Gospel Story Finder

When I was 10 years old, my family moved from Denmark to Canada. We had lived there only a little while when two sisters who lived across the street from our new home invited me and my 12-year-old brother, Poul, to take a bus ride with them to see the city.
Poul and I were excited to go. My mother wasn’t sure about the idea, but she finally gave in. Mother gave the two girls the money for our bus ride. She asked them to look after us because my brother and I didn’t speak English yet. The girls promised they would take good care of us.
We all got on the bus and started the ride. After a while the bus stopped, and the girls motioned for us to get off. We followed them as we all started walking around the city.
Then suddenly the two girls started running in different directions! We tried to follow them, but they disappeared around unfamiliar corners. At first we thought they were just playing a trick on us and would soon come back. But after a while we knew we were lost and on our own.
“Should we ask someone for directions?” I asked Poul.
“We can’t speak English, and we don’t know our address,” he answered.
“Let’s call Mother,” I suggested, pointing to a nearby phone booth.
“We have no money, and we don’t know our phone number,” Poul said.
I started to cry. Poul put his arm around me. “Stay calm, Anne-Mette. Let’s say a prayer.”
We huddled together and asked Heavenly Father to help us find our way back home.
After the prayer Poul pointed down a street. “I feel we need to go this way,” he said.
I started to cry again. How could he know which way to go?
Poul comforted me again. “You need to have faith that we will be guided,” he said.
When he said that, a feeling of peace came over me. I had the thought that I needed to have faith and let my brother guide me.
After walking a long time, we came to a pond. “Do you remember this pond?” Poul asked. “We drove past it on our way from the airport to our new home!”
I felt better hearing the excitement in his voice. We sat down by the pond and said another prayer.
Suddenly Poul looked into the distance. “Do you see that?” he shouted. He got up and started running, and I jumped up to follow him.
“What do you see?” I called.
“It’s the Laundromat sign near our house!”
We followed the sign to our street, and soon we could see our mother standing outside the house. We ran to her and hugged her.
When we went inside, Mother said, “When I saw the two girls come home, I went over to ask where you were. Their mother was not very nice. She said we are foreigners and we should go back where we came from.”
Mother put her arms around us both. “I want you to know that not everyone here feels that way. We will meet many people who will welcome us and be our friends. Those girls left you alone today, but I’m glad you remembered that Heavenly Father will never leave you alone.”
Then we knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for guiding us safely home.

I knew of a girl in my high school many years ago who had a very poor reputation. How much was simply a vicious rumor and how much was truth I don’t know. But she did associate with a rebellious group who broke many of the rules. And even though she was a member of the Church, she was often seen smoking and drinking. After our school high graduation, I didn’t see her or give her any thought for years. If anyone had asked me what she was like, I could only have described the girl I vaguely knew in school.

But then, more than five years after high school, I was in the temple one night when I heard this girl’s name read from a list of brides who were about to be sealed to their husbands. What a delight it was to see that a great change had obviously taken place in her life. But I shouldn’t have been surprised, because the gospel is changing people all the time.

Like you, I know what it means to make essential course corrections. I remember a time when, without any intent to do so, I offended a sister in my ward. I needed to reconcile this issue, but I must admit that my pride kept me from going to her and asking for her forgiveness. Family, other commitments, on and on—I found ways to postpone my repentance. I was sure things would work out on their own. But they didn’t.
In the stillness of not one night but several, I awoke with a clear realization that I was not taking the course the Lord would want me to take. I was not acting on my faith that His arm of mercy was truly extended towards me—if I would act aright. I prayed for strength and courage, humbled myself, and went to the sister’s home and asked for her forgiveness. For us both, it proved to be a sweet, healing experience.

“Am I too young to have a testimony?” Jamie asked her mother.
“Why do you think you are too young?”
“Because today in Primary, Sister Johnson told us to tell our testimonies to someone who will write them down for us. We’re going to put all our testimonies into a Book of Mormon and send it to a missionary. Then the missionary can give it to someone. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t think of what to say. Maybe I’m just not old enough to have a testimony yet.”
“Five years old is old enough for a testimony to start growing inside you,” said Mother. “You just haven’t found the way to tell it yet. Think of what you know about the Church and how you feel about it. Try to say what your heart tells you is true,” she said, giving Jamie a little hug. “Let’s ask Dad to talk about testimonies in family home evening tomorrow night.”
Jamie thought about what she could say for the rest of the day. She was supposed to have her testimony ready to give to Sister Johnson the next Sunday. But how can I have it ready if I don’t know what to say? she wondered.
It was Jamie and her sister Susan’s turn to fix the refreshments for family home evening, so on Monday afternoon they made cookies. That evening Father did give a lesson about testimonies. “A testimony is kind of like the bright, sparkling light that shines through the crystals on our chandelier,” he said pointing to the ceiling fixture above them. “It shines and sparkles inside of you. To have a testimony each of us needs to do certain things. We need to pray to Heavenly Father, and we need to study the scriptures. Obeying Heavenly Father’s commandments, attending our meetings, and partaking of the sacrament will also help our testimonies to grow. It’s important to share our testimony with others too.”
After her father shared his testimony with the family, Jamie knew that what her father had said was true. And she knew that she had been doing the right things to gain a testimony.
I want to share my testimony, Jamie thought, but how can I find the words? That night when she said her prayers, she asked, “Heavenly Father, please help me find the right words to say for my testimony.”
The rest of the week, while Jamie was busy playing and helping Mother, she kept thinking about her testimony. But when Sunday morning came, she still didn’t have anything ready to be written down. She gave a big sigh as she got ready for church. “What will I tell Sister Johnson?” she asked Mother.
“Maybe you’ll have to tell her that you’re still trying,” answered Mother. Then she asked, “Would you like to use the testimony that your sister wrote in her Book of Mormon?”
“No,” replied Jamie. “I want it to be my very own.”
Since she was the first one ready for church, Jamie decided to listen to her tape of Primary songs while she waited for the rest of the family. Jamie loved to sing along with the tape. The first song started, and she joined in: “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here …” It was her favorite song, and as she sang it, her heart told her that the words were true. Suddenly she jumped up. “Mother, Mother,” she called, grabbing some paper and a pen and running to her mother. “I know what to say now! Will you write it for me?”
“Of course,” said Mother.
Jamie spoke very clearly. “I am a child of God. So are you. He will help you know what’s true.” She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Does that sound like a testimony?”
Mother put her arms around Jamie and held her close. “That is a very beautiful testimony,” she told her. “There are so many people in this world who don’t know that they are children of God. They need someone like you to tell them and to help them find the truth.”
At church Jamie hurried to her Primary classroom and was the first one to hand her testimony to Sister Johnson. “Thank you very much,” Sister Johnson said. Then she added, “You look so pretty and full of sunshine today!”
“It’s because of my testimony,” Jamie said excitedly, “shining like a bright crystal!”

Marcus watched the crackling campfire as he listened to his father’s lesson.
“We should all follow Jesus Christ’s example so we can be happy,” Dad said to the family. They were sitting on logs around the fire. “It’s very important for each of us to show charity toward others,” he said.
“What’s charity, Dad?” Marcus asked.
Dad added more wood to the campfire. “Charity is the pure love of Christ,” he explained. “We cannot be saved in the kingdom of God without it.”
Marcus looked confused. Dad looked around at their family and asked, “Can each of you think of an example of charity, to help Marcus better understand what it is?”
Mom turned a marshmallow over the fire on a stick. “When Mrs. Clanton fell and hurt her hip, I helped do chores around her house,” she said.
Tanner told how last week he helped the deacons quorum collect food and clothing for some of the city’s poor and homeless.
Ashley had befriended a neighborhood girl whom other girls ignored.
“Dad helped fix Mr. Johnson’s roof because Mr. Johnson is in a wheelchair,” Mom said.
“Does taking care of Jo-Jo count?” Marcus asked. Jo-Jo was his hamster. “I feed him and change his water and give him a new sock for his bed.” Marcus bit into a toasty marshmallow.
“Any act of kindness or service we do for someone—including Jo-Jo—is charity,” Dad said.
“I want to do stuff for somebody bigger than Jo-Jo, like you and Mom and Tanner and Ashley do,” Marcus said. “But I’m too little, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be big to help someone, do you, Marcus?” Dad asked. “Or to have your prayers answered?”
Marcus smiled. “No.”
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you find someone you can help, and when the time is right, you’ll know it.”
“How will I know it?” Marcus asked.
Ashley reached over and wiped a smear of marshmallow from the side of Marcus’s mouth. “You’ll feel it about as deep down inside you as that marshmallow you just ate,” she said.
Later that night, Marcus lay curled up in his sleeping bag. He listened to the tree branches rub against the outside of the tent. “Heavenly Father, please help me find someone I can help,” he prayed. “I’m just a little kid, but Dad said you don’t have to be big to be kind or helpful to others. I help Jo-Jo and my family by being kind and doing my chores, but I want to do something for somebody else. Jesus helped lots of people, and I want to be like Him.”
One Saturday afternoon two weeks later, Marcus worked alongside his mother in their flower garden. He noticed their next-door neighbor sitting alone in her front-porch swing. She looked sad. “Mom, what’s the matter with Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom straightened up from bending over the flowers and looked at their neighbor. “Mr. Walton died almost a year ago, and she misses him very much. Some days are hard for her, and it looks like this is one of those days.”
Marcus stood up and looked at Mrs. Walton across the low hedge that separated the two yards. He felt a feeling deep inside him. It got bigger and warmer just like the campfire did when his father added more wood to it. “Can I pick one of our big yellow flowers and give it to Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom smiled and nodded.
A few moments later Marcus stood in front of Mrs. Walton. She looked surprised. Marcus held out the flower to her. “This is for you,” he said.
She took the flower and then looked at Marcus. He climbed into the swing and sat beside her. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled. Mrs. Walton patted Marcus’s hand, and the two of them sat there together and listened to two red birds singing in her maple tree. Then Mrs. Walton looked at Marcus again. He was still smiling.
“You’ve got miles and miles of smiles,” she said. “Did you know that?” Marcus kept smiling. “Your smiles came at a time when I most needed them. Thank you.”
That night Marcus put clean bark shavings in his hamster’s cage before going to bed. “Jo-Jo, today I worked with Mom in the flower garden, and I helped Mrs. Walton be happy. It made me feel happy too. I don’t have to be big to help others. I can be like Jesus right now.”

Tom put the final block on his tower. “That does it!” he said. He sat back and smiled as he looked over his creation. Suddenly his bedroom door swung open. His little sister Addison ran into the room.
“Can I play?” she asked.
“No,” Tom said quickly. “Go away.” He just felt like being alone. He had been with friends all day at school. Besides, sometimes Addison broke his buildings.
Addison frowned and started to cry. She turned around and walked away.
Tom sighed. He reached over to grab his mini army figure, who began a heroic ascent up the tower. Tom felt a little bad for talking to his sister like that. But it was his room, after all. She could find something else to do. The figure jumped off the building ledge and somersaulted down to the ground.
Someone knocked on Tom’s door. “Come in,” he said.
Mom stepped into the room. “Did something happen with Addison?” she asked.
“She wanted to play in here,” Tom said. “But I don’t want her to break my tower.”
“You worked hard on that, huh?” Mom asked.
Tom nodded.
“I think your sister is feeling a little sad, though,” Mom said. “She looks up to you a lot, and she doesn’t get to see you much while you’re at school. Is there anything you could do together for a little while?”
Tom thought for a moment. Part of him still wanted to be alone. But he also wanted to be a good older brother. “I guess,” he said.
“Thanks, Tom,” Mom said as she walked out.
A few minutes later, Addison hesitantly stepped back into the room. “Hi,” she said.
“Hey, come here,” said Tom. “I want to show you something.”
Addison sat down on the bed next to her big brother and looked up at him. Tom pulled out his collection of animal cards.
“All right,” said Tom. He held up two pictures. “Would you rather be this snow leopard or this tarantula?”
Addison giggled and pointed to the leopard, her favorite animal. Tom smiled and handed her the card. They took turns picking their favorite animals until Dad called them to dinner. Tom looked at the clock. He couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone!
When they got downstairs, Tom told Mom and Dad about the game. “It was fun!” he said as he sat by Addison at dinner. “Want me to read to you tonight?”
“Yes!” Addison said. “Can you read the snow leopard book?”
“Sure.” He knew she’d pick that one. He might not have time to read what he wanted before bed, but he realized it was worth it to see his sister smile.
“Anytime,” he said.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Are you ready?” Terry’s older sister, Hailey, popped her head into his room. “It’s time to go practice for the Christmas play.”
Oh yeah! Terry and Hailey were in a special play for their ward Christmas party.
“Almost ready!” Terry pulled on his jacket and walked to the front door. “Who else will be there?”
“Mia and Jake. And some kids from Jake’s school,” Mom said. “The other kids don’t go to our church, but they’re excited to help.”
Terry froze. He didn’t realize there would be kids he didn’t know at the practice. There was no way he would be brave enough to say his lines in front of them.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Terry said.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know the other kids,” Terry said. He always got nervous talking to new people.
“But you can make new friends. And I’ll be there with you,” Hailey said.
Terry shook his head. “Maybe next time. Can we practice my lines at home for now?”
Mom nodded. “OK. But if you want to be in the play, you’ll need to practice with the other kids soon.”
Terry liked practicing at home. It was easy! But he knew he needed to practice with the other kids too.
At family prayer a few nights later, Terry had an idea.
“Can we pray that I’ll have courage to join the practice?” Terry said. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help me.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Good idea.”
They all closed their eyes and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please help Terry to have the courage to go to play practice.”
On the day of the next practice, Terry walked into the church with Mom and Hailey. His heart was beating fast, but he wanted to try. He felt ready. Heavenly Father and Jesus must be helping me! he thought.
“Terry! We’re so glad to see you,” Sister Tee said.
Terry smiled and nodded. Lots of other kids were already talking and laughing. He saw Jake and Mia. But he didn’t know the others.
Sister Tee told the kids where to sit and when to speak while they practiced. Terry was still nervous to sit by kids he didn’t know, but he tried to remember Dad’s prayer. It helped him feel better.
They practiced the songs and their lines over and over. The kids sitting by Terry were fun. They made him laugh a lot!
A few days later, it was time to for the play. The church was decorated with lots of Christmas trees, lights, and ribbons. Everyone wore red and green.
Terry hardly felt nervous anymore. He liked being with the other kids, even the ones he didn’t know before!
During the play, Terry felt good. And when it was his turn to speak, he said his lines loud and clear.
After the play, Terry found his family.
“Great job!” Dad said.
Mom smiled. “You looked like you had a lot of fun.”
“I did! I’m glad I was brave enough to do it,” Terry said.
Terry couldn’t have done it without Mom, Dad, Hailey, and Heavenly Father. Praying for help and being brave was totally worth it!

The Rexburg Idaho North Stake Adventurers climbed to new heights as they spent three days backpacking in the Tetons of Wyoming. They hiked 20 miles up and across the ridge of mountains starting in Idaho and ending in Wyoming. The girls were challenged by the steep terrain, the altitude, and the effort of carrying everything with them. The nine Young Women who practiced in the hike formed close friendships as they joined together in helping each other along the way.

On a trip to Japan it was my privilege to attend a sacrament meeting of the Naha Branch on the island of Okinawa. I was so impressed with the quality of the sacrament service and the reverence and dignity exhibited by the Aaronic Priesthood that when I was called to speak I asked one of the young men to join me at the pulpit. I asked him, “How do you feel knowing that you hold the priesthood of God?” Not tall enough to see over the pulpit, he raised on his toes so he could see the congregation, then with deep emotion responded: “It’s the greatest honor of my life!”

A most touching letter was received recently from a mother expressing her appreciation for her bishop and for a social services worker who had provided assistance in her family. May I quote from that letter:
“The summer will be remembered as ‘the best thing that has happened to Roseanne and David to date’!
“As you know, life has presented both children with special problems, and my heart has ached as I have seen David withdraw from social situations, and Roseanne offend and lose friends in her effort to make them.
“There are those who can help with their physical problems—therapy for a boy and medication to help calm a hyperactive daughter—but where could I turn to find someone to understand and help with the resulting emotional problems?
“When my bishop suggested LDS day camp I thought, ‘Good! This will be a good summer for them and will solve my baby-sitting problem, since it is necessary for me to work.’ Those two benefits would have made me feel the money invested was worthwhile—but they were just the beginning. Before the summer was over, I saw my son insist on taking the lead in a difficult hike up the canyon. In the past he had been content to follow behind. I saw him ‘rappel’ down the side of a building with the use of a rope, and the look of self-pride as he exchanged smiles with his counselor cannot be bought. By the end of the summer Roseanne had learned to put her frustrations into words and will most often try to reason with me in reaching a solution. This is a new experience for us.
“Raising a hyperactive child is a lonely position to be in, because even though friends try to understand, they cannot and usually react as though the child has problems because she is spoiled. It has been great therapy for me to meet weekly with people who do understand.”

Early in our marriage my wife and I attended school in the northeastern United States, where winters are harsh and road salt is plentiful. After several winters, the body of our old car began to corrode, culminating with a passenger stepping through the floor of the car. With optimism I purchased some sheets of aluminum and pop rivets, and we called my parents to see if we could visit that weekend and work on the car.
We arrived late Friday night, and my father and I got up early on Saturday to work on the car floor. We pulled back the rubber mats and started looking for sound metal to which we could fasten the metal sheets. Our search revealed nothing but corroded metal. We looked at each other silently, replaced the mats, and went to breakfast.
After we made the slow and careful five-hour drive back to our apartment, the phone was ringing when we walked in. Mom had decided that she “needed” a new car and wondered if we would like her old one. My dad cautioned that the car was three years old and had many miles on it. My mom then joked that it couldn’t be too bad—it had been driven by a full-tithe payer. We laughed, and after we hung up the phone, we danced around the apartment in honor of this bit of manna from heaven.

Hiki turned over on the broad shelf of snow that was her bed and buried her face deep in the fur sleeping bag to keep warm. She had not slept well, and the morning was much too fast in coming. As her mother lighted the seal oil lamp, Hiki peeked from under the fur to see the light sparkling on the snow ceiling of the igloo. She loved the way it glistened and imagined it was smiling at her, but this morning she didn’t smile back. Today I will walk on the bottom of the sea alone and I am afraid, she admitted to herself.
Many times when the tide was out she had gone with her mother under the sea ice to gather mussels. Always the giant shadows from the candlelight, the far away rumbling of the sea, and the strange undersea world had frightened her. But Mother had always been close-by to reassure her.
Today Hiki must lower herself under the ice alone. At the thought she buried her face even deeper into the fur blankets. She had never in her eleven years been sick. She had never even thought she would want to be sick, but this day she wished for a sore throat or a headache, anything that would keep her at home.
“Hiki,” Mother called, “it is time to arise.”
Hiki peeked out of the fur once more. Her mind raced, trying to find a reason to stay in the warm bed, but she could think of nothing.
All of her friends had gathered mussels alone on the ocean floor. Hiki had heard them tell of the fun it was, but to Hiki it could never be fun.
“Hiki?” Mother called again. “There is much to do.”
Slowly Hiki crawled from the sleeping bag. Quickly she put on her clothes made of caribou skins and her socks of baby sealskins. She began chewing on her caribou hide boots to thaw and soften them so she could put them on.
“It’s so nice to have a daughter who is now old enough to help,” Hiki’s mother said, smiling and patting her daughter’s shoulder. “Today I will sew while you go for the mussels.”
Hiki wished she could tell her mother how she felt, but she couldn’t. She wanted her mother to be proud, and who could be proud of an Innuit girl who was afraid to enter the under-ice world alone?
Hiki lingered over her seal meat breakfast much longer than usual. She poked a hole in the snow walls and looked out, hoping to see a terrible blizzard, but the day was beautiful with few clouds and little wind.
“A nice day for making snow statues,” Hiki commented.
“After you bring the mussels,” Mother said. “You must hurry now or you will miss the tide.”
Slowly Hiki put on her fur coat and mittens. Then taking a candle, matches, shovel, long ice chisel, and a pan, she removed the ice block from the tunnel that led into the igloo and crawled out. Once outside she listened as Mother slid the ice block back into place. Never before had she felt so alone.
Carefully she placed her tools on a small sled. Then, pulling the sled, she started for the ice-covered beach. With each step her heart beat harder and her breath came faster. Her hands began to perspire inside her mittens and her knees felt weak. She reached the beach much faster than she wanted to, then stepped beyond the beach ice to the thick, snow-covered sea ice. It was bumpy and covered with ridges caused by the terrible pounding of the sea. Hiki brushed away the snow on several of the ridges until she found one that had a big crack. Taking her chisel, she chipped at the crack until a hole about two feet wide was made.
As the last piece of ice fell, the girl jerked away. There was no longer anything between her and the ocean floor. I must go down, she agonized. But what if the tide comes in before I get out? What horrid creatures are lurking on the sea bottom? What if I get lost and can’t find the hole to get out?
Hiki’s stomach rocked and churned. She knew that she must go down to the sea floor, but also that she couldn’t do it alone. For a moment she closed her eyes tightly. “Please help me to do what I must do,” she prayed.
Then, taking her equipment, the girl lowered herself under the ice before her fear could stop her. Hiki’s hands shook, but after three tries she managed to light the candle. Carefully she picked her way over the pools of water and slimy seaweed until she saw a string of blue black mussel shells embedded in the sandy seafloor.
“This is a good place,” Hiki muttered, a feeling of confidence replacing some of the fear. “There are enough mussels here to fill my pan, and I will not have to go far from the opening I made.”
As she spoke, the words echoed eerily through the ice-covered cavern. The echo was strange and scary, but somehow it was more comforting than the stillness. She placed the candle between two rocks and hurriedly gathered mussels until her pan was almost full.
Several times as she worked she was startled by a glimpse of her own shadow, big and black against the smooth sea walls. But by the time the pan was full, the fear had eased. She stood for a moment and listened to the angry rumbling of the faraway sea.
“The tide is coming in,” she said, and hurriedly tossed the last two mussels into the pan. Gathering up her tools, Hiki found the hole and, with a sigh of relief, lifted herself back into the cold-white world she loved.
“It is done,” she whispered.
Looking proudly at the overflowing pan, Hiki sat down on the small sled. For a moment she did nothing but enjoy the warm feeling of accomplishment.
“I have done what I feared to do,” she declared, and then her face broke into a soft smile. Closing her eyes tightly she whispered, “Thank You for helping me. Next time it will not be so hard.”

After bouncing down a dirt road in a packed bus for four hours, I finally arrived in Concepción del Uruguay, Argentina, and was met by two other missionaries. I was to play a piano recital that night in the auditorium of the Colegio del Uruguay.
After checking the auditorium’s piano and making sure everything was in order for the recital, we returned to the apartment for a short siesta.
That evening as we left for the concert we heard noise and shouting down the street. One of my companions told me he had heard that an “anti-Yankee” demonstration was scheduled, stemming from the death of Chile’s President Allende that had occurred that very morning. The elder said we did not have to worry because the demonstration was taking place in a plaza on the other side of town. We avoided the crowds by walking an extra block out of the way.
Soon after we arrived at the auditorium we heard a noise through the backstage window. A mob carrying torches, communist flags, and banners was coming toward the auditorium. We barely had time to bolt the backdoor to keep the mob out.
Ten demonstrators managed to get in the half-filled auditorium before the management could lock all the doors. The other half of our audience was unable to enter.
We later learned that the mob had read in the newspapers that a U.S. pianist was presenting a concert. They had planned to drag the yanqui from the auditorium and make him—me—the climax of the demonstration.
Outside the auditorium’s locked doors the mob began to shout and chant, “Fuera yanqui, fuera yanqui!” (Yankee go home!) and “Hallar, hallar, en la lucha popular!” (Become part of the common fight!) They strung up an effigy and set fire to it, and the demonstration continued for an hour and a half before the police could break it up.
The sponsor of the concert came backstage and asked me if I wanted to go ahead and perform, even though half the audience was still outside.
At the end of the evening, after I had finished performing, three of the demonstrators who had come into the hall came up to talk to me and my companions. In our conversation I asked them why they had come.
“We seriously came to kill you,” one answered bluntly. He then asked us who we were.
“We’re Mormon missionaries.”
“I’ve never heard of the Mormons before.”
We asked him the Golden Questions. Later this 18-year-old youth invited us to his house to explain the gospel. A month later he was baptized. His family was converted also. The last I heard, our demonstrator-convert was preparing for a mission.

Years ago, a woman named Jacqueline Langey-Johnson moved into our neighborhood. She is a caretaker for two young women with developmental disabilities. As a couple, we wondered if Jacqueline might have a difficult time taking care of her property while caring for these young women. We decided to introduce ourselves and see how we could help.
We had a wonderful conversation during which we told Jacqueline we would be delighted to help her with some yard work. She gratefully accepted our offer and told us how difficult it was for her to get outside and do yard work since she couldn’t leave the young women alone in the house.
The Lord was very aware of Jacqueline’s situation and used us to help her find joy in her new home and feel welcomed in the neighborhood. We were thrilled at the chance to serve her and develop a forever friendship.
We soon discovered that Jacqueline was a devout Christian who loved reading about the Savior. So during one of our conversations, we gave her a Come, Follow Me—For Individuals and Families: New Testament manual. Jacqueline absolutely loved the material in the manual and the creative way it was presented—it made reading the New Testament enjoyable and easy to understand.
One day about two years ago, Jacqueline asked if the full-time missionaries could come to her home and teach her more about the Church using the Come, Follow Me manual. Alongside the full-time missionaries, we started having weekly discussions with her. After four months, she wanted to be baptized. She asked me (Bob) to perform the ordinance and my wife (Judy) to be a witness.
Since her baptism in September 2020, Jacqueline has served as a sacrament meeting greeter, assisted the full-time missionaries in teaching others, counseled young adults in our ward with developmental disabilities, met with the full-time missionaries weekly to learn more about the Church, and identified several of her ancestors who need temple ordinance work performed for them. She also currently serves in the Denver Colorado Temple.

Once while attending church in London, my wife, Marie, and I met a woman named Libby Casas from Maine. Because the Knaupps were the only people we then knew in Maine, we asked if she knew them. Her face lit up: “Know them? Wendy is my dear friend. She introduced me to the gospel!” Wendy had met Libby in a Laundromat—two mothers doing their family laundry—and shared the gospel with Libby just as we had done with Wendy in the train station. What first impressed Libby most about the Church was the power of Wendy’s personal example—as mother, wife, and human being. For Libby, at least at the beginning, Wendy herself was the message of the Restoration.

After Ella gulped down her breakfast, she quickly put on her jacket, boots, hat, and gloves. She opened the front door and eagerly stepped onto the porch to see the glistening, new-fallen snow.
Ella dragged her feet through the snow, making two narrow trails across the yard. She reached the sidewalk and peered down the street. The Gonzales twins were already out in their yard, busily constructing a snowman.
“Their snowmen are always the biggest and fanciest on the street,” Ella grumbled to herself, “because there are two of them to do the work. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll build the best snowman that’s ever stood on Larkin Street—even if it takes me all day!”
Scooping up a handful of snow, she patted it into a ball and began rolling it in the snow. Around and around and around the yard she went, until her arms ached from pushing and sweat trickled down her forehead.
“Whew!” Ella stood back in admiration. She’d never seen such a gigantic ball. She glanced proudly toward the Gonzales’s yard—and her eyes popped as the twins set still another snowball on top of the four already there. A five-layered snowman!
“Nuts!” Ella said crossly. She wished that she had someone to help her—this was hard work! She flexed her arms, took a deep breath, and began rolling a second ball.
“Can I help?”
Ella whirled around instantly, but her excitement turned to dismay when she saw who was standing hopefully in the driveway.
Deon! Of all the people on Larkin Street—of all the people in the whole third grade—Deon was the very last person whom Ella would pick to help her. Deon was big enough, but he was awkward. He couldn’t make it through a day of school without dropping something, tripping, or crashing into desks and shelves and people—even Mr. Brown, the principal. Deon’s nickname was the Clumsy Giant.
Deon would probably trip and fall on top of mysnowman and smash it to pieces, Ella thought. I don’t want him to help.
She opened her mouth, all set to tell him—nicely, of course—to go away. Deon’s head drooped sadly. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Oh,” said Ella, hating to see him so unhappy, “all right. You can help. Here, let’s lift this up.”
An enormous grin spread across Deon’s face as he plodded into the yard and bent over. Together they lifted the ball and set it on the sturdy base.
“Great!” Ella exclaimed as she dusted the snow off her knees. Then she looked down the street again and groaned. “The Gonzales’s snowman is so tall!”
“Yours is a lot wider, though,” Deon encouraged her.
Ella was pleased. “I’ll make the head, and you can make the neck, OK?”
“Sure!”
In another half hour they were finished.
“Fabulous!” Ella said, beaming. “It’s much better than the Gonzales’s snowman.”
“Are you going to put a face on it?” Deon asked eagerly.
“Of course. A face and a hat, buttons, …”
“A belt?” Deon asked.
“Terrific!” Ella exclaimed. “Why don’t you get a belt and buttons, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”
“OK,” Deon agreed. He lumbered down the sidewalk.
Ella rushed inside and began rummaging through the kitchen.
“Who’s that you’re playing with?” asked her mother.
“Oh, that’s Deon,” Ella explained, slamming a drawer shut. “He’s eight, too, even though he’s so big.”
Mom chuckled. “He reminds me of your Uncle Terry. Terry was big like that when he was a boy. Papa called him a bumbling old sheepdog.”
“Uncle Terry was that big?” Ella was amazed. Uncle Terry looked just like anybody else now. Oh, he was a little taller than average, and quite a bit chunkier, but still he was normal.
“He certainly was a clumsy child,” Mom said. “But now Aunt Rosemary says that he’s the best dancer that she’s ever danced with!”
Ella kept sneaking glances at Deon as they decorated the snowman. Will Deon grow up to look and act like everybody else? She wondered. And had Uncle Terry minded being called a bumbling old sheepdog? I bet Deon doesn’t enjoy being called the Clumsy Giant! Uncle Terry is a pretty super guy—and Deon really is a nice boy.
Soon the snowman was dressed with pop-bottle-cap eyes, a carrot nose, a potato-peeling mouth, an old fishing hat, a moth-eaten blue and green scarf, five shiny black buttons, and a sagging brown belt. Ella lifted up the hat and plopped down an old mophead for hair, and Deon leaned a broken fishing pole against the snowman’s arm.
Deon laughed. “We should make a sign: ‘I’m all ready. Where are the fish?’”
Ella grinned. “That’s a good idea.” She paused, then said, “Come on in. I think that we have paint and cardboard somewhere.”
Mom greeted them cheerfully and gave them cookies and milk after they finished their sign. She didn’t even mind when, on the way out, Deon knocked over a chair and just missed toppling a lamp. “No harm done,” she said, reaching out to steady it. “Now,” she added, “put your sign up, then wait for me. I’m coming out with the camera.”
“Your mom’s nice,” Deon told Ella as they propped the sign against the snowman. “My mom’s always afraid that I’ll break things. She starts yelling at me as soon as I come into the house: ‘Stay away from the table! Don’t set foot in the living room!’” Deon sighed. “I wish that I could take a shrinking potion. I hate being so big.”
“Don’t worry,” Ella said reassuringly. “My Uncle Terry was big like you when he was eight, but now he’s just like everyone else.”
“Really?” Deon’s eyes brightened.
“Yes. After Mom takes our picture, you can come in and play and she’ll tell you about him.”
“Are you ready?” Mom called as she tramped through the snow. “One of you get on each side of this super snowman and smile!”
“The best snowman on Larkin Street,” Ella said proudly as Mom focused the camera. “The best friends too.”

When we respect the confidences granted us, our friends can speak of their inner feelings or reach out for help. Marie and Heather shared this kind of trust. Heather had four children and demanding home responsibilities. Marie was often prompted by the Spirit to call just when Heather needed to confide. Heather said, “I couldn’t hide my feelings from her question, ‘How are you doing?’ I’d cry and explain, and she would listen, and I’d feel better. I knew my words would go no further. I thank the Lord for Marie.”

Illustration from Getty Images
As parents of a toddler and a newborn, we had faced difficulty fulfilling Church callings. So when my husband was called to serve as the bishop of a young single adult ward, we were both filled with hesitation.
Questions flooded our minds regarding our ability to manage everything with the added responsibility. We found out a few days after receiving the call that I was pregnant with our third child. Due to my medical history, previous pregnancies had been difficult. As we discussed what we would expect over the next few months if my husband accepted the call, we weren’t sure what to do. We began to pray earnestly for comfort and guidance.
At one point, my husband wondered if he should explain our situation to the stake president and turn down the calling. This made the most sense to us, but as we prayed and fasted, we were reminded of the words of President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018): “When we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help” (“Duty Calls,” Ensign, May 1996, 44).
Our hearts were comforted and our worries eased. We received the assurance that this call did not come from the stake president. It came from the Lord, and He knew before we did that I was pregnant when the calling was extended. He could do more for our family than my husband could on his own if he did not accept this call.
With faith in our hearts, my husband accepted the call and we took each day as it came. My third pregnancy proved to be a great miracle, and our son was born healthy and strong. The years I spent attending our home ward with our children helped us grow closer not only as a family but also to fellow ward members as well. While my husband diligently labored in his calling, I learned to turn to my ward family for help with my children.
My husband and I are grateful to many faithful Saints and, most important, to our Heavenly Father for helping us as we strived to balance work, family, and service in the Church.

I faced a lot of challenges after my baptism. The changes I needed to make in my life were significant. On top of that, sometimes I felt that I had no friends in the Church, and it was tempting to go back to my old friends. But my desire to feel joy—and my understanding that we can be happy regardless of external circumstances—helped me keep coming back to church. I knew I couldn’t “lay aside [my] faith” (Alma 32:36). Over time I made friends within the Church who helped me during the transition. And as I continued to live the gospel, my testimony and my happiness grew (see Alma 32:37).

Many times during his life, he said, he had found comfort and strength in those words. But his first, cherished experience with answered prayer emphasized the value of teaching children early.
It was his job, as a young boy, to walk 3.2 kilometers to the pasture in the early morning every day to bring back the family’s cows for milking. Along the way, he would notice the gold and orange-colored sunbeams streaming through the clouds, or see the glistening dew on tall sunflower leaves.
This particular morning, he told us, was different. There was a low fog suspended above the ground, and as he walked toward the pasture the fog became more dense. Then slowly, before the sun came over the mountains, the fog enclosed him. He began to whistle in an attempt to control the panic rising within him. But even as he whistled he began to tremble in his loneliness and in his fear of the blackness that seemed to wrap around him like a moist blanket.
Then as he seemed to feel completely lost to the elements, he remembered his mother’s counsel: “There’s no reason to be afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.”
Six-year-old Clint knelt on the dew-soaked grass and prayed to the One who could help him. His simple faith was not misplaced. As a calmness came upon him, he opened his eyes and saw a cow on her way home, that had wandered close by. A small voice from within him told him to follow the animal. Holding on to its tail, Clint soon entered the comfortable safety of the barn where his father was preparing for the milking.
Now, as he stood before us, a young man of twenty-one, Clint said how grateful he was for the lessons and experiences of his childhood days. He had used the memory of those days to help him in many times of trial and uncertainty. He had, he declared, a strong testimony of prayer—a testimony founded on his mother’s teachings.