinging the grocery basket, watching the ladies sweep by in their long skirts, and hearing the clobble-clobble of horse hooves.
A boy selling newspapers yelled, “Read all about it!”
Emily glanced at the date on the newspaper as they passed by—October 14, 1865.
“Mama!” she cried. “Tomorrow’s Papa’s birthday!”
“I know,” Mother said. “I’m going to make his favorite dish for his birthday supper—steak-and-kidney pie.”
“But what about me?” Emily asked. “What can I give him?”
“You could read to him,” Mother suggested. “He loves listening to you read Mr. Dickens’s stories. He says it’s very restful after a long day in the mill.”
“But I can read to him anytime,” Emily said. Then she remembered the penny in her hand. What can I buy for a penny? she wondered.
When they arrived at the market, Emily felt a rush of excitement. The stalls were filled with all kinds of things! Fishmongers swiftly cleaned fresh fish with their flashing silver knives. A baker held his stick of piping hot sugar cakes high in the air.
“Run along,” Mother said. “But meet me in an hour by the greengrocer’s stall.”
Emily raced off. Seeing a hurdy-gurdy man playing his organ-grinder, she laughed when a monkey in a tiny red jacket held out his tin cup. But she didn’t stop to listen because she wanted to hold on to her penny.
There must be something I can buy for Papa’s birthday, she thought.
Dogs darted in and out of the crowd. She remembered how much Papa admired collies. “I’d love to own one,” he had said. “But it’s hard to keep a dog in the city. One of these days—if we’re lucky—we’ll move to the country.”
Papa’s always saying that, Emily thought. If only my penny could buy us a cottage in the country—one with a white fence around it and a little garden!
But Emily was only day-dreaming, and it was almost time to meet her mother. Emily’s wandering had taken her to the end of Market Street. As she turned to go back, something caught her eye. The last stall stood apart from the others. Behind a counter filled with spices and strange-looking vegetables was an old Oriental man. He wore a golden satin jacket with a high collar, and on his feet was a pair of embroidered slippers the same color as his jacket.
Those slippers! Emily wanted a pair just like them for Papa. She imagined him sitting in front of the fire with his slippered feet propped up while she read to him from Mr. Dickens’s stories.
She walked up boldly to the Chinaman’s stall. “Excuse me,” she said. “Where did you buy those slippers you’re wearing?”
“My daughter-in-law makes slippers,” he replied in a papery-dry voice. “Very fine.”
“Yes, they are,” Emily agreed. “I would like to buy a pair like them for my papa’s birthday.”
The old man smiled. “Ah, a present for your papa. Well, little missy, how much money do you have?”
Emily held out her penny.
The Chinaman’s smile was not so wide now. “Oh, my,” he said. “My daughter-in-law charges much more than that. She uses the finest satin, and she spends many hours embroidering.”
“That’s all right,” Emily said, turning away to hide her disappointment. Her elbow knocked over a little cage on the counter.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, setting the tiny bamboo cage upright again. She smiled when she saw what was inside. “A cricket! Why do you have a cricket in a cage?” she asked.
The old man replied, “It makes very fine music. In China emperors keep crickets in cages made of ivory or jade. But for Li-Fu, bamboo is just as fine. When my cricket sings, it reminds me of my home.”
A cricket! Emily tried hard to remember something she had read …
She offered her penny again. “I know it’s not much, Mr. Li-Fu, but I would love to give this cricket to my papa for his birthday.”
The old man thought for a moment. “Done!” he said finally. He handed Emily the tiny cage.
“The cage too?” she asked.
“It is the cricket’s home. Consider it a present from me.”
Smiling her thanks, Emily pressed the penny into his wrinkled palm. Then, carefully carrying the cage, she hurried to find her mother.
The next night Emily couldn’t sit still through supper. She picked at her steak-and-kidney pie until Father said, “You’re bursting with a secret, Emily. What is it?”
Emily ran out of the room and returned with her hands hidden behind her back.
“Happy Birthday, Papa!” With one hand she presented him with the tiny cage.
“What on earth?” He stared at the cricket in the bamboo cage.
With her other hand, Emily revealed a book and flipped it open. “Your gift is explained in one of Mr. Dickens’s stories. See? Right here it says, ‘A cricket on the hearth is the luckiest thing in the world.’”
“Mr. Dickens is usually right,” Papa said. “We’ll keep our lucky cricket here by the fire where it belongs.” He set the cage on the mantle. “But I’m already the luckiest man in the world to have such a wonderful wife and daughter.”
From its perch on the mantle the cricket chirped, as if in agreement.

What was the highlight of Kaonu Ly’s trip to Washington, D.C.? Kaonu and several other outstanding students from around the U.S. got to tour government agencies, visit historic sites, and participate in discussions of how government works. She also got to meet Senator Jesse Helms (shown here with Kaonu), the senator from Kaonu’s home state of North Carolina. And although Kaonu loved all of those things, she loved something else even more.
“A sight I will never forget was the Washington D.C. Temple. It was so sacredly beautiful. I felt so proud to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she says.
Kaonu, who is a Laurel in the Albermarle Branch, Charlotte North Carolina South Stake, also used the trip as a missionary opportunity, sharing pamphlets about the Church and the Articles of Faith with the other youth she met.

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.
The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:
“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.
“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.
“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’
“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”

At first, some youth presenters had no idea what a family history conference was, but they, along with other youth presenters, soon learned and were inspired with ideas of how to teach and share their technology skills with the older generation. They embraced the opportunity to be involved and willingly found time in their busy schedules to serve. Andrew P., 17, helped by sending emails encouraging youth to invite their friends to the conference. He says, “I learned that it is important to balance your schedule and to fulfill your assignments on time.”

In 1888 the Relief Society and the young women’s organizations of the Church became charter members of the National Council of Women and of the International Council. These two organizations were established primarily to promote women’s suffrage and to improve the lot of women and children everywhere.
During those years our delegates had their good days and their bad, depending upon circumstances, the leadership, and their attitude toward the Mormons.
In April of 1945 Belle Smith Spafford became the president of the Relief Society. Only a week or two after she had been sustained a letter came from the National Council of Women, announcing their annual meeting to be held in New York City.
Sister Spafford had attended those meetings before, and in view of her previous experience, she and her counselors carefully considered the invitation for several weeks.
They decided to recommend to the President of the Church that the Relief Society terminate its membership in those councils. They prepared a statement of recommendation, listing all of the reasons for so doing.
Trembling and uncertain, Sister Spafford placed the paper on the desk of President George Albert Smith, saying, “The Relief Society Presidency wishes to recommend that the General Board terminate its membership in the National Council and in the International Council of Women, for the reasons listed on this paper.”
President Smith carefully read the paper. Had they not held membership for well over half a century? he inquired.
Sister Spafford explained how costly it was to go to New York, the time it took, and described the humiliation they occasionally experienced. She recommended that they withdraw because “we don’t get a thing from these councils.”
This wise, old prophet tipped back in his chair and looked at her with a disturbed expression. “You want to withdraw because you don’t get anything out of it?” he questioned.
“That is our feeling,” she replied.
“Tell me,” he said, “what is it that you are putting into it?
“Sister Spafford,” he continued, “you surprise me. Do you always think in terms of what you get? Don’t you think also in terms of what you have to give?”
He returned that paper to her and extended his hand. With considerable firmness he said, “You continue your membership in these councils and make your influence felt.”
And so they did! Sister Spafford took the gentle correction from that wise prophet, and the day came that she was president of that organization.

When he was only a year old, our son Nolan suffered a stroke related to complications from spinal meningitis. Now 14, he struggles with a low-pressure shunt, learning challenges, and paralysis of one side of his body.
Despite his rocky road, Nolan has surpassed our expectations. Every milestone he reaches brings us much joy. He has developed patience and a determination worthy of emulation.
My husband, Ryan, and I, along with our five other sons, have all grown spiritually from our experiences with Nolan. At times we get discouraged and worry about his future, but then we count our blessings, recognize the love and concern our Father in Heaven and His Son have for each of us, and remember a prayer that was answered when Nolan was six.
One evening when we were unsure how to handle Nolan’s challenges, my husband and I knelt to pray about his welfare. As we petitioned the Lord, we expressed particular concern about Nolan’s behavior as related to his perception of his self-worth. We sincerely asked for Nolan to feel the love of our Savior and know of his great worth as a child of God.
The next morning Nolan came directly into the kitchen, where I was cooking breakfast. Before breakfast he would usually play with his brothers or plop on the couch. But he seemed intent as he climbed a stool at the breakfast bar, looked up at me, and said, “I had a dream last night.”
I sensed his seriousness, and my interest was immediately piqued.
“Really?” I asked. “What happened in your dream?”
“Jesus was there,” Nolan replied simply, “and He held me.”
I have a testimony that our loving Father in Heaven hears and answers our prayers and that our Savior is our advocate with the Father. They know us individually. They are aware of our needs and our capabilities. They know how to succor us.
Moroni tells us, “If ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth … unto you. And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:4–5). I have learned that this scripture pertains not only to obtaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon but also to any question for which we are sincerely seeking an answer. When we face challenges, heartache, and trials, our hearts are keenly sincere and our intent intensely genuine.
How grateful I am to be a member of the Savior’s Church, where I have learned much of His gospel through study, service, and the Holy Ghost. How grateful I am to know our Savior will help, comfort, and guide each of us. I know that we can all be encircled “in the arms of [His] love” (D&C 6:20) as we come unto Him.

When I was fifteen years old, my mother suggested that I get a patriarchal blessing. Although I hadn’t thought of doing so, her suggestion felt right, and preparations were made. I don’t remember the interview with my bishop or making the appointment, but I do remember an increasing sense of reluctance as the day approached.

My anxiety was all about my future. I had heard story after story of remarkable blessings with unusual promises. Some days I felt extraordinary—as if there were special things ahead for me. But usually I felt ordinary—even invisible some days. What if I didn’t have anything in my future? Better not to know. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything for the patriarch to say, and the blessing would only be one or two sentences long. I wondered if I would go on a mission—would I marry—would there be children—how many?

As you can see, I didn’t really understand the difference between a patriarchal blessing and a Chinese fortune cookie. But I did understand one important difference: I didn’t believe in messages in cookies, but I did believe in patriarchal blessings.

I was prepared to believe anything that was said, or not said.

The anticipated day arrived. I went with my parents to the patriarch’s cozy little study. As he placed his hands on my head, there was a steadiness that vaporized all uncertainty. I remember the surprise and wonder of that day, but also of every other time I have read that blessing—the startling news: He knows me. Heavenly Father knows me! And he has a plan for my future. I don’t need to know all the details, but if I do my part, it will turn out wonderfully well.

Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live, and they are in charge of this world.
They know me.
They love me.
They have a plan for my future.
I will obey the commandments, work hard, and trust in that plan. Sooner or later, everything will be okay.

A young piano student once became very discouraged by her mistakes. Each time she learned a piece, her teacher assigned a new and more difficult piece, and the student would begin playing wrong notes all over again. She concluded that she wasn’t learning anything, because she would always make mistakes in her new pieces. Then her teacher explained that nobody ever learned to play the piano without making many, many mistakes. The successful students are those who learn from their mistakes.

“There, it’s all done!” Jeff said as he knotted the bridle line to his kite. Jeff felt proud as he held up the kite to check the glued tissue paper edges. He was sure he would win the Highest Flyer Award in the kite tournament to be held the next afternoon.
As Jeff picked up scraps of paper and sticks from the porch floor, he heard the creak of rusty hinges. “Oh, no,” he groaned. “Robin Hood has escaped again!”
With a sick feeling, Jeff remembered his father’s words, “If that dog steals something just once more, Jeff, he’ll have to go!”
Hurdling the porch steps in one leap, Jeff raced to the alley and whistled. He hoped that maybe this time Robin Hood hadn’t picked up anything belonging to someone else, but his hope faded as Robin Hood came around the corner dragging a big paper fish. With his tail wagging, the dog dropped his gift at Jeff’s feet.
“Bad dog!” Jeff scolded. Robin Hood retreated to the farthest corner of the yard. Jeff remembered to close the gate this time, but he felt guilty that he had let his dog get loose.
The paper fish was ripped, but Jeff could see that it had been skillfully painted with loops to look like fish scales. Turning it over, he saw the broken basswood and knew it had been a kite. Someone had probably made this strange-looking kite to enter in the tournament, and Robin Hood had stolen it.
Jeff knew what he had to do. He started walking toward Mr. Peterson’s fruit market, taking the broken fish kite with him. Mr. Peterson knew just about everybody, and many times before he had helped Jeff find the owner of Robin Hood’s other gifts.
“Has Robin Hood been at it again?” Mr. Peterson asked Jeff as he polished an apple. “That carp kite’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Do you know who it belongs to?” Jeff asked.
“Wouldn’t take much to figure out,” answered Mr. Peterson. “A new boy about your age has been coming into the store a lot lately. His name is Jimu, and he’s talked to me about carp kites. The carp stands for courage, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” said Jeff.
“Japanese boys fly carp kites every year on Boys’ Festival Day,” said Mr. Peterson. “It’s supposed to remind them to be courageous.”
“Do you know where Jimu lives?” Jeff asked.
“No,” said Mr. Peterson, “but he usually goes toward Miller Street.”
Jeff thanked Mr. Peterson and went back home. His shoulders drooped as he climbed the steps. Robin Hood, stretched out by the lilac bush, opened his eyes and watched.
“Come on,” Jeff called as he picked up both kites. “We have a job to do.”
Jeff and Robin Hood walked up and down Miller Street, but they couldn’t find anyone who knew of a boy named Jimu.
“Sorry I can’t help you,” said a lady who was watering her lawn. “Why don’t you ask your dog?” she joked.
“Why didn’t I think of that!” said Jeff. He gave the carp kite to Robin Hood to carry in his mouth.
“Take it back!” Jeff commanded.
Robin Hood seemed to understand. He held the kite tightly between his teeth and led Jeff to the corner, turned right, and then disappeared down an alley. Jeff followed the dog down the alley and through an opening in a high wooden fence, where Robin Hood stopped.
This must be the house, Jeff thought as he walked into a strange garden. There were dwarf trees in low vases sitting in raked white sand.
“Ohayo (good morning),” said a voice, and a short black-haired boy came around the corner of the house.
“You must be Jimu,” Jeff said. “I’m Jeff.”
The Japanese boy bowed. His dark eyes looked from Robin Hood to the carp kite and back to Jeff.
Jeff didn’t know what to say at first, but once he got started, the story came tumbling out.
“Sumimasen (very sorry),” Jimu said after Jeff finished. “Perhaps you should try a cardboard collar.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jeff.
“I have a friend who had a dog with a sore ear,” Jimu explained. “He cut a big wheel-shaped piece of cardboard and then cut a hole in the middle. He put it around the dog’s neck so the dog couldn’t scratch its ear. His dog also had difficulty picking up objects with his mouth.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Jeff said. “I’ll try it. But that won’t help you fix your kite, so I want you to have mine instead.”
Jeff held his kite out to Jimu, who took it and looked at it carefully.
“Very nice,” Jimu said at last. “But please come with me.”
He led Jeff to a sliding door at the back of the house. They both removed their shoes and went inside.
“Please sit on the tatami,” Jimu told Jeff as he pointed to the straw mat on the porch floor. He put Jeff’s kite on a low table covered with jars of paint and a brush.
Jimu picked up the brush and asked, “May I?”
Jeff nodded. He watched Jimu swiftly paint an outline of a fish on the kite Jeff had given him. Soon a carp filled the kite as Jimu painted half-hoop scales all over.
“Now you’ll have a kite to fly today,” said Jeff.
Jimu smiled mysteriously as he excused himself and disappeared behind a screen.
When Jimu returned, he said, “I already have a kite.” He held up a paper fish. “The first one I made broke, and Robin Hood must have found it in the trash.”
“But why did you paint this beautiful fish on my kite?” Jeff asked.
“Because it took much courage for you to come to me,” Jimu answered. “And the carp stands for courage. You would honor me to fly your kite with me today,” he added.
“That would be great,” Jeff answered. And the two boys, with Robin Hood tagging along behind, picked up their kites and ran out into the field together.

The nurse called to let me know that based on the results of my ultrasound, it was time to meet with the doctor to discuss a hysterectomy. My dream of raising a child of my own in this life was dissipating, and I wasn’t ready.
It seems like in the Church, we often talk about infertility inside of marriage. We talk about couples who are unable to conceive, who struggle to carry a baby to term, or who decide to adopt. But infertility also happens to single members, whose plans for a family can be disrupted before they have even begun.
I found that I didn’t know how to talk about how devastated I was to be facing this reality. I felt very alone.
All I wanted as a little girl was to be a mom. When I received my patriarchal blessing, the only thing I wanted to hear was that I would marry and have children. I waited for it with eager anticipation and listened intently. When the patriarch pronounced the promise, I was relieved and excited!
I graduated from high school and assumed I’d meet my husband when I went to college. And while I met and dated several worthy and kind men, none of them were to be my eternal companion.
My life went on. Over the years, I had several loving bishops who looked beyond my single status and offered me the chance to serve in varied ways in the Church. I developed relationships with many stalwart members who quietly went about serving their fellow Saints. Some of these relationships taught me more about myself, what I wanted to be as a wife, and what I wanted in a husband.
I held on tightly to the promises in my patriarchal blessing of a temple marriage and children born in the covenant and watched for the ways the Lord would fulfill them in my life.
Then my health started to decline. I sought medical help, and it was then that I got the call from the nurse. I found myself at a crossroads: I had to decide whether I would take the doctor’s recommendation and go through with the hysterectomy. The problems in my body were crippling my life in a way I couldn’t ignore. But the surgery would be irreversible. The door to my dream of bearing a child wasn’t just closing—it was closing and locking, never to be opened again in this life.
I suppose adopting a child could have been a future possibility, but because of my circumstances at the time (being unmarried and relying solely on myself financially), adoption didn’t feel like a real or comforting option.
I shed many tears and immediately went to two trusted priesthood holders for a blessing. They gave me a beautiful blessing promising me that my opportunities for a family stretched long into the next life and that those promises were still in place.
I spent hours on my knees, asking my Father in Heaven what to do. But I knew. I knew that medically my current situation could not continue. Even though I was scared, I also knew that I was in my Heavenly Father’s hands and that ultimately I was safe in His care. As it says in Helaman 12:1, I knew “that the Lord in his great infinite goodness doth bless and prosper those who put their trust in him.”
The Sunday before my surgery, my brother gave me a blessing. I was surrounded by my wonderfully supportive family. He opened the blessing with the Lord’s confirmation that I had made the right decision. It was the final witness that I needed to step into an unknown future of His design.
While there are still sometimes tears, I have learned more about what it means to have faith.
Faith for me doesn’t mean that I don’t ache at times for the opportunity to hold my own child in my arms or long for an eternal relationship. Faith for me doesn’t take away the hiccup in my heart when a sister bears her testimony about how Heavenly Father has trusted her with His children.
Faith for me does mean holding on to the promise in Doctrine and Covenants 138:52, that as we continue in righteousness, we will “be partakers of all blessings which were held in reserve for them that love him.” Faith for me does mean striving to be the daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and Church member that my Heavenly Father and Savior need me to be.
My Savior knows the heartache of being alone. He will walk with me until the end. As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said, “Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come.”1
Although this part of my life has not turned out as I had once dreamed, I have never ceased to be in Heavenly Father’s care. I am in His arms.
I trust that the promise in Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–3 is true—not just for me, but for everyone:
“Fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord. …
“… He giveth this promise unto you, … and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory.”

Too many blind members find that their opportunities to serve are limited because of others’ attitudes. Clair Todd, a sister from Norwich, England, who now lives in Homestead, Florida, says, “In some wards—fortunately not my current one—I have not been considered for Church callings because I am blind. These were callings that I could have done without difficulty! In one instance, the bishop was inspired to call me as Young Adult representative, but he kept rejecting the prompting with, ‘But Heavenly Father, she can’t do it!’ Again and again the prompting came, and finally the bishop approached me. Of course I was able to do it!”

My classmates and I were staying overnight at Tanyllyn Lodge as part of our sixth-form geography field trip into the Welsh mountains. I was glad that my friend Louise and I were assigned to share a room.
It took us a while to get ready for bed. We took turns using the one tiny sink in the room, and the even tinier mirror. Our clothing for the next day had to be set out along with our hiking boots and thick socks. Louise finished her preparations before I did and climbed into her bed.
When I had finished doing everything except saying my prayers, I hesitated beside my bed. Louise was not a member of the Church and had no idea that I prayed each night.
My first instinct was to slip into bed as she had done and then feign sleep while I silently prayed. But I anticipated two big flaws with that decision. First, I knew Louise would start talking to me and I’d never make it through my prayer uninterrupted. Second, I was a little daunted by the next day’s grueling agenda and felt that I needed the comfort of a fervent prayer on my knees.
I dithered in indecision for a few minutes, then turned to Louise and told her I was going to say a prayer. She looked a bit startled, but before she could say anything, I went down on my knees at the end of the bed, bowed my head, closed my eyes, and offered a silent personal prayer. She was still watching me when I rose.
There was a rather awkward silence as I crawled into bed. As I furiously searched for something to say, Louise said, “Sian, do you do that every night?”
“Yes,” I replied.
There was a slight pause, then, “What do you say?”
The question surprised me. I had never really considered the possibility that someone would not know how to pray. I told Louise that I began my prayers by addressing our Father in Heaven, I thanked him for things I had received, asked him to help and bless me, and then closed my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ.
There was another pause, and during the silence I felt my heartbeat quicken. Before I lost my nerve, I asked her if she would like to pray with me.
“Okay,” she said, with curiosity in her voice. “What do we do?”
We knelt together by the side of the bed, and I said a prayer aloud. When it was over, I asked her how she felt.
She smiled shyly, “Well, you’ve given me something to think about,” she responded.
I don’t know what Louise’s thoughts were as we lay in our beds afterward. Mine were thoughts of gratitude. Lying there in the dark, I knew the Spirit had been in that room confirming to me that we do have a Heavenly Father who loves us and listens to our prayers. I hope that Louise felt it too.

Margarette and her older brother, Wallace, were walking to school. Rain had made the ground very muddy. The children got stuck in the mud and could not move. They began to cry.
They looked up and saw the Prophet Joseph Smith coming toward them. He lifted both children out of the mud. Then he stooped and cleaned the mud from their shoes.
The Prophet Joseph Smith wiped the tears from their faces with his handkerchief. He spoke kind and cheering words to them.
Margarette and Wallace went on their way to school, rejoicing.

I have just been ordained as a teacher and go to early-morning seminary. A few of us from our youth program attend the same high school. Every day we meet up after seminary and bike to school together. We encourage each other every day to make good choices. When school is over, we all bike home together. I enjoy being around other youth who share my beliefs and hope to one day serve a mission. I know that if I continue to spend time with others who share my beliefs and standards, I will realize this goal. I have a testimony that if you choose your friends wisely, they will encourage you to choose the right.
Darhys S., New Zealand