Gospel Story Finder

Of all her designs, her most important project came as an assignment from President David O. McKay and Sister Belle S. Spafford, the Relief Society General President. They asked Rose Marie to help design temple clothing.
So instead of designing swimsuits in a large factory, Rose Marie set up her sewing machine in her own home. She spent hours cutting patterns and sewing white fabric. “This clothing is beautiful and sacred and precious,” she said. “Designing it is the most important calling of my life.”

Anyone who has had the experience of opening a mission call knows what a thrilling and spiritual experience it can be. When Joel Hiller of Taylorsville, Utah, saw the white call packet his mother had placed on the kitchen table, his heart jumped, and he could hardly wait until his family and two close friends were able to join him at his home a few hours later to open it.

After what seemed like the longest three hours of Joel’s life, major excitement erupted as everyone gathered together, talking, laughing, and speculating. But a spiritual calm suddenly filled the room as Joel opened the envelope and began to read aloud the words of the prophet: “Dear Elder Hiller, you are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Joel describes what he experienced as he continued reading the letter, “I felt honored to be called, and the Spirit bore an immediate witness that this was the right thing and the right mission for me. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

A couple of months into my third season of collegiate football, during a routine five-man sled drill, my life’s plan started to unravel. As I hit the blocking dummy, I felt something snap in my neck, and a sharp pain shot down my right shoulder. I stood up and tried to move my arm but realized I had no strength.
I did not know it at the time, but in that instant all my plans and dreams would be altered, and my future would change dramatically. I had dedicated years of my life to football, but as I walked off the practice field that day, that would be the end of it. I would never put on my pads, cleats, and helmet and go out onto the football field again.
After visits with local doctors, I was referred to a neurosurgeon, who explained that I had injured the main nerves coming out of my spinal column going to my right arm. He also said there would be no football for at least a year, and that if I injured the nerves again I may lose the use of my right arm.
With this crushing news, it seemed like my world began to crumble in other areas. My grades rapidly began to go south, and I neither had interest nor ambition to turn them around. I found myself, day after day, lugging my arm in a sling on the sidelines as I watched the guys practice. I finally decided to spend time in the library instead of the football field but found it difficult to concentrate.
The academic quarter seemed to drag on forever, and one frigid, dark November afternoon, I found myself sitting in despair in the old amphitheater on campus. As I sat all alone, I felt terribly abandoned and depressed. I gazed out into the valley as the cold wind whipped wisps of leaves around my feet. Nothing was going right, and my life seemed to have little meaning or happiness. My athletic dreams and goals had crumbled, my grades were poor, I felt I had few friends at school, and I was far away from my family.
Why me? I thought. Why did this have to happen when things seemed to be going so well? What did I have to look forward to now? As I pondered these questions, I found little solace. The clouds, the cold, and my state of mind seemed to be wrapping over me in darkness as I descended into self-pity.
As I sat, reaching for anything to lighten my mind, a thought came that prayer could bring a little relief. I halfheartedly offered up a few words in a weak plea but was hesitant, as I mistakenly felt the Lord would not want to listen to me. During the past year I had become increasingly distracted by the excitement and prestige of athletics, and my church activity had become sporadic at best. My face cradled in my hands, I tried to hold some composure from my grief. I felt so alone.
After some time, I felt, ever so softly, a warm pressure on the back of my head and neck. I felt immediate relief from my despair and dared not lift my head lest the feeling would leave me. I only knew that whatever this feeling was, I wanted it to continue. After weeks of misery, I felt complete and total relief. What was this? Tears began to fall freely down my cheeks, and soon an undeniable impression came into my mind that I knew the Lord was there for me and it was time for me to go on a mission.
I had turned down my home bishop’s invitation to go on a mission 10 months earlier, explaining that my plan was to pursue my football scholarship for another two years. I told him I might think about a mission afterward. I was confident, if not proud, of my plan and was taken aback when he did not share in my enthusiasm and confidence.
I sat there on the cold bench for a while, contemplating what had just happened to me. Going on a mission had been the furthest thing from my mind that afternoon. Serving a mission right now had definitely not been in my plan. But a mission was the only thing on my mind now. I had been given a personal revelation. I could not deny it, and my heart was filled with light and happiness. Serving the Lord was now what mattered most in my life. My mission and future could again be bright and happy. I could not restrain myself as I stood up, crying out as I flung up my good arm in exuberance.
The next few weeks went by quickly, and I gained new enthusiasm for life. I made efforts in correcting my grades in order to finish out the quarter. When it was over, I closed this chapter of my life, leaving my athletic plans and dreams behind. I had no regrets or remorse over my decision. Instead, I felt excited about preparing for a mission and setting my course for a bright future. Cheers from the crowd in a football game were pale compared to the cheers I felt in my heart by going on a mission.
As I look back on this memory, I can see the importance of making the right choices at the right times. Sometimes we feel we have a solid and logical plan for ourselves. But if it’s not in accordance with gospel principles and the whisperings of the Holy Ghost, our plan seldom evolves into true happiness and joy. Nor can our own plan replicate the blessings we receive by living the gospel in faith, with a determination to live the commandments. For young men in particular, the opportunity to serve as a missionary is the right plan. I believe there is nothing that provides more growth than unselfishly serving the Lord and His children. Other self-generated plans, though appealing, will ever fall short in comparison.
This experience was sacred to me, and the chance to redesign my own plan with the Lord’s help has significantly changed what I am today. I will ever be grateful to the Lord for the experience on that cold November day that changed my life and helped me understand the Lord’s plan for my life.

I began investigating the Church as a teenager, but I stopped attending the Sunday meetings because I felt excluded by many of the youth. Some time later, one of those youth invited me to a Church activity. I accepted and liked the activities because they were things I enjoy doing: acting, playing basketball, and running.
As I continued to attend activities, I got to know the youth and realized that many of them went to my school. With time I was able to develop friendships with young men and young women who had the same standards that I live by. I am grateful that someone invited me to a Church activity, and I am grateful that I accepted.

Let me share briefly one of the great blessings of my life, which involved sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ with a good friend and colleague, John Chen, shortly after Margaret and I returned from presiding over the England London Mission. At that time, John and I were working together on a business school project in China.

As we were traveling and meeting with people in China, we had an open Saturday in Beijing, and John agreed to take me to the Great Wall of China. As I was leaving the hotel, I had the distinct impression that I should take with me my small red travel copy of the Book of Mormon and find an opportunity to share a gospel message with John. As we rode out to the Great Wall, I began asking John about religious beliefs in China and what he knew of Jesus Christ. I quickly learned that he had no Christian background but that he was concerned with providing his son Kenny, then age 10, a moral framework for life. He thought that religion might perhaps offer that. We had a wonderful discussion of the Savior and His teachings, and I presented John with my travel copy of the Book of Mormon and invited him to read and pray about it.

Upon our return to Boston, I invited John, his wife Wei, and his son Kenny to attend church with us. While everything was new, they enjoyed it enough to join us the following week for a broadcast session of General Conference at our ward building. Within a short time, John and Wei had agreed to meet weekly for a discussion. Because they lived in the same ward as the Boston Mission President, which was not our ward, I set it up so John and his family could have Margaret and me join the missionaries one week and the Mission President and his wife join the missionaries the next week. John was diligent in his efforts to study, discuss, and apply the gospel and within a few months was ready to be baptized. The teaching continued and some months later his wife Wei and his son Kenny were baptized as was his daughter Susan who had been away at university.

A year later, Margaret and I had the wonderful blessing of joining the Chen family at the temple, and I had the opportunity to perform the sealing for them. Let me share the two minute video of John’s testimony found on the Mormon.org website.

[Video]

The blessings of John and his family preparing their hearts to love the Savior and His gospel have only continued. A few years ago, their daughter Susan completed a master’s degree in accounting at BYU–Provo and met her eternal companion, and they were sealed in the Orlando, Florida temple. Six months ago, Kenny was called to serve in Paris, France as a Mandarin-speaking missionary.

What a blessing it has been that John and his family were willing to be taught by the missionaries and the Holy Ghost and to prepare their hearts to love the Lord and His gospel. And like each of us, they have continued to deepen their testimonies by continuing to learn, engage, and improve through their scripture study, prayer, faithful church service, and regular temple attendance.

The older members of the Farr West Third Ward, Plain City Utah Stake, were invited to an evening of formal dining and dancing hosted by the ward’s Young Men and Young Women.
The young people, dressed in their best, picked up their special guests in chauffeur-driven cars. They served dinner, provided a photographer to record the event, and led a sing-along.
The young hosts had earned the money to hold the dinner by sponsoring a spook alley during the week preceding Halloween.

To illustrate the potential results of not using this principle President Gordon B. Hinckley relates the story of Guy de Maupassant, the French writer. He tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecome who came on market day to the village. While walking through the public square, his eye caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. His actions were observed by the village harness maker with whom he had previously had a dispute.

Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecome was arrested on the accusation of the harness maker. He was taken before the mayor, to whom he protested his innocence, showing the piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and laughed at.

The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecome was absolved of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the indignity he had suffered because of a false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. He neglected his farm. Everywhere he went, everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. By day and by night he brooded over it. Obsessed with his grievance, he became desperately ill and died. In the delirium of his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.”

My great-great grandfather’s name is Pinemua Soliai of Nu‘uuli, American Samoa. His father, High Chief Muliufi Soliai, died when he was six years old, and so he was raised by his mother and maternal grandparents in Pago Pago, where they joined the Church in 1893 and did many things to build the Church there. As an adult, he was given the chiefly title Soliai and moved back to his father’s home village of Nu‘uuli in 1926. At the time, a village rule allowed only the London Missionary Society church to operate, which caused some conflict when Papa Soliai invited the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints into his home.

When the villagers found out, they wanted to kill the missionaries. Papa Soliai protected them with his own body, telling the villagers that if they wanted the missionaries, they would have to kill him first. After this intervention and many discussions within the village matai council, the Church was established in Nu‘uuli. It started as a small Sunday school in Papa Soliai’s home consisting mostly of his own family members, and later grew into a branch and then a ward whose first bishop was his grandson, William “Bill” Cravens, who also happens to be my grandfather. Today, Nu‘uuli has three wards.

Let me share an analogy of this principle. My cousin and friend experimented with radio-controlled gliders made of poster board. They are launched into the air with a hundred feet or so of surgical tubing acting as a gentle catapult.

For quite a long time he was frustrated. The best he could do was launch his glider several hundred feet into the air with the tubing and simply steer them to the ground. Yet the hawks and eagles soared a thousand feet above, lifted up by the upwelling of air known as “thermals” which comes from the sun’s heat.

One day he noticed that the glider was a little sluggish turning left. It was a little difficult. The inspiration hit him that it must have been sluggish because the left wing was being lifted! It was in a thermal that could lift his glider! With that key, he eventually learned to fly thermals almost as small as the hawks and eagles could fly, and he could climb faster!

This amazing ability to literally soar with the eagles would never have been possible without the skills he developed by noticing that it was a little hard to turn and not being afraid to turn into it.

Many years ago, I went to a meeting with other doctors in a little town in Mexico. One night, one of the doctors suddenly became very ill.
Many doctors were there. But we didn’t have the equipment we needed to help the man who was sick. The nearest hospital was more than 100 miles (160 km) away. It was night, and no planes could fly. We thought he might die. What could we do?
The sick doctor whispered and asked for a priesthood blessing. I put my hands on his head. I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that the sick doctor would get better. He would live and return safely to his home. I gave him this blessing in the name of the Lord.
The next morning, the doctor was much better. A few days later, he was able to go home. We thanked the Lord for this most remarkable blessing.
The lesson we learned was simple: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). We experienced this ourselves. We knew it was true.

My teachers were heaven-sent. May I mention but a few: our former stake president, Harold B. Lee; President Marion G. Romney; and President J. Reuben Clark.
Brother Romney was a frequent visitor to our stake and region. One evening he taught us the principle of faith by retelling the inspiring account of Elijah and the widow at Zarephath (see 1 Kgs. 17:8–16). He liken her circumstances to those of some widows in our area. As he taught welfare precepts from the handbook and responded to questions, one brother asked him, “Brother Romney, why do you seem to know whatever’s in that handbook?” to which Brother Romney, with that twinkle in his eye and smile upon his lips, responded, “I wrote it!”

In my friend’s office is a nondescript glass jar. Inside the jar are some bits of used chalk. These small shards of chalk aren’t from grade school but were once used by my friend’s grandfather to write his employee number on crates containing fruit he picked with his own hands in the farm fields of California as a migrant worker.

My friend recently told me, “I can still see the withered hands of my grandfather—worn out from years of working the fields—scrawling his employee number in chalk on the sides of those wooden crates.”

When my friend was fourteen years old, his dad unexpectedly invited two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints into their home. “The restored gospel of Jesus Christ deeply resonated with me,” my friend told me. At age fourteen—the same age as the Prophet Joseph Smith when he saw the First Vision—my friend entered the waters of baptism.

His journey of becoming was only beginning. Spiritual mentors came into his life, along with opportunities for service and education. While he was serving a two-year mission in Paraguay, a sister missionary who happened to have attended BYU invited him to consider pursuing his education at BYU after he finished his full-time service as a missionary. Others extended similar invitations.

With very little money but a lot of hope, he traveled to Provo, Utah, with a good bishop who was willing to drive him from California. He studied hard and met Christy Covington in a psychology class. They were eventually sealed in the Salt Lake Temple and together pursued graduate studies in law and public administration.

As a BYU law student, my friend was mentored by former BYU president Kevin J Worthen. My friend then returned to California to serve the communities from where he had come. My friend now works for BYU, and his name is Carl Hernandez. He is currently serving as Brigham Young University’s inaugural vice president of belonging. Carl, please stand and be recognized for all you have given and continue to give to this university.

Carl’s story, like our journeys, is one of becoming.

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.
Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”
“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.
“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.
She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.
She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”
I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.
I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Kayden’s family life has also taught him to serve and care for others. During one tournament, a friend of Kayden’s became really upset about the competition. Kayden was in the middle of a match, though, so he couldn’t stop playing to help his friend. As he saw his friend storm away from the tournament with tears in his eyes, Kayden knew that the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to forfeit his game was to pray. So, during the middle of his chess match, Kayden silently prayed that the friend would find Kayden’s mom. Immediately the friend walked right by her, and she was able to help. By serving and praying for the well-being of his friend during a critical moment, Kayden realized that helping others is the true victory. This has helped him prepare to serve and learn that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).

As soon as I walked into the house, I smelled the sweet, yeasty dough. I charged into the kitchen. “Can I help?” I asked.
Mom was standing at the kitchen table, and there was a huge brown blob of dough in front of her. Her hands and arms were covered with flour, and she was pushing her hands into the dough and rolling it over and pounding it with her fists. She looked up at me and smiled. “Whew!” she said. “I’m worn out, Aaron. Hurry and wash your hands, and you can help me.”
I hung my cap on the bathroom doorknob and hollered to Jarom, “Mom’s making bread.”
Jarom was in the basement, putting together a model race car, but as soon as he heard me yell, he came thundering up the stairs and headed straight for the bathroom. “I thought I smelled something besides glue,” he panted.
A few minutes later we were both in the kitchen, dusting our hands and arms with flour and getting about as much on our shirts and faces.
“All right, Mom, can we punch it now?” I asked. Mom nodded, and Jarom and I doubled up our fists, reared back, and began punching. We pretended we were fighting the Blob from outer space.
“I think you’ve kneaded it enough,” Mom finally said. “Now we need to divide it into eight parts and pat it into loaves. We’re going to add magic to them today.”
“What’s going to be magic about them?” Jarom asked.
“You’ll see.” Mom smiled.
“Does it have magic in it yet?” I asked.
“A little bit,” Mom replied.
Nobody added anything to the dough while we shaped it, or when Jarom and I helped Mom grease the bread pans and drop the little logs of dough into each pan, or when we set them on the kitchen table to raise. Afterward, Jarom and I washed our hands and ran outside to play catch, but every few minutes we crawled up the cherry tree and peeked in the kitchen window to check our loaves of bread. Slowly each loaf began to swell and bulge. Just when it looked like they would pop, Mom put them into the oven. We didn’t see her add anything to them then, either.
The next time Jarom and I came into the house, it was filled with the smell of Mom’s magic bread. It seemed like you could grab a gob of air, spread some butter on it, and eat it. Finally the little clock on the stove jangled, and Mom took the loaves of bread out of the oven and tipped them from their pans onto a clean white dish towel spread on the table.
“Is it magic bread now?” Jarom asked, reaching out to gingerly touch the hot golden loaves of bread.
“Almost.”
“What else do you have to do to them?” I asked, scratching my head. “They look plenty good to me.”
“To make them really magic,” Mom whispered, like she was telling us an important secret, “we have to give them away.”
“Give them away!” Jarom and I gasped. “We don’t want to give them away. We want to eat them.”
“But they’re not magic if we eat them.”
“Then let’s not have magic bread. Let’s just have the regular kind,” Jarom said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We did all the work. We should get to eat the bread.”
Mom took a deep breath. “Don’t you want to give at least some of it away?”
“Maybe one loaf,” Jarom mumbled.
“All right. Take one loaf, and if you can see the magic work, maybe you’ll want to come back and give some more away.”
“How does the magic work?” I asked, getting just a little curious.
“The magic makes people happy. People who are angry or sad or ornery become happy and kind if you give them a loaf of magic bread.”
“Let’s take one to Sister Rogers,” Jarom said. “I like her.”
“But she’s always happy,” I pointed out. “We’d never know if the magic worked.” I grinned. “Now, if we gave a loaf to Brother VanGesen, we’d really find out if it was magic.”
“He’d have to eat the whole batch of bread,” Jarom said. “I wouldn’t waste any of it on him. He’s the meanest man I know. Every time our baseball goes into his yard, he yells at us and tells us he’s going to call the police.”
“Then he’s just the man who needs a loaf of this bread,” Mom said as she grabbed a loaf of warm bread, wrapped it in paper towels, and handed it to me.
“You mean I have to take it?” I cried.
Mom thought for a moment, then wrapped another loaf and handed it to Jarom. “You’re right. Each of you should take one.”
“But, Mom,” we protested.
“Run along,” she said, pretending to be stern. “Go see if the magic works.”
Jarom and I left the house, each carrying a loaf of bread. I dragged my feet, hoping that we’d never get to Brother VanGesen’s. But pretty soon we saw his house. He was on his hands and knees, pruning and digging around the rosebushes in his front yard.
When we got to Brother VanGesen’s front walk, I gulped, blinked twice, licked my lips, then started creeping up the walk. Maybe he wouldn’t see us, and we could just set the bread on one of his lawn chairs and run home.
But when we were a few feet from him, he turned around to get his pruning shears and saw us. “Well, what are you boys doing here?” he growled. “I hope you didn’t walk across my petunias.”
“No, sir, we didn’t,” I said. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. “We brought you some fresh bread,” I blurted, thrusting my loaf at him.
Suddenly the frown on Brother VanGesen’s lips disappeared. A smile chased it right off his face! He pulled his gloves off and reached for both loaves. “They’re still warm!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah,” I replied. “We just finished baking them.”
“You helped your mom make them?” he asked.
We nodded.
“And you wanted to give them to me?”
We nodded again. We could tell that he was surprised. And it was easy to see that he was happy. It looked like he might even do a little dance.
“It’s best if you eat it while it’s still warm,” Jarom explained. He looked at the ground. “That’s why we brought them now.”
“Well, thank you.” He beamed, then looked around, set the bread on the lawn chair, ran over to his porch, and came back with a baseball. “I found this in the bushes.” He smiled. “I don’t know whose it is, but I’ll bet that you boys do.” He handed the ball to me. “Say,” he added, “why don’t you pick a couple of roses for your mother.”
As soon as we had each picked a rose and were out of Brother VanGesen’s yard, I turned to Jarom and whispered, “That is magic bread. I’ve never seen anything like it. Did you see him smile? I didn’t even think he knew how. And he was nice too!”
“Do you suppose that magic bread will work on anybody?” Jarom asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I sure want to find out! Let’s try some on Sister Willis. All she does is sit on her porch and growl at the dogs that cut across her lawn.”
“And what about that man who just moved into the Henderson place. I’d like to see him smile.”
Soon we were galloping up our front steps, yelling, “Mom, it works! It works! We want to give away more magic bread.”
Mom was sitting at the table, waiting for us. “Don’t you want the rest for yourselves?”
We shook our heads. “We need to help our neighborhood. There are too many grumpy people in it.”
Mom got a big paper sack and filled it with the rest of the loaves of magic bread wrapped in paper towels.
We gave a loaf to Sister Willis, and she was just as happy as Brother VanGesen had been. When we took a loaf to the man in the Henderson place, he smiled and gave us each a little box of raisins. We hurried all over the neighborhood, giving magic bread away. Jarom and I had never been so excited and happy in our whole lives! The magic had rubbed off on us too!
Soon there was only one loaf left. We’d already given loaves to all the real sourpusses, so we were thinking about eating it ourselves. But just before we reached home, Barney Stubbs came by, carrying a baseball bat over his shoulder.
“Oh, no!” Jarom whispered. “Should we run?”
Barney was always pushing around anyone littler than him, including Jarom and me. “Maybe we could give him the magic bread,” I muttered.
“Maybe we could give him a punch in the nose,” Jarom countered. “Together, we’d have a chance.”
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Barney yelled at us when he was still a little way off. “And what’ve you got in the bag?”
“Something for you,” I called out, reaching into the bag and pulling out the last towel-wrapped loaf of bread.
Barney reached out and took it. “What is it?” he growled.
“Mom’s bread. We helped her make it, and we thought you’d like some.”
Barney took off the top towel, broke off a corner of the loaf, and put it into his mouth. He chewed it, broke off another piece, and stuffed it into his mouth. Slowly a smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “Hey, this is good!” he announced.
“It’s even better with butter and jam on it,” Jarom told him, still a bit anxious.
Barney nodded. “I’ll go home and get some right now.” With his bat over his shoulder and his bread under his arm, he hurried off down the street. Before he had gone far, he stopped and called back to us, “Hey, why don’t you guys meet me at the park after a while. I have a new bat we can try out.”
We nodded, and Barney headed on down the street.
When we returned home, Mom was smiling and waiting for us in the kitchen. “Did you save any bread for yourselves?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “It was too much fun watching the magic work.”
“Can you make another batch?” Jarom asked. “We’ll help again.”
“Another batch?”
“Sure,” I answered. “There are lots of people who can use some magic bread.” Then I asked, “Mom, what exactly was the magic that was added to the bread?”
Mom motioned for us to come closer, then whispered in our ears, “Love.”
“Love?” I almost shouted.
Mom nodded.
“When did we put love in?” Jarom demanded, rather confused.
“When we made it for someone else. And when you gave it away. That filled the bread with love.”

Since the consolidated meeting schedule has made more Sunday time available, we have devised a family game called “Mormon Bowl.” The goal is to answer as many questions as possible from sacrament meeting talks and songs. Its rules are simple:
1. Each family member writes a question and its answer on a slip of paper.
2. The questions are put into a bowl of your choice. (We used Grandma’s blue willow bowl.)
3. The most reverent family member at church gets to draw and ask the questions. (If you have a very small child, a reading adult helps.)
4. To keep score, one point is awarded for each question answered correctly. In case of duplicate questions, the youngest children get to answer.
It sounds simple; but try to remember what the name of the opening hymn was, or what special person was mentioned in the opening prayer. Perhaps a new officer or teacher was sustained: who was he, and what is his new position? The questions asked can also be doctrinal, based on information given in the sacrament meeting talks.
Within a few weeks after we began playing this game, our family’s reverence at sacrament meeting had improved dramatically. And it didn’t take long for new sensitivities to develop, along with a new kind of listening.
Improved reverence, knowledge, enjoyment, and spirituality have been rewards for our Sunday evenings. Indeed, we look forward each week to our “Mormon Bowl,” enjoying again the spirit of sacrament meeting.

“Stay here with the baggage,” Father said. “I’ll get the family and return shortly.” Elizabeth nodded and tried to look brave as she watched him hurry off the boat. She turned to look across the muddy waters of the Missouri River. It was wide, but nothing compared to the Atlantic Ocean her family had crossed on the sailing ship Cynosure. She decided that if she could survive the eight-week crossing from England, she could certainly endure a one-day trip down a river.
“Are you going to the Salt Lake Valley?” a woman asked her.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “I can’t wait to get there to fulfill my third promise.”
“Third promise?”
“Yes. When I was very sick, the elders promised me I would get well, join the Church, go to Utah, and be a mother in Israel.”
The woman smiled. “That’s wonderful. Perhaps we’ll be in the same wagon train. I’m Sister Rowley.”
Elizabeth shook her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Beardall, and here comes my family.” Elizabeth pointed to where her parents and brother and sister were hurrying up the road toward the boat.
“Oh dear,” Sister Rowley said as the sailors bustled around the deck. “I hope they make it in time!”
Elizabeth’s family was still a block away when the boat pulled away from the dock. “No!” Elizabeth cried. “Wait!”
Sister Rowley put her arm around Elizabeth. “There is another boat tomorrow. Your family will come then. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the Church leaders that I will take care of you in the meantime.”
When they got off the boat in Florence, Nebraska, Elizabeth waited outside a business office while the Rowley family went inside. When Sister Rowley came out she was smiling. “It’s all settled, my dear,” she said. “You can come with us.”
Elizabeth frowned. “With you? But I need to wait for my family.”
Sister Rowley looked around at the noisy crowds and shook her head. “I can’t leave you here alone. Your parents will be told where to find you. And by leaving now,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “you’ll hasten the fulfillment of your third promise.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. She knew that the trip would be hard, but she had never imagined she might be making it by herself. And what if she never saw her family again? Was any promise worth that?
Sister Rowley seemed to read her thoughts. “It will all be worth it in the end,” she said. “Our sacrifices may seem great, but God has promised us a much greater reward.”
As the wagon train rolled westward, Elizabeth kept busy washing clothes, gathering buffalo chips for fuel, and fetching water. But at night when the company gathered around the blazing campfire to sing and dance, Elizabeth missed her family terribly. She found comfort in the evening star that shone in the western sky. It seemed to whisper, “God is over all. He knows your secret sorrow and will not forsake you.” Elizabeth knew that she was not really alone.
After two weeks of travel, the company stopped for repairs. Elizabeth asked Sister Rowley what she could do to help. “Go out and play, dear,” Sister Rowley told her. “You have been too solemn. You need more laughter and fewer tears.”
Elizabeth nodded and went to join some children who were playing marbles and rolling hoops. The other children were kind, but the games did not cheer Elizabeth. Suddenly a boy called out, “Who is that stranger coming into camp?”
Elizabeth saw a man in the distance, hurrying toward them. She looked more closely, hardly daring to believe her eyes. It was her father! She ran to him, and he clasped her in his arms. Both were crying for joy. “We were only a day behind,” Father said, “but I despaired of ever catching up.”
“I knew we’d be together again someday,” Elizabeth sobbed. Now, with the Lord’s help, they could continue their journey to Utah and to the fulfillment of the third promise.

I was also touched during the October 1994 general conference as Elder Claudio Costa told the following story:

During the time I presided over the Brazil Manaus Mission, I witnessed great examples of true success, stories which came from people truly devoted to the gospel and to their covenants with God.

One man I met lived simply in a tiny, little town in the middle of the Amazon. After being baptized with his family, he could hardly wait to complete a year’s membership in the Church so he could take his wife and children to the temple. The São Paulo Brazil Temple is very far from the Amazon. It usually takes four days by boat and four days by bus to get to the temple—about a week’s travel. This man was a cabinetmaker. How could he save enough money to pay for himself, his wife, and his children? Although he worked hard for many months, he made very little money.

When the time came to go to the temple, he sold all his furniture and appliances, even his electric saw and his only means of transportation, a motorcycle—everything he had—and went to the temple with his wife and children. It required eight days of travel to reach São Paulo. After spending four glorious days in the temple doing the work of the Lord, this family then had to travel seven more days to return to their home. But they went back home happy, feeling that their difficulties and struggles were nothing compared to the great happiness and blessings they had experienced in the house of the Lord. [Claudio R. M. Costa, “Priceless Principles for Success,” Ensign, November 1994, p. 27]

Two weeks later the stake missionaries, Sister Hoer and Sister Gibson, came to our home. They taught us about the plan of salvation and the First Vision. They came four times, and after the fourth discussion offered us the challenge of baptism. We told them that we would pray about it and call them with an answer.
That night I prayed my first real prayer. Upon my knees, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me know if the Church was really true. The missionaries had explained to us how Heavenly Father answers prayers, so when the answer came I recognized it. Heavenly Father wanted me to be baptized.
My mother and sisters had similar experiences. My father, however, needed an extra boost, and that boost came, but not for several weeks.
Following a tradition at his school, my father took his students on a trip that year. Funds were low so my father drew a circle around the state of Colorado. He asked his students where they wanted to go within that circle. Salt Lake City was selected.
While on that trip, my father and a few of his students toured Temple Square. It was in the north visitors’ center that the much needed answer came.
The tour group had come through the visitors’ center to the last area, a film depicting Joseph Smith and the First Vision. The guide, an elderly man, turned off the lights and pushed the button. The curtains opened but nothing happened. He tried again and achieved the same results. Discouraged he turned the lights back on and said, “If you don’t mind, I would like to bear my testimony.” He did, and it was just what my father needed to make up his mind. My father asked if anything technical had ever gone wrong before. Nothing had, and it continued to run flawlessly after. I believe it was a miracle.
From his hotel room, my father called to tell us of his decision. We immediately called the missionaries and set the date for our baptism.
We gathered in the chapel, all clothed in white. One by one we went into the font and were baptized by Brother Petersen. I remember coming out of the water feeling pure, clean, renewed.
We gathered again in the chapel and our family sang “The Love of God,” and Sister Runnels sang “Where Love Is.” Never before has music so touched my heart.
We were confirmed by Brother Brown, and this began our life in the Church.
Now, five years later, I look back upon that special time in our lives. I can’t help but wonder what life would be like without the Church. I am sure it couldn’t compare to the joy we’ve found.

On one occasion, we had a young man whose parents were not interested in our program.
“That’s OK,” I told them, “but do you mind if your son still comes, learns, and has some fun?”
We included him in our program, and before long his parents said OK to his full involvement. They saw that their boy was learning and having fun. Later he served a full-time mission. His younger brother blossomed as well and also served a mission.