Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks after Michelle and John started their mission, a rocket carrying the Mars rover took off. Michelle didn’t get to watch it. She was doing other important things. She shared the gospel and helped the missionaries in their mission. Every day, she wore a black name tag that said “Sister Amos,” with the Savior’s name underneath.
After seven months, the rocket carrying the rover finally reached Mars—more than 100 million miles (160 million km) away. Sister Amos got permission to watch the landing online. She invited their missionaries to watch too.
Sister Amos was nervous. She and many others had worked so hard on this project! Would the rover land safely?
It did! All the missionaries cheered. Then Sister Amos shared her testimony. “Jesus Christ created worlds without end,” she said. “He made the stars, the planets, and the whole universe. He wants us to learn, grow, and use our talents for good.”
She smiled. She was grateful for the ways God led her during her life. And she was grateful to be a missionary—sharing His amazing love.

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.

Five years later—I was 27 by then—I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father was ward mission leader, and the sister missionaries were teaching someone else in my home. I overheard them teaching about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and I decided to pray about it. It made sense in my mind that if Joseph Smith was a prophet, then the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is true.
That night I began to read the history of Joseph Smith and of his vision in the Sacred Grove. Then I stopped, and I prayed to the Lord. I spent the whole night in this manner, reading and praying about each paragraph. It took me 14 hours. Something happened to me when I began to ponder. It seemed that I was in the grove with Joseph. It was a vivid and real experience. It seemed I could see what happened. When I finished the prayer the next morning, I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I went immediately to find the missionaries. At noon, when the sister missionaries came home for lunch, I was sitting in front of their door waiting for them. I asked them to teach me the discussions. After they taught me the seven discussions in a short period of time, I was baptized and confirmed into the Church.

For me, parenthood has been a refiner’s fire. My weaknesses seem to come out as I become stressed, sleep deprived, worried, or upset. Of course, parenthood’s blessings make up for those moments, but I have found that I have a temper. It’s humiliating to admit, but I used to yell or throw things to get my children’s attention.
I would resolve time and again not to lose my temper, but I would still lose it in times of stress. Heavenly Father knew I needed something dramatic to help me.
One evening after a long day of bottling peaches, I put on the last batch and decided to take a short nap. I was sure I would wake up in time to take the bottles from the steamer.
I didn’t.
My husband, Quinn, and I were startled awake by the sound of exploding jars. I ran to the kitchen and saw shattered glass and gluey peaches over every surface of the room. Apparently, the steamer water had evaporated, heat and pressure had built up, the top of the steamer had blown off, and six of seven peach jars had exploded.
“I think I’ll clean this up in the morning,” I said.
Bad idea.
By morning the hot peach muck had solidified into hardened, glass-filled mounds all over the kitchen and dining room. The plastered peach-glass tidbits had even found their way behind countertop appliances and into every nook and cranny, including behind the fridge.
Cleanup took several hours. I had to soak the glass-filled mounds with wet paper towels and then try to wipe them up without cutting myself.
As I cleaned, a familiar voice whispered to me: “Mary, when your temper explodes, as did these jars, you cannot easily fix things. You cannot see where and how your anger hurts your children and others. Like this mess, that hurt hardens quickly and is painful.”
Suddenly, the cleanup took on new meaning. The lesson was a powerful one. Like my anger, there was no quick cleanup. Weeks later I was still finding little clumps of peach rock embedded with glass.
I pray that someday my patience will become as great a strength as it was a weakness. Meanwhile, I am grateful that the Lord’s Atonement is helping me better control my temper so that I can spare my loved ones any more messes caused by exploding anger.

Now, onto my third ‘mother’, in fact my mother-in-law, Christine. Jenny’s parents Christine and Bill were a wonderful kindly couple — what examples they were to Jenny and me as we started our own family (eventually including six children). There came a time after some house moves during our early years of our marriage, that Jenny’s parents relocated a few miles away from our home in Tunbridge Wells. Christine was an ever-present support to Jenny in those days, and she was always very welcome to our home. I mostly remember the happy banter she and I would have. When she passed away in 2000, in her mid 80s, it took me years to come to terms with her absence; one always seems more appreciative of loss in later years. To say I had a soft spot for Christine would understate it. She was my adopted mother, whether she knew it or not. I remember, once so shocked and agitated by Jenny’s and my joining the Church, Christine in subsequent years became a staunch defender, while remaining wedded to her Anglican faith. Close to her death she occasionally expressed doubts, but I tried to reassure her that her faith in Christ was not misplaced.

I remember holding my daughter Nikki in my arms for the first time. She looked beautiful and perfect. My heart and mind filled with loving dreams of nurturing her. I looked forward to sharing my love of books, music, and art. I would spare no effort to support her in developing her talents and abilities.
I could not have imagined at that time that she would never be able to read above a fourth-grade level; calculate beyond simple, single-digit arithmetic problems; or learn to drive a car. It was only after six difficult years of fears, frustrations, medical evaluation, and psychological testing that I learned Nikki was intellectually impaired.
Adjusting to having a child with a disability is a process, not an event. Ten percent of all children have a disability or a long-term chronic illness. Although it is a reasonably common experience, most parents are not prepared to hear, “Your child has a serious disability.” It takes some time to learn how to deal with the confusion, physical demands, behavioral challenges, extra expenses, and feelings of embarrassment and loneliness. If you have experienced or are still going through this process of adjustment, it is important for you to know that many of your responses and reactions are normal.
You may find it very difficult at first to assimilate the information that your child has a disability. You may need some time to understand what the diagnosis means. We all have images and stereotypes of children with intellectual impairment or mental illness. These diagnoses may not match what we see in our child, particularly if the child looks normal. It is helpful to learn about the disability. Find out as much as you can about your child’s diagnosis. Seek information from reliable sources, such as professional organizations that focus on the specific disability.
Denial is a psychological defense mechanism we utilize when we feel overwhelmed and unable to cope. In a way, denial can be a gift that allows us to accept the truth a little at a time and make it more bearable. Denial often comes from fear—fear due to uncertainty about the future or concern about the impact this child will have on other family members. Denial can lead to a frantic search for a cure. Parents may believe if they can only find the right doctor, the right medicine, the right program, or the right learning approach, then the child will be made “normal.” This process of searching is useful in the sense that it can help you locate resources that might help your child, yourself, and your family. Sooner or later, however, you have to confront the child’s limitations and accept your own inability to undo the disability. You must also release other people from that responsibility.
Acknowledging the reality of the disability may lead to feeling anxious. Anxiety is the body’s way of responding to fear and mobilizing resources. If a great beast were to come into your room, you would probably have an anxiety response. Your body would release adrenaline, and you would be prepared to fight, flee, or freeze. These are common responses when people are threatened in some way. As you begin to realize this child needs special care and protection, that anxious energy can mobilize your resources. Get information. Talk with other parents. Pray and talk with priesthood leaders. Seek help from professionals. Activity that reduces the feeling of powerlessness is a good way to use that energy. Self-care is also important in managing anxiety. Get adequate sleep, eat right, and take time for activities that help you relax and enjoy life. Parents need occasional respite from the heavy responsibility of caring for a child with a disability.
Belief in a just world sometimes produces unwarranted guilt. We want to believe that our world is predictable and controllable. This belief protects us from our fears. We convince ourselves that bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people. This seems just. The downside of this belief is that when something does hurt us, we tend to feel we are somehow to blame. Comments by well-meaning but insensitive people can trigger these feelings. Comments such as “You must have needed this particular experience for your salvation” or can lead parents to have painful and unwarranted guilt. They start asking, “Why me? Am I so bad that I needed something this severe to shape me up? I wanted only to be a good parent.” Questions may also come from people who believe they can protect themselves from this same experience if they can only discover what you did “wrong.”
You will need to find your own spiritual meaning concerning painful events and not allow others to impose their answers as to why these things happened. It takes years to fully understand, and sometimes the answer doesn’t come in this life. Trust that Heavenly Father is a God of love and does not delight in punishing you. That way, you will be able to find more accurate meaning in the adversities you face.
Strong emotions result from losses. If you have a child with a disability, you may feel the loss of the child you thought you would be raising. You may also feel grief over the loss of what you may have envisioned as an ideal family. Indeed, you may have to reframe your definition of an ideal family.
When I was a young mother with four children, my husband was serving as a bishop. It felt wonderful to be part of my idea of an ideal Latter-day Saint family. But my husband died of cancer, and I was left to raise my children alone. I had to return to school, finish a degree, and work. I had to reframe what I perceived an ideal Latter-day Saint family to be. I later married a man with six children, and we became a blended family with ten children. Once again I had to reframe what I thought an ideal LDS family was.
Learning how to grieve and then go on with your life can build strength. When you can acknowledge and work through painful feelings, you develop emotional, spiritual, and psychological skills that can help you in other areas of your life. Your capacity for empathy can grow through a personal acquaintance with grief.
We need to make sense of what we perceive as injustice. Raising a child with a disability can give you a close view of the cruel side of life. Creating a new definition of what is fair and just, however, can reduce anger. For example, when my daughter was 10 years old, she attended a Sunday School party. She came home scraped and bleeding. One of the boys in the class had called her a “stupid retard” and pushed her down. I felt angry that my child was hurt. Angry feelings can be a message that something needs to be done. Anger can alert us to dangers, problems, and offenses that may need some correcting. We can make decisions, however, about how we act on those feelings. We can deal with anger in a constructive way.
My husband and I visited the boy’s family. We sat with the boy and his parents and calmly talked about what the word retarded meant. We asked the boy how he would feel if he were unable to do the things he enjoyed. This boy became one of our daughter’s strongest allies. That experience ultimately helped another person to grow. This seemed “fair.” Retaliation would not have produced justice. Although anger may come from experiences with injustice, we can turn them into good experiences for ourselves and others.
Children with disabilities have a harder time mastering routine behaviors and activities. Learning emotional skills is even more difficult. They experience more frustration than other children. If the disability affects brain functioning, the child will find it harder to think through problems rationally. My husband refers to behavior resulting from this difficulty as “the law of the universe”: If you cannot talk it out, you are going to act it out. In other words, what cannot be verbally expressed will be acted out in some way, even if it is just through having a stomachache. Often the child’s misbehavior is simply an attempt to cope with some other problem.
For example, when my daughter was 18, she would not go to bed and insisted on leaving her light on all night. She would get very angry and say, “I don’t want to go to bed because there are missionaries hiding in my dresser drawer.” I recognized this as clearly delusional.
Rather than being angry, I tried to understand. What would cause her to be so frightened? As I thought about it, I realized that many of her friends were getting married. She had attended bridal parties where they had received beautiful things they would put in their dresser drawers. They were getting married, leaving her, and were no longer available as her friends. She also longed to have those same experiences and had expressed concerns: “Will I ever marry? Will anyone ever love me? Will anyone ever give me a bridal party and beautiful things?” Her friends had married returned missionaries. She could see that returned missionaries were great husbands. Somehow, all of this went together. She was also poignantly and painfully aware that she lacked the skills and the ability to manage the demands of a marriage. She was unable to verbally express those conflicts or even fully understand them, so all we heard was a delusion about missionaries hiding in the drawer. Once I began to understand her inner experience, I was able to talk it through with her. We worked together to verbalize her conflicts and grieve the sorrow of not being able to marry. The problem behavior stopped, and she was able to sleep peacefully.
Parents sometimes find it difficult to identify the source of a disabled child’s misbehavior. Disabilities differ in the kinds of challenges they create. Children’s natural dispositions, strengths, and weaknesses vary. The circumstances surrounding incidents of misbehavior are unique to each family. These factors make it difficult, but if you can determine the meaning of the misbehavior, it becomes easier to know which problems need to be solved. Becoming angry and frustrated with the child is counterproductive because these reactions generally prevent parents from identifying the real source of the misbehavior.
One fairly common source of misbehavior is attention seeking. The child may be trying to get your attention because he or she is hungry, tired, scared, overstimulated, bored, frustrated, sick, or having an allergic response to food or the environment. If a child doesn’t have the skill to talk it out, he or she will act it out. This is particularly true for children who have disorders that compromise brain functioning, such as attention deficit disorder, intellectual impairment, bipolar mood disorder, or schizophrenia. The child may feel overwhelmed and may not be able to verbalize the distress. Parents need to be alert to what is going on in the child’s life that may cause him or her to seek attention.
Strategies that do not work in managing misbehavior include (1) making discipline rules and not enforcing them; (2) yelling—the child learns not to listen unless somebody yells; (3) insulting and name calling, which only shame the child; (4) withdrawing privileges that have no relationship to the misbehavior; and (5) physically or verbally abusing the child. These strategies usually increase misbehavior rather than help the child learn how to manage difficult situations and emotions.
Many blessings come from raising a child with a disability. I realize the important role Nikki has played in my personal and spiritual growth. The experience has brought me to my knees on many occasions because I needed further instruction from a wise Heavenly Father. It has opened my heart to truths I had desired to better understand. I do not yet have all the answers to “Why me?” or “Why her?” I do, however, have an increased understanding of many principles—an understanding that is priceless to me.
One of the most beautiful realizations is the knowledge that my child’s spirit is not disabled. I have become aware that she experiences a rich spiritual life. She is often the first in the family to feel the presence of the Holy Ghost on sacred occasions. She frequently shares spiritual insights that her limited intellectual abilities could not have generated.
When Nikki received her patriarchal blessing, she was told she had been given this special experience in mortality because of the greatness of her soul. She helps others learn compassion and understanding. I am grateful for all the good she has done for our family as well as for many others. Nikki teaches us that love, kindness, and charity are not just for the swift or the strong, but they are also for those who struggle. I have the firm hope of an eternal relationship with Nikki. I know that when she is finally healed of her disability, I will learn yet more from the greatness of her soul.

Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

A Relief Society presidency in Pleasant Grove, Utah, met with their bishop to discuss ward goals before planning Relief Society classes. Based on those goals, Relief Society leaders planned a meeting where a sister in the ward shared how she uses Preach My Gospel for family home evening. They also arranged several gardening workshops, including how to store food from one’s garden. Of the presidency’s meetings with the bishop, the Relief Society president says, “We feel our bishop’s love, knowing he is praying to the Lord in our behalf.”

Next day we visited the Global Expo centre. It was the most emotional day, seeing 2,800 refugees living without basic medical help, and a mountain of volunteers in dire need of additional financial help. The volunteers, from many different churches, were addressing spiritual as well as physical needs. We were with Bellwether International, a human-rights nonprofit organisation, and with them we were able to give socks and other practical clothing.

Three years later, I met two missionaries at a railway station in Tokyo. They invited me to listen to their message. I brought my Book of Mormon to our next meeting.
They began the conversation by saying, “We would like to share an important book with you.”
I took the Book of Mormon from my bag and asked, “Is it this book? I’ve already read it.”
They were stunned. Eventually, I was taught the gospel, and the missionaries encouraged me to ask God with a sincere heart if the Book of Mormon is true (see Moroni 10:4–5).
One night I thought about God, the Church, the Book of Mormon, and how I could be happy and felt something warm inside. Then I decided to be baptized.

Three young women now serving missions in Australia all have something in common. They originally grew up on islands in the Indian Ocean and were converted to the Church by friends.
Chong Kheng Lin was also from Christmas Island. She and her family also settled in Perth, Australia. She attended the baptism of Soon Lee and was impressed by the Spirit and the information communicated by the missionaries. She investigated and joined the Church. Lin is serving a full-time mission in the Melbourne Australia Mission.

Beth Tracy accepted a call to serve in the Los Angeles California Stake Primary with apprehension. As a convert to the Church who had never attended Primary and had served mostly with adults, Beth wondered, “What can I offer to children?” But through substitute teaching in a nursery, encouraging other Primary leaders who were also feeling inadequate, and learning to love children of many nationalities, she found satisfaction and joy—the results of Christlike service to her fellow beings (see Mosiah 2:17).

I have always liked small snow globes, the ones that seem to snow inside when you shake them. So when I saw one at a garage sale for five cents, I begged Mom to let me buy it. She said I could. I ran home, got a nickel from my piggy bank, and headed back to buy my treasure. I was so happy that I carefully carried it over to show my next-door neighbor. I knew from experience that snow globes are easily broken, so I took very good care of my new toy. Later that day, my mom and I went out of town for a few hours to visit some friends. As we drove off, I remembered that I had not put my snow globe in a safe place. I worried that my younger brother, who was three, might find it and break it. This bothered me the entire trip, but Mom reassured me that he probably wouldn’t even find it.
As we were returning home, I was still worried, but I felt the Spirit calm me. It let me know that if we got home and my toy had been broken, I could do what Jesus would want me to do. I could forgive my brother even though it would be hard.
When we arrived home, I immediately asked Dad if he had seen my snow globe. He told me sadly that soon after we left, my little brother had found it, thought it was a ball, and thrown it against the wall. The globe had shattered.
I cried because I was sad that it was broken, but I forgave my brother because I knew that that was what Jesus would want me to do. I gave my brother a hug and told him that it was all right.
My neighbor later asked about my globe, and Mom told her what had happened. She was so pleased that I could forgive my brother that she bought me a new snow globe. I now have a collection of them, and I learned that I have to take very good care of them. But if one were to break, I know that I could forgive again because it’s the right thing to do.

As I casually peered out the window, an unexpected stomach spasm began at the sight of an all-too-familiar car pulling into our driveway. It shot from the pit of my stomach, tickling its way upward, stopping briefly to flip-flop my heart, then climaxed in my throat with a delighted scream. Matthew Conally was here! Actually here at my house! He was only the most coveted hero on campus. And he was actually here!
I began to run to the door, but just as I realized it wouldn’t look cool, I tripped, falling flat on my face, and from my now horizontal position, I had a horrifyingly realistic view of our living room floor. It was covered with blocks, Lincoln logs, doll clothes, doll furniture, a dollhouse, and among other things, that rotten Tonka truck I had just tripped over.
As I picked myself up, another unexpected spasm began. Only it began in my throat, draining all the moisture, and dropped downward until it landed with a painful thump in the pit of my stomach. The living room was a total disaster area! What kind of an impression would it make? Grabbing up an armful of coats, newspapers, and books, I relocated them into the next room. Next, I began kicking anything else that would fit into and under the sofa and then threw the cushions back into their natural position on top. As I ran past the window, I could see that Matthew was having a hard time climbing over the tricycles in the driveway. I dumped another quick load down the hall just as the doorbell rang. A final glance around the room revealed that I had cleared out most of the clutter.
Putting on my calmest smile and trying to concentrate all my 16 years into a look of maturity, I opened the door. Then there we were, face to face, Matthew Conally and me, his biggest fan.
“Well hi!” I said in my sweetest, most surprised voice.
“Hi. How are you?” came his refined reply.
“Just fine. Won’t you come in?” I most invitingly smiled back.
Matthew strolled through the door and handed me a book.
“Well, I just dropped by to bring you back your book. You left it in the car the other night. You know, the night I brought the gang home.”
“Oh, really? Gee, thanks for bringing it by. I was beginning to wonder where I had left it.” That was my coolest response yet, but I was letting my cool go too far. I knew darn well that I had left it on purpose as an excuse to see him again.
But of all times, why had he chosen this day to return it! The whole house was such a mess because I was in charge. Mother was in the hospital with a new baby. It was very evident that I wasn’t as organized as she. I watched Matthew’s puzzled expression as he looked around the room and into the kitchen. That was the worst spot in the whole house! Nothing in the kitchen was in its proper place. Aside from every dish, pot, and pan piled high in the sink, every box, package, mixing bowl, and canister was stacked on the counters.
With a crush like I had on Matthew, I knew enough about his life history to write a book. He was an only child, and it didn’t take much to know he’d never seen a mess like this one. Matthew was suddenly aware I was watching him. He calmly lifted his eyebrows and tried to explain.
“Oh, I, I was just wondering if, if I could have a drink of water.” He seemed pleased at his quick response.
“Sure,” I said, “but you’ll have to excuse the mess.” This seemed like the only natural thing to say. I reluctantly led him into the kitchen and was even further embarrassed to find that there weren’t any clean cups. Quickly I grabbed a clean bowl and filled it. Then I handed it to him with an apologetic smile.
“You’re lucky today,” I chuckled encouragingly, “sometimes it gets down to plates!” Matthew didn’t say anything. I was going to explain about Mom and the new baby and me being in charge of eight younger brothers and sisters, plus the house, when Kent and Steve came running into the kitchen chasing each other. They made it around our legs twice and over the kitchen table, throwing chairs for barricades. After they had made two more laps, I was furious and, without thinking, handed the baby I had rescued from the floor to Matthew and excused myself.
I ran after the boys, even though their size was in their favor. They darted around the furniture in the bedroom—over, under, through, and between. I finally caught two handfuls of hair and found, much to my delight, a brother attached to each. After threatening them with the termination of their lives, I returned to the living room, panting. There I found Matthew still holding little Jerry in the same position. He hadn’t moved an inch. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do with the baby. When he saw me, he quickly handed him back, giving Jerry a nasty little smile.
“What in the world is he wearing?” he asked.
“Oh … ah … it’s a towel. We’re all out of clean diapers.”
We sat down as I tried to explain about the circumstances.
“You see, the washing hasn’t been done yet. My mom is in the—” Again my explanation was interrupted. Matthew’s eyes suddenly grew terrified, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Quickly I grabbed Jerry, prying his teeth away from Matthew’s arm. Little Jerry was teething and happened to like the feel of flesh against his sore little mouth. But Matthew didn’t understand.
“I think he likes you,” I told him reassuringly.
“And I think you’re right,” he replied as the baby once again squirmed his way back onto his lap. But this time, very much to Matthew’s relief, Jerry sat quietly, beaming his toothy grin. Then into the room came Kent and Steve and Lori and Cathy, dancing and singing, “Ginnie’s got a boyfriend! Ginnie’s got a boyfriend!” One glance at the look on my face, and they knew it was time to leave.
My anger and embarrassment were suddenly forgotten as I heard Matthew’s terrified voice announce, “I think he’s wet!” Again I quickly rescued Jerry from his lap. Jerry wasn’t wearing plastic pants and, boy, was Matthew soaked!
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry about all this.”
Matthew followed me down the hall. Then as I opened the door I found myself staring at another embarrassing mess! I had forgotten I had hung flannel sheets in place of towels on the racks. Again I was apologizing.
“I used all the towels as diapers!”
“What kind of a madhouse do you live in?” I was surprised to find his good looks fading away with his anger. “This place ought to be condemned!”
Matthew stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as I began to apologize. The doorbell rang. I slowly walked down the hall back to the living room and sank down onto the sofa. I just couldn’t face anyone now.
The bathroom door swung angrily open. Out charged Matthew with a huge wet spot on his pants. It looked terrible. He said nothing, just stormed out of the house.
“My mom had a baby,” I quietly called after him. “It was a girl.”
The front door had been left open and in through it came Charlie. Good old Charlie Miller, the best piggyback-ride-giver and sidewalk-snow-shoveler in the neighborhood, with a smile big enough to make a pumpkin jealous.
“Hi, Ginnie! I rang the bell, but nobody answered. Hey, what’s wrong? What was Matthew Conally doing here?”
He sat down and listened as I told him about the whole horrible mess. Suddenly I was surprised to hear the sound of laughter. Charlie thought it was funny! And then I was laughing, too. We howled until we thought we’d break. The tears were rolling down my face from pure delight. How come everything suddenly seemed so funny?
Charlie had come over with a pie his mother had baked. But it was after he had changed Jerry’s diapers and was helping with the dishes that I realized he was truly something special. Quietly I slipped my name bracelet into his coat pocket—just in case he needed a reason to come back over.

Hai Lan and his father climbed out of the sampan (boat) carrying a basket of fish.
“Such a hot day to fish,” Hai Lan said, wiping his sweaty face. “And such hard work! All day since before the sun we worked, and only these few fish have we to sell.”
“It will be better tomorrow, my son.”
“That is what you always say, my father. But it is not always so.”
“The fish we catch buy us food and shelter,” Father reminded. “What more can one wish for?”
“I wish for an easier way,” Hai Lan answered.
Father laughed. “There is no easier way, my son. Nothing worthwhile is easy.”
Silently the two walked to the marketplace, but Hai Lan’s mind was full. I am tired of the scorching heat on my head and the blisters from fish nets on my hands, he thought. There must be an easier way!
They soon reached the market and traded their fish for vegetables and rice and bamboo shoots. Then they started for home.
“Wait!” Father said. “There is the old storyteller. Let us hear his tale. It will give our minds rest.”
But Hai Lan’s mind could not rest. He didn’t even hear the old man’s story.
A storyteller! he thought. That is much easier than being a fisherman. All the old man does is sit on his bamboo stool in the shade and talk while people drop pennies in his basket. That is what I want to be—a storyteller!
Hai Lan was so excited he could hardly keep from running home. When they finally arrived at their mud and straw hut, he could barely sit still through dinner.
“I will make my father proud,” he said to himself. “I will make us rich! I will buy us a nice new house so we will no longer live in a hut. And Grandfather’s eyes will regain the sparkle they lost when he became too old to go out with us on the sampan. Now he will be able to spend his old days in comfort.”
“What is wrong with the boy?” Grandfather asked Father after they had eaten.
“I do not know,” Father said. “He has acted strangely ever since we stopped to hear the old storyteller at the marketplace.”
“He must have told a very good story,” Grandfather said, smiling.
Father shook his head and said, “It was only about the fishing wars. I do not know what is wrong with the boy.”
Hai Lan wanted his plan to be a surprise. He waited until time for bed and then said, “Father, I think I need a day of rest. Tomorrow I do not wish to go on the sampan.”
“Then how will you earn money to go to school?” Father asked.
“I can earn it another day.” Hai Lan smiled as he thought of his surprise.
“Let him go,” Grandfather said. “He is restless and needs a change.”
“But I need his help,” Father protested.
“I will go with you tomorrow,” Grandfather promised. “These old hands have not forgotten the feel of the sampan sails or the fish nets.”
Father sat silently for a moment. Finally he said, “All right, my son, but only for one day. I do not want a lazy son.”
Hai Lan lay on his bamboo mat and listened to the sounds of night as he thought of the many things he would buy.
The next morning while it was still dark, Hai Lan heard the men leave, but he did not get up. He knew that storytellers could sleep until long after sunrise. Their work did not begin until the market opened and the streets were crowded.
Already, he thought, I like this new work.
Much later that morning Hai Lan got up and dressed in his finest suit of clothes. He ate a bowl of rice, took a basket and bamboo stool, and left for the marketplace.
He found just the right spot next to the bamboo shop where all the tourists came. There he put his stool in the shade, placed his basket by his feet, and waited for the people to gather. He waited and waited, but no one stopped. Suddenly he realized that the people did not know why he was sitting there.
“Stories, stories from this storyteller,” he called just like the old storytellers. “Stories for your ears to hear and for your lips to smile at.”
“Oh, look!” a lady cried. “A little boy storyteller.” She stopped to listen, and then one by one others stopped in the shade too, until finally a large crowd had gathered.
Hai Lan smiled as he imagined all the pennies the people would drop in his basket. He sat back on the stool, tilted his straw hat back as he had seen the old storytellers do, and began to speak.
“Once upon a time …” So far Hai Lan had done just as the old storytellers, but suddenly he realized he could not tell their stories. That would be stealing. He must tell his own stories. But he had none!
“Once upon a time …” he said again, but he could not think of a story.
“Once upon a time …” he tried once more, but still he could think of nothing.
“That is what you said,” a man shouted, and the crowd began to laugh.
Hai Lan felt his face grow hot, hotter than the sun shining down on the sampan. His palms began to perspire. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began again.
“Once upon a time … a … a … there was a man.” Hai Lan could not think of anything more.
“You should wait until you are a man,” someone shouted, and the crowd roared with laughter as they picked up their baskets and left.
Hai Lan’s eyes stung with tears of shame, but he held them in his eyes. It would even be worse if now he were to cry!
“I thought it would be so easy,” he said to himself as he pulled the straw hat down to cover his face. “But Father must be right. Nothing worthwhile is easy.”
Being very careful to walk behind the shops where few people could see him, Hai Lan went back to the hut. He put the stool and empty basket back and quickly changed his clothes. Then he went down to the river to wait for Father and Grandfather. Soon the sampan drew near.
I hope they will never know how I have shamed them, Hai Lan thought as the men stepped out of the sampan.
“Hello,” Grandfather greeted. “What a wonderful day it has been!”
Hai Lan looked in the basket, expecting to see it filled with fish. “But you do not even have as many fish as yesterday,” Hai Lan cried.
“Oh, but it was wonderful just to have the nets in my hands, to move with the rhythm of the sampan, and to feel the marvelous sun on my head,” Grandfather said.
Hai Lan could see the old sparkle had returned to Grandfather’s eyes.
It is his work he longs for, Hai Lan decided, not the comforts money can buy.
“I will tell you something, my son’s son,” Grandfather began. “There is nothing like good work to make a man’s soul happy.”
“I will remember that,” Hai Lan said, forgetting his shame as he thought about his grandfather’s words. “And I am ready to go out with my father tomorrow.”
“That is well,” Father said. “One day for my father is good, but he is too old for two.”
“Together we will work hard and catch many, many fish,” Hai Lan said. “You will see, my father.”
And Hai Lan bowed his head and vowed that he would always work hard and make his father proud to have such a son.

My son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

Bert and I grew up expecting to serve missions, and when we got old enough, we did. My mission made all the difference in the world to me. I gained a deeper understanding of the gospel, I developed discipline, and I learned to serve others. It has been the basis for a happy, successful life.
Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who the person was who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made it clear what he expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9–10.)
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

Our brother serves in the U.S. Air Force on a flight crew that occasionally transports wounded soldiers from war zones to a military hospital in Germany. We learned of a charity organization that collects needed items for wounded soldiers at this hospital and in the medical units in Afghanistan. The handmade items in greatest demand are comfort pillows, and the charity tries to give one to each patient.
We decided to involve our community in our project, so we posted requests for donated fabric and stuffing. The response was amazing! We received several large bags of fabric and stuffing, including a bag of Christmas fabric. During November we sewed 30 Christmas stockings that were sent to a field hospital in Afghanistan just in time for Christmas. Over the next three months, we made 50 comfort pillows and sent them to the hospital in Germany. It felt so good to use our sewing skills to give something back to those men and women.
Mickell and Jodi H., Utah, USA

In Belfast, in quieter times, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was dismal, faded, and hard to bear, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister Marian.
Our Christmas tree was two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The room was decorated with a few streamers and a dozen balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and orangeade. Fancy food is almost unknown to ghetto children, and we were afraid they would not eat anything unfamiliar.
Besides, we couldn’t afford it. The 12 gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of clay.
The children arrived semiclean and in their best rags. Eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her toddler sister, who had refused to stay at home. That presented a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was dressing little plastic dolls in sturdy clothes for girls to play with. Several such dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it under the tree.
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs and grew decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
So the Relief Society lost another plastic doll. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree. “Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction.
“I felt right to home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Missus,” seconded another voice. “For whenever we’uns wanted something, one of you ladies was near.”

Constancy No. 4: Develop and live within a budget. A friend of mine has a daughter who went overseas with a BYU study-abroad program for a semester. She was constantly writing home for more money. His concern was such that he called her long-distance and questioned her about the need for the additional funds. At one point in the conversation the daughter explained, “But dad, I can tell you where every penny you have sent me has been spent.”

He replied, “You don’t seem to get the point. I’m interested in a budget—a plan for spending—not in a diary of where the money has gone.”