Gospel Story Finder

Katy and her mother did not agree on many important things. Like rock collections. One day Katy took all her dolls and stuffed animals off her bed. She put her rock collection in their place. “I like rocks better than dolls,” said Katy.
“Katy, you’re impossible,” said Mother. Mother liked dolls much better. She liked anything that was dainty, neat, or ruffled.
That’s why Katy’s mother didn’t like Rex.
Katy had found the scruffy old dog in a vacant lot. He was very big and very dirty. Katy brought him home and cleaned him up. She thought that he was beautiful.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a little poodle?” asked Mother after they were sure he didn’t belong to anyone else. “You could put a bow in its hair, and it could sleep next to your bed.”
“Nope. I like real dogs,” said Katy.
Mother sighed. “Katy, you’re impossible.”
Mother banished Rex to the backyard, but sometimes Katy sneaked him chocolate chip cookies and cherry gelatin.
When Mother decided to send Katy to ballet class, Katy moaned, “I don’t want to wear one of those dumb little dresses.”
“They’re called tutus,” said Mother.
“I don’t care what they’re called. I won’t wear one.”
“You don’t have to wear it all the time, just for performances,” said Mother.
“Performances! I’m not going to get up in front of people in that thing and dance on my toes. I don’t like that sissy stuff,” said Katy.
“Katy, ballet is not sissy stuff. You have to practice hard and be very strong to be a ballerina.”
“I won’t do it.” Katy stuck out her chin.
“You have to,” said Mother. “I’ve already paid for the first month’s lessons. You start on Saturday.”
Katy went outside and sat down on the back steps. “This is the last straw,” she said to Rex. “She doesn’t understand me at all. She can’t be my mother.”
Rex nuzzled her. Katy reached into her pocket and gave him half a baloney sandwich.
“I bet I got switched with another baby at the hospital when I was born!” said Katy. A little pocket of worry started to grow in her heart. “Maybe I’d better check, just in case,” she said as she hugged Rex.
Katy rode her bike to Dr. Bigelow’s office.
The nurse said that the doctor was busy, but Katy hung around the waiting room until she saw him. “Doctor Bigelow,” she yelled as she ran past the nurse, “the night I was born, you didn’t close your eyes for a few minutes, did you?”
The doctor laughed. “Of course not. In fact, I was very busy that night. Another baby was born just about the same time you were.”
“Do you remember who the mother was?”
“Certainly. It was Mrs. Douglas Carr. She had a little girl too. Her name is Pamela. They’re still patients of mine.”
Katy left the doctor’s office and found a phone booth. She looked up Douglas Carr in the phone book, then got back on her bike and rode as fast as she could.
She thought about Pamela Carr. Pamela was probably a very neat person. She would be happy living at Katy’s house with a room full of dolls and ruffles.
The Carrs lived on Florian Drive. As Katy rang the bell, her stomach felt like it did on the first day of school. A pretty redheaded lady opened the door.
“Is Mrs. Carr here?”
“I’m Mrs. Carr.”
“Do you have a daughter named Pamela?”
“Why yes. You must be a friend of hers. Pam, come here.”
The girl came and stood beside her mother. They could have been twins! They had the same curly red hair and the same beautiful smiles.
“I guess I made a mistake,” stammered Katy. She’d never felt so stupid in her whole life, but she also felt relieved.
Katy didn’t want to go home yet, so she went to Grandma’s house, instead.
“Katy, where have you been? Your mother has been looking all over for you,” said Grandma. She called Katy’s mother to tell her where Katy was, then she poured a glass of milk and cut a piece of angel food cake for Katy. “Now, tell me what the trouble is.”
Katy told her the whole story.
“Oh dear! You actually thought that the hospital had switched babies?”
Katy nodded.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Grandma went into the other room and came back with a family photo album. She showed Katy a picture of a little girl hanging upside down from a tree. She was making a face at the camera. On the next page was another picture of the same little girl dressed up in a cowboy suit. She looked like Katy’s kind of person. “These are pictures of your mother when she was little,” said Grandma.
“Oh no—it can’t be!” Katy exclaimed. She stared at the pictures. “What happened to her? She sure has changed.”
“She grew up,” said Grandma. “You will, too, someday, but you will still be unique.”
“Does that mean I still have to go to dancing school?”
“Dancing school never hurt anyone. You might even like it.”
Katy sighed. Even Grandma had turned against her.
“There are other kinds of dancing, you know,” said Grandma. “Perhaps you would like tap dancing better than ballet. You get to have taps on your shoes and make a lot of noise. And you don’t have to wear a tutu. Would you like me to talk to your mother about it?”
“Yes, please,” said Katy. She hugged her grandmother. “I’m glad I’m who I am, because you’re the best Grandma in the whole world!”
At the next dance recital, Katy was dressed like Uncle Sam and tapped her way through “Yankee Doodle.” Her parents sat in the front row so that Mother could take pictures of Katy as she danced.
Katy smiled extra big. After all, you never know who might be looking at those pictures someday!

I believe my first experience in having the courage of my convictions took place when I served in the United States Navy near the end of World War II.

Navy boot camp was not an easy experience for me, nor for anyone who endured it. For the first three weeks I was convinced my life was in jeopardy. The navy wasn’t trying to train me; it was trying to kill me.

I shall ever remember when Sunday rolled around after the first week. We received welcome news from the chief petty officer. Standing at attention on the drill ground in a brisk California breeze, we heard his command: “Today everybody goes to church—everybody, that is, except for me. I am going to relax!” Then he shouted, “All of you Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A rather sizeable contingent moved out. Then he barked out his next command: “Those of you who are Jewish, you meet in Camp Henry—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A somewhat smaller contingent marched out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants, you meet in the theaters at Camp Farragut—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”

Instantly there flashed through my mind the thought, “Monson, you are not a Catholic; you are not a Jew; you are not a Protestant. You are a Mormon, so you just stand here!” I can assure you that I felt completely alone. Courageous and determined, yes—but alone.

And then I heard the sweetest words I ever heard that chief petty officer utter. He looked in my direction and asked, “And just what do you guys call yourselves?” Until that very moment I had not realized that anyone was standing beside me or behind me on the drill ground. Almost in unison, each of us replied, “Mormons!” It is difficult to describe the joy that filled my heart as I turned around and saw a handful of other sailors.

The chief petty officer scratched his head in an expression of puzzlement but finally said, “Well, you guys go find somewhere to meet. And don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”

As we marched away, I thought of the words of a rhyme I had learned in Primary years before:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.

Although the experience turned out differently from what I had expected, I had been willing to stand alone, had such been necessary.

Since that day, there have been times when there was no one standing behind me and so I did stand alone. How grateful I am that I made the decision long ago to remain strong and true, always prepared and ready to defend my religion, should the need arise.

During my sophomore year at Brigham Young University, our ward bishopric signed the ward up for a Sub-for-Santa program, through which we would provide Christmas presents for a family in need.
Our ward name, however, kept disappearing from the list of volunteers. As Christmas neared, we still had no family to help. Then one of the bishop’s counselors told us of a family that might be able to use our help instead. When we learned about this family, we all felt certain that we should focus on them.
Linda (name has been changed), who had several sons ages 9 to 15, had fought a grueling battle with breast cancer. During the stress of that illness, her husband had left her. She had just moved from another state to take a job in Provo, Utah, but the job fell through, and she was left with no income.
When we met Linda, we immediately took her into our hearts. We were blessed to see her the way the Savior did—as a great and noble spirit who had overcome many difficult challenges. She was never a project to us; rather, she was an eternal friend. Every member of the ward contributed something to help her and her boys. We were all young college students and poor in our own right, but we gladly gave because we loved her.
Linda came to our ward Christmas party, during which several ward members went to her apartment and filled her cupboards and refrigerator with food. They decorated a Christmas tree and surrounded it with presents for the whole family. They also left her four new car tires and paid her rent for several months. I’m not sure how our meager contributions managed to accomplish all that, but I knew that Heavenly Father had used our sacrifices to bless her.
A year later I was in another student ward, but I returned at Christmastime to visit my previous bishopric. I learned that Linda’s husband had returned to the family and that their finances had stabilized. But then her cancer had returned and claimed her life. I realized that we had helped give Linda her last Christmas.
In feeling “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47) so strongly through that experience, I learned that real charity is a priceless spiritual gift that propels us to act in the Savior’s place.

By now we had formed quite a congregation—his mother, Grandfather Allred (who spontaneously offered perhaps the simplest, most fervent and beautiful prayer I have ever heard), various medical personnel, several of our own children, and our neighbors the Memmotts—true Good Samaritans. We sat there together in the main waiting room, conversing quietly, and young Mike Memmott, one of John’s best friends, was blinking back tears. That fall in the road three days earlier had momentarily knocked John unconscious and left his head bleeding rather profusely. Bending over him in great anxiety, Mike had called John’s name, then actually picked him up and carried him into our home.

I was thrilled when I passed the driving test and at long last was permitted to drive the family station wagon. My parents gave me a set of keys, which I proudly attached to my keychain, vowing to honor their trust in me. But one evening, while my parents were away, a heavy rainfall and a weak moment tested my good intentions.
My parents left my brothers and me for a few hours while they ran some errands. It started raining, and soon we saw large puddles outside of the house. We lived in an area surrounded by rich farmland, and whenever the ground was soaked by a good rain, fat earthworms (we called them night crawlers) would pop to the surface, almost like magic. When the rain cleared, we could see hundreds of plump night crawlers slithering along the slick mud around our garden and along the walkways.
My brother Bobby wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but he approached me with an idea for earning some money from the worms. He’d heard about a place across town that purchased night crawlers for fishing bait. He figured we could collect hundreds of night crawlers from the wet ground, drive to the bait store, sell them, and then be back before our parents returned. I didn’t know much about fishing or selling bait, but I knew I shouldn’t drive the car without permission. I rationalized that I knew how to drive safely and we wouldn’t be gone very long. But first, of course, we had to collect the worms.
It was still damp outside when we gathered flashlights and a few empty cans and began digging through the soft mud in search of the slithery creatures. The plan didn’t quite hold the attraction for me that it did for my brother, but I got past my squeamishness and grabbed my share of squirmy night crawlers. We spent some time picking worms from the mud and then realized that we needed to hurry across town to the bait shop. I didn’t know where it was, but my brother assured me he knew how to get there.
I followed his directions, and soon we found ourselves driving through dark and unfamiliar streets. We were miles from our home and safety. My brother was determined to sell the worms, but all I wanted was to get back home as fast as possible. Just as I was ready to turn the car around, we saw a dimly lit shed ahead of us, with people standing in line holding jars and buckets. I reluctantly agreed to stop at the shed just long enough to sell the night crawlers. However, the line moved very slowly, and more time passed before my brother finally made it to the counter where they weighed the worms and paid us for them. We knew we had been gone far longer than we planned.
When we pulled into the driveway, our parents were already home. My heart sank; I knew I would be in a lot of trouble for taking the car without permission. My stomach was tight as I remembered the numerous opportunities I’d had that evening to make better choices. We held our heads low as we entered by the back door, hoping to avoid attention. No such luck. But we were unprepared for the reaction.
Our parents sat at the kitchen table, their faces stricken with fear and grief. Tears poured down our mother’s face; our father’s eyes were red, and he was clearly distraught. Rather than greeting us with anger, they both cried out in relief that we were alive and safe. Then they asked where we had been.
I felt very foolish and childish as I offered my stammering answer: “Um … we were out selling night crawlers.” Their grief and emotion cut me to the soul. I would never knowingly or intentionally have caused my parents such hurt, but I knew I had done exactly that. I was acutely aware that I had not lived up to the trust and responsibility they’d placed in me, nor had I lived up to my own goals.
The lessons I learned that night were far reaching. I had given my parents my word, and I didn’t keep it. When we make a covenant with Heavenly Father, we have a responsibility to keep it. Just as my parents were thankful to see us come home, Heavenly Father welcomes us with love when we return to Him.
Eventually the trip my brother and I made to the bait store became part of our family folklore. For years it served as a gentle reminder that we always need to be on the right path. Otherwise, one of our parents was sure to ask, “Were you out selling night crawlers?”

Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.

We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”

We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.

We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.

We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

Right from the start it looked like a bad day for Stanley Wilcox: He wasn’t ready for the spelling test. He’d have to pay for his library book if it didn’t turn up by Monday. And his mother reminded him as he left, “Grandpa will take you to the eye doctor after school.”
Stanley moaned. He didn’t want glasses.
“Hey, kid!”
“You calling me, Mr. Crouch?” Stanley loped across the yard and followed his neighbor’s pointing finger. He supposed that he had let a few leaves land on Mr. Crouch’s spotless lawn when he raked his own.
But Mr. Crouch was pointing toward the fence at the back of the Crouches’ property and to the woods beyond. Not the fort! He couldn’t complain about that! thought Stanley.
“Take a look back there. You’ve dug clear under my fence and thrown debris onto my grass. I want you and your friend to get that cleaned up first thing after school, or I’ll call your parents.”
“I have to go to the eye doctor after school,” Stanley mumbled.
“First thing tomorrow morning then!”
When he got to school, Stanley made out the blurred letters of an announcement on the chalkboard:
SATURDAY
Floor Hockey Championships
3rd & 4th Grade Finals
8:00 A.M.
Just then his friend Roger ran over, shouting, “The men’s club is taking the winning team to a real ice hockey game at the arena!”
Stanley flashed a wide grin. It was the first thing he’d had to smile about that morning.
At lunchtime Stanley told Roger the bad news. “Mr. Crouch says that we have to clean up his yard.”
“How come?”
“He says that we got junk all over it from digging behind the fence.”
“But we didn’t! We were extra careful because you said he’d yell.”
“I know. But he won’t listen. If he talks to my dad, he’ll say to stop playing there because we should be ‘good neighbors.’”
“Well—right after school, then, OK?”
“I can’t,” said Stanley. “I have to get my dumb glasses. He said to come tomorrow morning, but—”
“The hockey game!” Roger’s eyes widened in horror.
“I know, I know.” Stanley stuffed his sandwich wrappers into his lunch bag. “Maybe it won’t take long at the eye doctor.”
Grandpa was his usual jovial self when Stanley climbed into his car after school. “Did you have a good day?” he boomed.
“Awful,” Stanley answered shortly, slumping down by the window.
“Hmmm.”
One thing about Grandpa: He always knew when you didn’t feel like talking. Stanley stared at the signs gliding by that he could never quite make out until they were almost upon him. “What do you always find to be so cheerful about, Grandpa?” he asked.
Grandpa tapped the gold rim of his glasses. “Must be these rose-colored glasses of mine.”
“Rose-colored? They look like ordinary glasses to me,” said Stanley.
“Don’t you believe it. These glasses help me see through the dark side of things to the rosy-colored good part on the other side.”
“What if there isn’t any good part?”
“There always is,” said Grandpa. “Sometimes you have to look harder and have more faith. That’s where these old specs are a big help.”
Stanley perked up a little. It would be nice to have Grandpa’s kind of faith in God. Stanley didn’t think it came from his glasses, though.
Half an hour later Stanley stood on the steps outside the doctor’s office, his new glasses hooked firmly over his ears. The letters on the billboard across the street were so sharp that they seemed to bounce right out of their background. The colors on the drugstore’s neon sign were dazzling. An airplane flew overhead, and Stanley could see it clearly. “Wow!” he said.
“What did they do, Stanley, slip you a pair of those rose-colored glasses, too?” Grandpa asked.
Stanley grinned. Look for the good part, eh? It would be hard to find anything good about having Mr. Crouch for a neighbor, but he would start by doing what Mr. Crouch had demanded. Stanley would be going the second mile, as Jesus had said.
When he got home, he called Roger. “Can you come now? We have an hour to work before dark.”
Roger was there in five minutes. Stanley waited for him to start laughing about the glasses, but he only said, “They aren’t so bad.”
Then off they marched, like two soldiers going into battle.
Mrs. Crouch answered the doorbell. “My husband isn’t home yet, but I’ll show you what he wants you to do.”
The yard was a mess. There were gaping holes under the fence with rocks and sticks and dirt scattered on both sides. They were to pick up the debris, rake the yard, and carry any trash to the front. “We’ll never finish by dark,” Roger moaned. “And we can’t come tomorrow morning.”
Stanley just set to work. A few minutes later he stopped. When he pulled his glasses down over his nose, he saw only a dark blob moving near the Joneses’ fence, but when he pushed them up again, he saw a dark, scruffy-looking dog, nose to the ground, feet flying, and dirt spraying out behind.
“The Joneses’ dog sure can dig, can’t he?” said Stanley.
“Rufus!” Mrs. Jones came running out. “Rufus, you bad dog! Come here!” Rufus stopped and hung his head and scooted apprehensively up to Mrs. Jones, the tip of his tail barely wagging.
“Shame on you! Look at that mess!” She saw Stanley and Roger. “Hello. You earning some spending money?”
“Not exactly. We’re sort of paying Mr. Crouch for these holes in his yard,” Roger explained.
Mrs. Jones walked closer. “You made those holes?”
“Uh—we’re not sure. But we were digging back there by our fort, so …”
Mrs. Jones looked at the holes. She looked at the scattered dirt by her own fence. She looked at Rufus. Rufus wagged his tail.
“Don’t smile at me, you bad dog,” said Mrs. Jones. Then she laughed. “You boys didn’t make those holes.”
Mr. Crouch came into the yard. “Looks like you have a lot of work to do yet,” he said to the boys. “You’ll have to finish up in the morning.”
Mrs. Jones spoke up. “No, Mr. Crouch. These boys didn’t dig up your yard.” She pointed to Rufus. “There’s the guilty one.”
Mr. Crouch looked at Rufus. “Well, Mrs. Jones, am I to suppose that that animal is going to repair my lawn?”
Mrs. Jones’s laugh was so jolly that even Mr. Crouch smiled. “This dog is going to be tied up for a while. I’ll send my son over to clean up your yard for you.”
“That was pretty nice of Mr. Grouch—I mean, Mr. Crouch,” said Roger as they walked home. “Besides apologizing, he gave us each a dollar for raking his yard, and we didn’t even finish.”
But Stanley wasn’t listening. He was looking at the sky over the garage roof. It was bathed in a rosy glow. “Wow!” he breathed. “Grandpa was right. Rose-colored glasses!”
“What’s the matter with you? You don’t have rose-colored glasses. You’re looking at the sunset.”
Stanley laughed sheepishly. He pulled his glasses down and peered over them. The rosy color was still there, only duller, the way he had seen sunsets all his life until then.
It hadn’t been such a bad day after all. Even if they didn’t win the tournament tomorrow, they’d make a good try for it. And say! If he really got busy and searched, maybe his new rose-colored glasses would help him find his library book!

Before leaving for the England Manchester Mission, it became evident just how much Jolyon’s new attitude toward life had affected him. Not only did he take part in, and win, several national paraplegic sporting events, but his social life also improved.

“We had a stake fireside on dating standards,” Jo says. “And the final challenge was a competition to get youth mixing. We had to see who could have the most dates (same partner allowed no more than five times) in six months. The prize would be a trip to London for a meal and a show.”

Despite the fact that Jo was in the hospital for one of those months, and his mission departure was a month before the competition finished, he still came out winner. His total—38 dates in four months. Now he has a two-year wait for the prize.

Eliza wiped her brow as she began the evening meal. It seemed only yesterday that she had been in the cool, green Sussex countryside of England, among her beloved family and friends. Her husband, Edward, had owned a large fishing boat. Life had been pleasant and secure. Eliza smiled as she fixed dinner a short distance from the railway tracks. She thought back on the day the missionaries had taught her family the restored gospel. Accepting the gospel truths had added the missing spiritual knowledge their lives had lacked.
With Eliza’s conversion came an intense desire to join the Saints in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. Whenever she had a farthing or two after meeting household expenses, she put them into her “emigration fund” and dreamed of the day they would sail to America.
Her reflections were interrupted as little Keziah and Keturah called to her to share their discovery of a pretty pebble. Her daughters, aged four and two, were truly a delight to her. Their simple joys at seeing gophers, sunflowers, and buffalo as they crossed the United States made their trip bearable. Still, Eliza worried about their future.
If not for the gospel, the future would have been very bleak the day a violent storm had sunk Edward’s boat, even though it had been secured to the dock. With the irreplaceable loss, Edward had carefully weighed their alternatives and decided to go to America. Eliza remembered how her heart had leaped at the prospect of a home where their children could grow up within the shadows of the temple that was being built.
Friends in England had scoffed at their “foolishness”. So what if they had run into a bit of bad luck. That was no reason to abandon their home and livelihood and head off to America. Didn’t they care about their children’s future? Why, Edward, Jr. was only six weeks old. Surely he would never survive such a journey! Besides, they had no money except the little that Eliza had managed to save.
But Edward and Eliza were determined. By selling their household goods, they raised enough money to travel from Sussex to Liverpool and to partially secure passage to New York aboard the Hudson. To help pay the rest of their passage, Edward worked on the ship as a cook.
Eliza’s thoughts again returned to the present as the sun began to set. She called her daughters and husband to eat the meager meal of ash cakes, jerky, and dried fruit.
Upon arriving in New York, she had written to their families in England that she and Edward and the children were all well and that the six-week crossing of the Atlantic had been uneventful, in calm weather, and with no awful sickness.
Indeed, the real challenges had begun after they’d arrived in New York. In order to get to the Missouri River, where they would be outfitted with a small wagon, they had to ride the train in open cattle cars because all other kinds of cars were being used in the Civil War. At times there was barely standing room in the cattle cars! Some passengers sat in the doorways, their legs dangling precariously over the edge. The pungent odors of so many people traveling in such crowded conditions, mixed with the stench the cattle had left behind, made the journey very unpleasant.
Not only were the cattle cars crowded and uncomfortable, but also dangers abounded. Once, sparks from the wood-burning engine flew wildly about and set some of the passengers’ clothing on fire. Fortunately the flames were quickly smothered by nearby travelers.
Times like this evening, when the train stopped for a while, were a blessing—families could eat together away from the noisy crowds and the heat and smell of the cattle cars. Keturah and Keziah especially enjoyed running and stretching their legs, breathing fresh air, and not worrying about soot or sparks from the engine. Even baby Edward cooed and smiled when Eliza placed him on a blanket in the cool shade of a bush before preparing dinner.
The call of “All aboard!” interrupted their meal. Hastily the family gathered their few belongings, and Eliza told Keziah and Keturah to take their father’s hands.
Turning to pick up baby Edward, Eliza’s heart leaped into her throat. Her precious babe was not where she had laid him just an hour earlier! Keziah and Keturah said that they hadn’t moved their baby brother while playing. Frantically the family began to search the nearby bushes. While she searched, Eliza fervently prayed for Heavenly Father’s help in finding her son.
“All aboard!” sounded in Eliza’s ears again. The train was about to leave!
Suddenly a flash of lightning lit the sky, and she saw where her sleeping son lay. Scooping him up, she gratefully thanked Heavenly Father for His loving and watchful care.
It didn’t matter to Eliza that she had sacrificed much for the gospel, or that she would ride many more miles in cattle cars before walking west alongside a wagon for hundreds of miles more. She was just grateful for the gospel and the knowledge it gave her of a loving Heavenly Father Who was watching over her and her family.

Every Sunday Jonah wanted to be reverent in church, but sometimes it was hard to remember.
One Sunday, Sister Milner was leading sharing time. “Jonah, you can choose one picture to put on the board,” she said.
Jonah ran to the front before he remembered that he should walk in the church building.
Another Sunday, Stella had trouble remembering her scripture. “As I have loved you … ,” she said.
“Love one another!” Jonah called out before she could finish.
Sometimes Sam and Miguel would start acting silly with Jonah. Sister Fox would take Jonah to sit with Mom in Relief Society.
Jonah wanted to be in Primary. He liked his friends, the stories, and his teachers. But sometimes he still forgot to be reverent.
One day after church Mom said, “Jonah, it’s important for you to be reverent at church. What do you think you could do to remember?”
Jonah shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to remember.”
“I know it can be hard,” Mom said. “Why don’t you think about it?”
That week Mom brought home a new church shirt for Jonah. “You’re growing up so fast,” she said. “Your old shirt is already too small.”
Jonah tried on the new shirt and buttoned all the buttons. He looked in the mirror. “Dad wears shirts like this,” he thought. “And Dad is always reverent in church.” Jonah smiled. “Maybe this can help me remember to be reverent,” he thought.
On Sunday, Jonah put on his new shirt. He buttoned the buttons and tucked the tails in neatly.
“You look like a missionary,” Dad said.
“The missionaries are reverent in church,” Jonah thought.
While he waited for Primary to start, Jonah sat quietly. He looked down at the buttoned cuffs of his new reverent shirt.
“That’s a nice shirt, Jonah,” Sister Milner whispered.
“It’s my reverent shirt,” Jonah whispered back.
Jonah sang the opening song in a strong, good way. He listened while Kim tried to give her first talk, even when she didn’t say anything for a long time. Sister Fox smiled at Jonah, and Jonah smiled back.
During sharing time, Miguel said something silly. Jonah stayed reverent. Then Sam poked Jonah. Jonah poked Sam and Sam poked back, but then Jonah felt his reverent shirt and remembered to sit quietly.
Pretty soon Jonah’s friends stayed reverent too. Jonah felt good, and Sister Fox let them go to class first.
“How was Primary today?” Mom asked after class.
“Can you please wash and iron my new reverent shirt for next Sunday?” Jonah asked. “I had a great time in Primary, and everyone else did too.”

After graduating with honors from high school, Bien studied political science at the Christian College of the Philippines. “We were talking in class about earthquakes,” Bien remembers, “laughing about getting caught in one.” Suddenly, the whole classroom swayed. It was an earthquake.

Terrified, everyone scrambled to escape. The building was dancing madly. Just as Bien was about to dash to safety through an open door, he was pinned by an avalanche of concrete.

“A broken chair jabbed at my stomach, one of my legs was in a half-kneeling posture, and I was face-down,” he remembers. His fractured right arm bled profusely under a block of collapsed flooring. Yet, incredibly, a huge chunk of fallen concrete had barely missed his head. “Classmates were crying for help, but I couldn’t budge,” Bien recalls. One by one they died, including three lying on Bien. The quake struck in late afternoon, and by evening it was pitch dark. Everything was silent.

“I cried,” Bien admits. But as he wept, a Primary song crossed his mind. He started singing “I Am a Child of God.” As each word pierced the silence, a feeling of peace came, a feeling that he was no longer alone. “I prayed, saying, ‘Father, if I still need to live, then please let me live.’” As he prayed, Bien remembered the Savior. “He suffered a lot more than I did,” Bien realized. The cave-in became a tremendous spiritual experience.

As the sun rose the following morning, so did Bien’s hopes. Rescue workers pried him from the rubble and carried him to safety. His relieved family was notified. Bien was rushed to a hospital. Doctors immediately amputated his right arm. “I woke up, looked at my right side and cried out, ‘What’s happening here?’ I thought I was dreaming.” Shock turned to sorrow. “I felt so lonely because I might not be able to do what I used to do.”

After three bedridden months, Bien went home. Nearly all of his 50 classmates had perished. It seemed the same thing happened to Bien’s will to live. How could he, a right-handed person, manage with just his left arm?

While tutoring his nephews one day, Bien felt prompted to practice writing the alphabet. At first it was pure frustration. “My mind knew the shapes, but my hand had difficulty following.” However, practice makes perfect; less than a year after that fateful day, Bien was not only writing with ease, but was also oil painting again. And he resumed college.

After a year, he felt it was time to make use of his newfound strength and serve a mission. His family was aghast. “We’d really worry about you,” his mother protested.

“I know this is what the Lord wants,” Bien reassured her.

Months later, as a missionary, Bien received a family letter. “Don’t worry about us,” they wrote. “We’re boasting about you already.”

Bien’s personality affects just about everybody. At the Manila Missionary Training Center he was an inspiration, and his dedication has touched the Santa Maria Branch. But Bien admits there are still some challenges, like forgoing basketball and missing service projects like harvesting rice.

One of Bien’s favorite scriptures says God “will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will … also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13). It’s a scripture that helps Bien see everything as a learning experience.

Mission life, he says, “is like a school where I learn much, not only about the gospel but also about myself.” He hastens to add that it was in the rubble of another school where he learned to trust Heavenly Father.

Ask Bien to sum up his blessings, and he’ll share his motto: “I asked God for health that I might do great things, and I was given an infirmity that I might do greater things.”

Then he’ll smile and extend his friendship to you—with a warm, left-handed handshake.

Recently an attractive young woman came to my office with her parents. She came from a good family, but she had lost her way and now was in serious difficulty. She was unmarried and expecting a child and wondered what she should do. My heart went out to her. I think she loved the Lord. She had forgotten that those who love the Lord keep in touch with him and keep his commandments. She had control of her emotions until I asked her if she said her prayers. Then she began to cry.
How important it is that we communicate daily, and more often if necessary, with our Heavenly Father. He always loves us whether we are good or bad. It takes initiative on our part, however, if he is to bless us.

Cody Carr knew when he was only four that he wanted to be an astronaut. He had a little bank shaped like a spaceship that he put his tithing money in, and each time he dropped in a penny, a light would go on as if the rockets were firing. As he grew older, his school friends kidded him about being a spaceman, but Cody was serious. Those were the days of the birth of the manned space program, and he listened to every minute of every flight.
Naturally, his twin interest was astronomy. He received a telescope for Christmas and began getting up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning to look at the stars. “The night sky always fascinated me,” he said. “The whole universe is God’s creation, but we don’t know very much about it. I have often thought that if there were another frontier left, I’d be out exploring it. But the only one left is outer space, and there’s only one way to get there—by becoming an astronaut.”
In school, Cody took all the science and electronics classes he could. “I didn’t think electronics had much to do with space exploration, but dad suggested it, and I loved it!” He became a finalist in a statewide electronics competition.
Part of Cody’s goal to become an astronaut included a goal to become an Air Force Academy cadet. As he progressed through high school, he counseled with his father and mother and prayed about each step along the way. He had three great goals in life.
The first was to keep all the commandments of his Father in Heaven. The second was to serve a full-time mission. “All my life we have talked about a mission and the things pertaining to a mission. It was never ‘if you go on a mission’ but always ‘when you go.’” The third great goal was temple marriage.
“Every night before we went to sleep, mom or dad would come around to our beds and ask each of us in turn, ‘What do you want out of life? What do you want to do? What do you want to be?’ Those goal-setting sessions really helped me keep my head on straight. Every night I said those three things and sometimes others—like the astronaut plans—but always those three. We would talk about what I needed to do to achieve those goals, and then we would talk about any problems or questions I had.”
But two of Cody’s goals conflicted with each other. In order to go on a mission, he would have to resign from the academy after his first year—there was no such thing as a leave of absence for a mission. If he left, he was probably out of the program. To get back in, he would have to be renominated, and the mere fact of his resignation might work against him. What were the odds?
The preparations continued. Cody ran four or five miles each night to condition himself. As a junior, he spent one whole day taking college entrance exams, including the ACT (American College Test), SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test), an Air Force engineering aptitude examination, and a physical fitness test. He was also interviewed and appraised for leadership potential.
The first year at the academy wasn’t spent just waiting for a mission call. “It was hard,” he remembers. “After the first four months I started asking, ‘Is this what I want to do in life?’ But then I would think back to the confirmations I had received through the Holy Ghost. I knew I was doing things, as President Kimball says, in their proper season and order, and I prayed, and the plan was reconfirmed. I knew I was right where I should be, and that really helped me.”
As the first year drew to a close, Cody had to reaffirm in his own mind his decision to go on a mission. To survive the toughest year in the academy and then give it all up took a lot of courage. And it might also mean abandoning his lifelong dream of becoming an astronaut. “But I had already made the decision to resign eight years earlier. I had no doubt what I was going to do even though I agonized over it.”
In March, during spring break, Cody had his mission interviews with his bishop and stake president. At the end of the summer, following SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape), he resigned. As with any cadet who asks to leave the academy, he was sent to interviews with several different counselors and officers.
“All of them would grill me at first,” Cody said, “but as soon as I told them my reasons for resigning, their attitude changed. They all expressed their respect for the LDS people they knew, and when I told them I was going to try to come back, which was something of a shock in itself, they said fine.” His written statement included a full explanation of what a mission is and why he wanted to serve.
The officer who had to sign the paper as a witness commented, “I’ve never read anything like that before in my life. Is that really what you believe?”
“I sure do,” Cody replied.
“A lot of them didn’t understand,” Cody explains, “but they accepted. They were feeling something they’d rarely felt before.”
In May Cody received his call to the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He entered the MTC in August. Concentrating on studies was second nature, and obedience was ingrained. “I wanted to use my time wisely because I knew I was paying a price for my mission,” he said.
At first the thought of not being readmitted hung over him, but the time finally came when he stopped worrying and left it in the hands of the Lord. Besides, missionary work presented its own challenges. “For the first six or seven months, I found myself going through the motions. I knew the Church was true and that the work was important, but I didn’t love it as I should. My academy experience came to my aid. I was used to doing difficult things. I worked hard and prayed every day that the work would become a joy instead of a burden. In the course of about a week, the whole thing turned around. Suddenly I was happier; I was working out of desire, not just duty. I knew my mission would be worth it even if I never got accepted back into the academy.”
Then a letter from home told Cody that Ted Parsons, another cadet who had resigned from the academy to serve a mission, had been readmitted! Maybe there was a chance after all!
Cody took the necessary exams at a U.S. military installation. “My mission president gave me a blessing. He told me I had served an honorable mission and that the Lord would help me accomplish what I needed to.”
Shortly after the blessing, Cody had a head-on bicycle collision, shattering his nose on the handlebar. “Qualifications at the academy are stringent. With an impact like that you would normally lose pilot qualification. If I had hit my eye or forehead or even my teeth, it would probably have disqualified me.” Cody is convinced he was protected.
When the test results arrived, they showed a score higher than the first time Cody applied for admission, which was advantageous because the competition was tougher.
“I had done everything I could. I made sure my end of things was in order. I wasn’t expecting the Lord to meet me more than halfway. Then I left it up to him,” Cody said.
Cody was renominated by his senator. His faith had paid off. Two weeks after returning from Switzerland and two years after leaving Colorado Springs, Cody Carr entered the academy once more. His dream of being an astronaut was fully intact, along with his other goals of keeping the commandments, marrying in the temple, and being a lifelong missionary.

Recently in South America, a lady missionary, who impressed me greatly, told me the story of her conversion to the LDS Church and her missionary call. Before coming on her mission she was a nurse. Her roommate was a Mormon girl. The nurse liked the girl’s habits, was very pleased with her character and personality, and so she decided to study the LDS religion. The Mormon girl got two missionaries to teach the nurse the gospel.

When the nurse’s parents heard that she was favorably inclined toward the Mormon religion, they thoroughly opposed her actions. They forbade her to join the Church, telling her that if she did she would be disinherited.

The Holy Ghost had borne witness to her so strongly that the Church of Jesus Christ was the true church that she asked the missionaries to baptize her even against the wishes of her parents, whom she loved dearly. It grieved her when her father and mother told her not to return home.

After joining the Church, she had a very strong desire to go on a mission and so she decided to work and save the money. It took her three or four years’ time to save approximately $3,000. She was called to labor in South America, where she is doing an outstanding job in taking the gospel of Jesus Christ to the people of that land. When she returns home, she hopes to regain the love and favor of her parents.

Jonathan had his own motivations when he took lessons from the Heaps. “At first I wasn’t really keen on the idea,” he says. “Ever since I was young, I wanted to play the piano, but Marvin was always a better piano player than me. So when I was younger, I kind of gave up.”
Marvin and Jonathan are best friends, so they have a healthy rivalry in a lot of the things they do. When Marvin saw that Jonathan wasn’t too excited about taking lessons from Elder and Sister Heap, Marvin challenged him to do better. “I said, ‘Let’s see if you can catch up to me. I want to see how good you can get and how much you can practice.’”
Jonathan responded to Marvin’s challenge. “I realized I should just give it a try, and after the first time I tried, everything turned out OK. I got into the habit of playing, and I started to get good at the piano. And now I can sight-read music pretty well.”
Although Marvin’s challenge got him going, Jonathan says the real reason he loves to play has nothing to do with competition. “We feel the Spirit when playing these songs,” he explains. “I want to encourage others to learn how to play the piano, to bring music into everyone’s life, and to make people happy so they can feel joy and comfort in their souls.”

“The area conference was truly wonderful,” a third letter said, “a wonderful experience to all the Filipino Mormons here. I cried when the President first entered the hall and the congregation started to sing ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.’
“We live not far from Manila. We just planned traveling home every night after the conference. Well, last Monday the conference ended at almost 10:00 p.m. We were really flying to reach home before the curfew bell at 12:00. We were still having our journey when our back tire got flat, so we had to stop. Lucky we stopped, because a Filipino constabulary told us that we’re not supposed to travel any more tonight. So we stayed in the gasoline station until 4:00 a.m. till the curfew was off. We went back to Manila again the following day for the balance of the conference.”

For generations it has inspired those who read it. Herbert Schreiter had read his German translation of the Book of Mormon. In it he read:
“When ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
Herbert Schreiter tested the promise and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In 1946, released as a prisoner of war, Herbert returned to his wife and three little daughters in Leipzig, Germany. Soon thereafter, he went as a missionary to Bernburg, Germany. Alone, without a companion, he sat cold and hungry in a room, wondering how he should begin.
He thought of what he had to offer the war-devastated people. He printed by hand a placard which read, “Will there be a further life after death?” and posted it on a wall.
About that same time, a family from a small village in Poland came to Bernburg.
Manfred Schütze was four years old. His father had been killed in the war. His mother, with his grandparents, and his mother’s sister, also a widow, and her two little girls, were forced to evacuate their village with only 30 minutes’ notice. They grabbed what they could and headed west. Manfred and his mother pulled and pushed a small cart. At times, the ailing grandfather rode in the cart. One Polish officer looked at the pathetic little Manfred and began to weep.
At the border, soldiers ransacked their belongings and threw their bedding into the river. Manfred and his mother were then separated from the family. His mother wondered if they might have gone to Bernburg, where her grandmother was born, perhaps to relatives there. After weeks of unbelievable suffering, they arrived in Bernburg and found the family.
The seven of them lived together in one small room. But their troubles were not over. The mother of the two little girls died. The grieving grandmother cried out for a preacher, and asked, “Will I see my family again?”
The preacher answered, “My dear lady, there is no such thing as the Resurrection. They who are dead are dead!”
They wrapped the body in a paper bag for burial.
On the way from the grave, the grandfather talked of taking their own lives, as many others had done. Just then they saw the placard that Elder Schreiter had posted on the building—“Is there further life after death?”—with an invitation from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a meeting, they learned of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.
They joined the Church. Soon their lives changed. The grandfather found work as a baker and could provide bread for his family and also for Elder Schreiter, who had given them “the bread of life.”
Then help came from the Church in the United States. Manfred grew up eating grain out of little sacks with a picture of a beehive on them and peaches from California. He wore clothes from the welfare supplies of the Church.
Manfred Schütze is now a member of the Third Quorum of Seventy and supervises our seminaries in Eastern Europe. His mother, now 88, still attends the temple at Freiberg where Herbert Schreiter once served as a counselor to the president.

While Peter was lying in the hospital as a 19-year-old trying to figure out his future, he asked himself, “What one thing would I have to accomplish that would mean I had overcome my problems?” He was influenced by some books on selling that his friend had read to him before his bandages were removed from his eyes. He decided that if he could be a successful life insurance sales manager that would mean (1) he was able to develop a good relationship with people individually, (2) he would have gained an education, and (3) he would have proven his credibility and ability in one area.
With this goal in mind, Peter began researching insurance companies. He contacted 59 companies and was not offered a single job. He finally landed a position as a planning manager for an insurance company. He had his toe in the door. Through persistence, hard work, and going to school at the same time, Peter began learning the business.
By the time Peter and Marj were married, he had paid off all his debts to doctors and hospitals, but he was starting married life with no assets except his confidence and attitude. In 10 years he has built all that he and his family have from scratch, by determination and discipline. From an accident that could have been devastating to any future accomplishment, Peter Jeppson struggled against adversity to become a successful businessman, church leader, husband, and father. He is now the owner of his own insurance and investment agency, has served on the General Board of the Young Men, and has four children, two daughters and two sons.

When my son Daniel was six years old, he saw that I was worried because I had to attend a stake conference. I was unsure about what to teach the Saints. He came up to me and said, “Daddy, that’s really easy.” That’s how children see everything.
“Let’s see, Son,” I told him. “Since it’s easy, tell me what I can talk to them about.”
“Talk to them about prayer,” he told me.
“That’s a good subject,” I told him, “but they’ve heard a lot of talk about prayer; what could I tell them that’s new?”
“That’s easy too, Daddy. First tell them, ‘Before you start to talk to Heavenly Father, think about the things you want to tell Him.’”
“That sounds like a magnificent idea,” I replied. “And then?”
“Well, once you’ve thought of it, tell it to Him! When you finish, wait and see if He has something to tell you.”
So, through our prayers, the Spirit speaks to our spirit and testifies to us of the reality of our Savior.

Illustration by Allen Garns
I had an assignment in my physics class to build a CO2 (carbon dioxide)-powered race car. We started with a block of wood, and with careful planning, instruction, and eventual approval from our teacher, we were able to construct our cars.
On day one of construction, I was kind of nervous. I had never tried to carve anything out of wood and had never seen or even heard of the big machines we were supposed to use. After the teacher helped me for the first little bit, I gained the confidence to move forward by myself, and I was surprised at how simple, easy, and fun the machines were to use. After cutting out the main design and drilling the holes for the axle, I began sanding. I helped a few others sand their cars too.
I spent the next two class periods painting my car. I don’t have the best painting or art skills, but I did the best I could. It took me a long time, and I made sure that each stroke was perfect and that the color flow from lighter to darker was smooth and made sense. Some of my friends complimented me on the design when I was finished.
Race day caught me by surprise, as I still had not put in the axles and wheels, and I had close to zero time to finish everything I needed to do before the race. In a panic, I realized that the axle would not fit into the hole I drilled on the first day because the paint covered it. I quickly drilled new holes, but my aim was just slightly askew, making the axles wonky and unbalanced. The back wheels didn’t spin freely, and one of the front wheels didn’t even touch the racing surface. I replaced that wheel with a larger one to compensate. It looked ridiculous.
I made the final adjustments to my car while watching everybody else in the class race their creations. Some cars flew super fast, sometimes even crash-landing into the box designated as the finish line and losing wheels. For the most part, everyone’s car made it to the finish.
Then it came time for me to race, and I knew my car was going to have trouble. When the button was pressed and the car launched, it pathetically lost its big wheel and stopped about 10 feet from where it started. I glanced at it with a cringe of disappointment. I thought to myself, “Just one mistake messed it up. If it weren’t for that one mistake, it probably would have reached the finish line.”
It was an utter flop. I was anguished by my lack of success.
But toward the end of class I realized something that changed everything.
In spite of what had happened, I had actually made that car—it was still my own work. I had had fun learning how to use those machines, sanding, and painting. I had done the work and learned from my mistakes, and that was what really mattered.
I may not have had the best woodworking or painting skills. I might not have even gotten an A on the project, but I walked happily down the hallway anyway, knowing that I have my own abilities and inabilities, and that I can learn. I am grateful for that knowledge. Just as long as I keep learning and trying, I will always have an A+ in the class of life, where Heavenly Father is the teacher and provider. I’m so grateful for the knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father who knows us and has blessed each of us with diverse traits and the ability to learn.