Gospel Story Finder

And, as Michael and Debbie have found, they experience tremendous revelatory moments and attendant blessings when they are working on the Lord’s temples.

“We needed some bigger stencils for a temple we were working on, but since we didn’t know anybody in that particular city we just went to the internet and found two or three stencil suppliers.” Debbie said. “We felt drawn to one in particular, but it was 11 o’clock at night and we needed these stencils as soon as we could get them. We couldn’t find their trading hours on the website but out of the blue the impression came to me, “Why don’t you just call them?”

“We discussed that if we did that maybe their answering machine would give us their hours,” Debbie continued. “So, I called the number and the owner of the business answered.”

He was at the office that night because of some problems his own people were having with a project they were working on. Later, when Michael and Debbie went in to pick up their new stencils, the man told them it was very unusual for him to be at the office at that time of night.

“He said he had to come in to recut all the stencils for his own project and that he was going to be there until two or three in the morning. That had never happened before,” Debbie said. “But Mike had been fasting and praying all day about this, and we believe the Lord led us to the business that could help us complete what we were working on.”

“We’re so grateful for moments like these.”

It was a gorgeous spring day about a week before school let out for the summer when my father and the house came barging back into my life. I intended to call my best friend, Marge, and go down to the corner for a pop before I started my homework. I picked up the kitchen phone and put the receiver to my ear without even realizing mom was on the extension in the bedroom. The first thing I heard was my father’s voice.
"Cathy is my daughter," he was saying. "I don’t think a week of her summer vacation is too much for me to ask."
"I know," mom answered, "but I have to leave the decision up to her …"
I hung up the phone quietly and went upstairs to my room. My school books were lying on my bed. I opened one and pretended to study, but my thoughts were far from algebra. My father wanted me to spend a week of my summer vacation with him. I didn’t want to. Why did he have to keep barging into my life and messing it up? I’d just get things straightened out, and suddenly he’d appear again to jumble them back up.
Mom tapped on my bedroom door. "Cathy," she called.
"Come in," I replied, pretending to be deeply engrossed in my studies.
Mom entered and sat on the edge of my bed. "May I talk with you a minute?"
"Sure," I said trying to sound nonchalant. "But I have a lot of homework to do."
"Your father just called," mom said in a voice that displayed no emotion. She always talked of him that way, trying not to prejudice me against him.
"Oh? What’d he want?"
"He wants to see you. He’d like you to come visit him for a week over summer vacation."
"What’d you say?"
"I said it was up to you."
I pretended to think for a moment, but my mind was already made up.
"I don’t think I can, mom. I’m planning on getting a job, and I don’t think anyone would hire me if right off the bat I said I had to have a week off."
"Yes, I can see that, but he does want to see you. Maybe you could work something out. Maybe go for a weekend."
"I don’t know …"
"Cathy, he is your father."
"I know he’s my father," I had to struggle to keep back the resentment that statement contained, "but I’m going to be really busy this summer."
"Too busy to go for even one weekend?"
I looked at mom. She could see right through my transparent excuses. "Well, maybe one weekend," I conceded.
"Fine, you pick the weekend, and I’ll call your father tomorrow to make arrangements."
I often thought it was odd that my father lived in the same city we did, and yet we never saw each other. But it was a big city, and we lived at opposite ends of it, and I really didn’t care if I saw him or not.
The house was the same as I remembered it, except for new furniture in the living room. But there was still the same stale odor of smoke. Though he never did it in front of me, I knew my father smoked. It was part of the reason why he had never taken mom and me to the temple. My father was just about the same too. He was still tall and thin with a receding hairline, except that what hair he did have was now speckled with gray.
"Hi, Cathy," he said when I arrived at the white Spanish house.
"Hi."
"You’ve sure grown up the past few years."
"Yes, that does have a tendency to happen," I replied dryly.
He laughed nervously.
"Can I put my stuff away?"
"Sure. Put it in the second room on the right down the hall. I should have dinner ready when you’re done."
I went to the room he indicated. It had green carpet and green, blue, and white striped wallpaper. It reminded me of a hotel room. I hadn’t brought much, so it didn’t take me long to unpack. When I was finished, I wandered into the kitchen. My father was taking a casserole out of the oven. "I’ve become a pretty good cook," he said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
We didn’t talk much during the meal. He made several attempts at conversation, and I answered as simply as I could.
"What are you doing this summer?" he asked.
"I’m getting a job."
"Oh? Where?"
"At the Chicken Barn. I’m waiting on tables."
"Going to make a lot of money, huh?"
I shrugged. "Just enough to help pay for my school clothes and cheerleading uniforms."
"You a cheerleader?"
"Yes."
"Well, I guess I’ll have to come to the Chicken Barn and donate to your school wardrobe."
I shrugged again.
"You’re pretty active at school, aren’t you? You starred in your school play last year, didn’t you?"
"How did you know?"
"Your mom told me."
"Oh?"
"I came and saw it. You didn’t know that, did you?"
I looked up startled. "You did?"
"Yes, opening night. You were really good. I even sent you some flowers. Did you get them?"
"They were from you?"
"Yes."
"I didn’t know that. The card wasn’t signed. I thought they were from Robbie Fletcher."
"Your boyfriend?"
"I wish."
"Are you disappointed they weren’t from him?"
I just shrugged once more. "I’m kind of tired tonight," I said. "Do you mind if I go to bed now?"
"Go ahead."
I’d just settled into bed when I heard a noise outside. I peered out the window and saw the silhouette of my father on the porch. In his hand I could see the glowing ember of a lighted cigarette. He never smoked in front of me, almost as if he didn’t want to admit to me that he did it. How dumb did he think I was. "What a hypocrite," I said to myself. Then I laid back down in bed.
When I woke up Saturday morning, there was sun streaming in the bedroom window. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was.
When I did, the brightness of the day seemed to dull a bit.
I found my father in the kitchen fixing breakfast.
"Good morning," he said.
"Hi."
"Here’s breakfast. I hope you like your eggs sunny-side up."
"That’s fine."
"What shall we do today?"
"I don’t know."
"We could run down to the amusement park."
"I’m kind of old for that," I said, determined to be as uncooperative as possible.
"Well then, how about going to the beach?"
"I’m kind of tired of that. Edward takes us there all the time." I hoped my reference to Edward would bite a bit, but if it did, my father gave no sign of it.
"Then I guess we can always just stay home and visit. I’d like that. This house is kind of lonely just me here. It’d be nice to visit."
"If you’re so lonely, why don’t you get married?" I asked bluntly.
My father was good at not acting surprised by my frank comments. "Well," he replied, "I guess I never met anyone besides your mother who I loved enough to marry."
All the bitterness I’d ever felt welled up inside of me, and it was impossible to keep it out of my voice when I replied. "If you were so in love with mom, why did you desert her?"
My father put down his fork and looked across the table at me. "I don’t know what your mother has told you about me and what happened …"
"She hasn’t told me anything. In fact, she’s bent over backwards to keep from portraying you as a villain."
"Well then maybe it’s time someone did tell you something."
I expected him to tell me a real sob story with him as a poor picked on man and mom the domineering nag of a wife, so I steeled myself to defend her. But I was surprised when he spoke.
"Cathy, your mother and I, we’re human."
All kinds of sarcastic replies raced through my mind like, "Oh, I’ve waited all my life to glean this bit of wisdom from you." But I kept my mouth shut and my father went on.
"We make mistakes. Some mistakes can be corrected quickly; others haunt you for the rest of your life. When your mother and I were married, we were young and naive. We still clung to some of those silly ideas about finding beautiful princesses and handsome princes and living happily ever after. We didn’t realize that everyone marries imperfect partners and the wise spend the rest of their lives working together to become better. We both expected love and each other to be perfect immediately. My idea of a perfect wife was one who left me alone to do whatever I wanted. Your mother wanted a husband who’d take her to the temple. I always said I would, but I wasn’t going to be pushed. I figured there was plenty of time for that, and there were still things I wanted to do first. Anyway, one day we discovered we’d pushed and pulled ourselves right out of each other’s lives." He paused and seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then he went on. "Oh, I guess if we’d been a bit more mature or if we’d really tried, we could’ve made things work. But it was easier to just call it quits. For a long time I blamed your mother, and by the time I realized how wrong I was being, it was too late; your mother had remarried. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great that she’s found Edward. They seem to be happy enough."
"They are."
"Well, I guess what it boils down to is that you’re all I have left, Cathy."
I poked at my food.
"Hey!" he said. "Why don’t we go shopping. I’ll buy you a new outfit."
"You don’t have to do that," I said.
"I want to. After all, why should I make my contribution to your wardrobe through the Chicken Barn when I can give it directly to you?"
I laughed. "All right."
I watched my father that day as we shopped. I had always been under the impression that if I was around my father long enough, I’d see him sprout fangs and claws. He didn’t, and I realized that I had spent a long time looking at him through eyes tainted by bitterness and selfishness. As I pushed them aside, I could see my father as he was—a lonely man who’d made mistakes and was paying for them.
When we got home from shopping, my father excused himself to go outside. I knew he was going to smoke and watched out the window. There was a look of disgust on his face as he lit the cigarette. He smoked it hastily with short puffs. Then almost angrily he dropped it to the ground and crushed it out with his foot. I let the curtains drop then, so that he wouldn’t know I’d been watching.

This helpfulness seems to be an inherited trait. Chad’s father, who maintains and drives the school’s buses, is known as a kind and generous man, always ready to share with those in need. Though a member of the Church, Brother O’Watch has not attended for many years. That’s why it’s so amazing that he did what he did one afternoon in April when Chad was 11.
Brother O’Watch and Chad were returning in an empty bus from the last run of the day. Instead of turning down his own lane as usual, Brother O’Watch made a surprise right turn into the parking lot of the Carry-The-Kettle Branch of the Regina Saskatchewan Stake. “The missionaries are waiting for you,” he said.
Chad was not a member of the Church and had no wish to be one. He refused to get off the bus. His dad, uncharacteristically, insisted. “There are other kids here,” he said. “You’ll have fun, and it will be good for you.”
So Chad obeyed, steaming and fuming. “I thought my dad was the worst guy alive,” he recalls. He met the missionaries and attended his first Primary meeting. He was astonished to find that he kind of liked it, and he went again the next week.
“After going a few times, I found that I just loved being there. There was a feeling of the Spirit. The missionaries lived next to the chapel, and before long I was there almost every day helping them and being taught.”
In November Chad was baptized and confirmed. “I had a warm, good feeling, like coming home to a place where I belonged.”

How can following the prophet help us? Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told a story about his father, who worked and lived in the home of President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918):
One night Elder Perry’s father came home very late and tried to open his bedroom door. The door would not open. He pushed and pushed, and it still would not open. He gave up and turned to sleep on a rug that was in the hall. As he turned, he bumped into a nearby, partially opened door—and woke up the prophet!
Although it was midnight, President Smith came over and showed Elder Perry’s father how to open the door by pulling instead of pushing, and how to get around in the dark: “Keep your arms in front, but hands together.”
Elder Perry teaches us what a prophet does to help us. He said, “Isn’t a prophet someone who teaches us to open doors we could not open ourselves—doors to greater light and truth? Isn’t a prophet like a pair of hands clasped together in front of the body of the Church, helping members navigate [find their way] through the dark [hallways] of the world?” (Ensign, Nov. 1994, 18–19.)

Draw a picture. Another way to record what you are learning is to draw it. One time when I was visiting a friend for family home evening, her grandmother shared personal stories about faith and prayer. Before the lesson began, my friend gave her young children paper and crayons so they could draw the stories while their great-grandmother talked. Drawing pictures helped them pay attention, and they even asked questions along the way to clarify parts of the story.

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad. He went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. He made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles when he had time. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much. It was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside and what I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

“Do you like our bishop?”
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was very sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some church ladies came by to help take care of them and his sick mother. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s OK.”
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher.”
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are pretty old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that every time he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that that was a good start, but that he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting and seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”

My husband, Howard, has a fine Latter-day Saint heritage. Both of his parents came from devout pioneer families. Both of his grandfathers were called to help the expedition that searched out a route to the San Juan River country (southeast Utah) in 1879–80.
Howard’s father moved his family from Paragonah, Utah, (southwest Utah) to western Colorado’s plateau region in 1927. Their new home was a good place to continue a sheep-ranching business, but there were no towns within and no Latter-day Saint wards.
Howard and his brother learned to work at an early age. Their life’s pattern of never-ending work and learning to live in a harsh, cold, isolated environment, far removed from family and church, developed their self-sufficiency but not gospel testimony. They were two strongly independent young men who thought they didn’t need religion.
Howard and I met in 1938 when we were sixteen. He was “one of those Mormons.” Nevertheless, four years later we were married. Six years and three babies later I was visited by the missionaries, and I became “one of those Mormons.” There was a difference, however. I had been searching for the true gospel for several years, and when I found it I accepted it wholeheartedly. I was determined to raise our family in the faith, and I tried energetically to convert my own family—as well as my husband—as I went along.
But my family turned from me—one of the hardest trials I had ever faced. Then my husband became indifferent, even resentful, after a small branch of the Church was established in our area. I was happy to serve in the Primary and Sunday School, and I took the children—now numbering five—with me. But Howard resented the time I spent at church, and told me he resented it. I felt betrayed and frightened. What could I do to develop harmony in our home?
One day I walked to the hay field, feeling very confused and alone. Weeping, I knelt near a haystack and poured out my troubles to my Father in Heaven. After a long time, the answer came forcefully: Love him!
This was not the answer I had expected. I thought, “I have loved him; I’ve done all I could.” But as I walked back to the house, trying to put that counsel out of my head, I found I could not.
That night I prayed again, “How, Heavenly Father, how do I show him my love?” Finally came another answer: Don’t criticize him. Respect him. Praise him. Communicate with him. Bear your testimony!
I suddenly realized how wrong I had been. I had been critical and resentful. I had not praised Howard enough, and I had never told him how I really felt, except in anger. I had never talked to him about how much the Savior meant to me or how I felt about the gospel.
Now I knew I needed to change. I had no choice; the Spirit urged me every day. A few days later, for the first time, I was able to bear my testimony to him. He listened, and I felt encouraged. I asked the children’s help, and we fasted and prayed together. I asked the help of the ward priesthood leaders, and they gave their support.
Slowly, with divine help, I began to see changes. Howard attended a few programs the children and I took part in; occasionally he came to church. After four of our children had been married in the temple without us, our fifth child announced his engagement and told us we would have a year to get ready to go to the temple with him.
Howard wondered if we could do it, but we set a goal. And, after thirty-five years of marriage, we got to the temple! All five of our children and their spouses went with us to the Provo Temple, where we were sealed as a family. What a wonderful, spiritual, happy day!
Howard has since served as scoutmaster, elders quorum president, counselor in the bishopric, home teacher, and is now serving as group leader of his high priests quorum. He is loved and respected by all who know him. How grateful I am for that long-ago answer to fervent prayer: Love him!

As a young boy living in Mexico, I was given the job of watching our cattle in the field as they grazed. One day I became bored with this chore and went to play, leaving the cattle unattended. I played all day, returning to my chore only when it began to get late.
As I approached the field, I realized that the cattle were gone! I could picture my father’s face—how disappointed and angry he would be! I was his eldest son. He had taught me to be responsible, and he was proud of me. How would he feel about me now? Quickly I searched for the cattle from one end of the field to the other. I couldn’t find them anywhere!
As I wondered what to do, I remembered something my father had taught me—if I ever needed help, I could pray to my Father in Heaven, and he would help me. I needed help then! I knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cattle. Then, sure that I would find them, I searched again.
But the cattle were nowhere to be found! I became angry. I had prayed, as my father had taught me. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayer?
I stormed home. I had almost forgotten about the cattle and how upset my father would be. I wanted to know why my prayer hadn’t been answered. My father listened patiently as I explained what had happened. In his wise way, he asked me what I would have done the next day if Heavenly Father had helped me find the cattle. “Would you leave the cows again, thinking that your Father in Heaven would find them for you?”
After some thought, I replied, “Yes, that is probably what I would do.”
My father told me to kneel again—this time to ask for forgiveness and to promise that I would never again leave the cattle to go and play. I did as he said. Then, humbly, I once more asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cows. With my father by my side, I returned to the field and found the cattle there.
I learned an important lesson that day. Heavenly Father does not give us what we want just because we want it. He answers our prayers when we have done our part. And he answers them in a way that will help us become better people.

“Am I too little to have a testimony?” Jamie asked her mother.
“Why do you think you are too little?”
“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 big enough to have a testimony yet.”
“Five years old is big 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 though 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 treats for family home evening, so on Monday afternoon they made cupcakes with chocolate frosting and shredded coconut. That evening Father did give a lesson about testimonies. “A testimony is kind of like the bright, sparkling light that shines through our crystal 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 the family room. “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 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!”

Alison Numkena and Jandi Hernandez want to set the record straight.
The girls, both Laurels in the Pinetop-Lakeside Arizona Stake, speak perfect English (in fact, it’s really the only language they speak). They watch television, go to regular high school, and when they attend stake dances, they don’t ride horseback to get there.
“It’s funny what people think about us sometimes,” says Jandi. “Since we’re Native Americans and we live on the reservation, people sometimes get funny ideas about what we’re like. But I think we’re pretty much like everybody else.”
And just like many young women in the Church, Alison, Jandi, and the rest of the girls on the Fort Apache Reservation look forward to girls’ camp in the summer.
However, for a long time, these girls had to wait two years between camp experiences. The stake hosts girls’ camp every other summer, and in the alternating summers, girls attend camp with their own wards and branches. But with just a small handful of active LDS girls, the reservation branches never had enough people for individual camps. Until this year, that is. By combining the girls from all three branches on the reservation, there was a large enough group for a small camp. So the girls and their leaders made it happen.
At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”
Jandi and Alison, who are also Laurels, wanted to make a meaningful contribution to camp too. Jandi’s mom, Glenda, is the camp director, so she had plenty of things they could do to help out, including setting up camp and helping organize and execute a fund-raiser. They also put together binders for each girl containing information about each day’s activities, words to campfire songs, and camp certification information. Even with a relatively small group coming to camp, it was a big job.
“We worked right up to the last minute,” says Jandi. “The day camp started, we were still putting some of them together. We finished just in time!”
Many of the most important aspects of camp are the same for the girls on the Fort Apache Reservation as for young women anywhere else. Like any girls’ camp, there is a mixture of learning camping and hiking skills and learning about the gospel. There were afternoon workshops—many taught by the girls themselves—on the common challenges of keeping the Word of Wisdom, chastity, and church activity. Many of the other activities and campfire speakers also focused on these topics.
“Sometimes you get intimidated by an older person telling you what you need to do,” says Jandi. “Learning it from a friend is different; it’s easier to hear.”
There are differences, too, things that make this camp unlike any other. These girls are proud of their Native American heritage and have found ways to incorporate it into their camp experience. Most evenings there is something to eat that is unique to this camp—fry bread and Navajo tacos, for example, or a special cornbread that requires all the girls to help mash several ears of fresh corn and then take turns cooking the pancake-like bread over the fire.
But it’s not just the food that’s unique. One night’s campfire features several of the older leaders telling stories of their younger days on the reservation and of their conversion to the gospel. There is an emphasis on feeling good about being LDS and being a Native American and finding ways to make the two work together.
“Prayer is an important part of our culture, both as members of the Church and as members of the Apache tribe,” says Jandi. “It’s in our blood to pray morning, noon, and night. Heavenly Father and Jesus are important in our culture. Our tribal chairman and our tribal council often ask us to pray. You hear it in the Church and out.”
When camp ends, there are the usual comments about being eager to get home and have a hot shower, eat twig-free food, and sleep with something other than a rock for a pillow. As the girls take down tents and roll up sleeping bags, they talk about what was great about camp (seeing a baby elk from a distance of just a few feet) and what could be improved next time (more blankets for the near-freezing nighttime temperatures). But mostly they talk about how grateful they are that they were able to come to camp at all.
“We’ve gotten closer at this camp than we’ve ever been,” says Taren Webster, a Beehive. “Camp gives us time together away from home. I think that’s really important.”
Next year the girls from the reservation will join the other girls in their stake for camp. And the year after that? This group is still small, but they pulled it off once, so the next time should be a little easier. They’ll build on traditions they started this year, and maybe even come up with a few new ones. Just like this year, they’ll have a great time getting to know each other, becoming better campers, and learning about the gospel.
And that makes them pretty much like young women everywhere.
Are you heading off to girls’ camp soon? If so, you probably already know what to bring, and the activities are probably planned. Here are a few last-minute tips from the girls in Fort Apache for making a good camp great:
Be ready to share your talents, your ideas, and your testimony. Most camp activities require lots of group participation. Remember you’re among friends, so don’t be shy.
Maintain a cheerful attitude. Some parts of camp probably won’t be as much fun as others (being on dish-washing duty, for example), but putting a smile on your face and being a good sport make the time go quickly.
Look for opportunities to be kind. Does your tent mate need help with a certification skill? Is there a first-year camper who is homesick and could use a shoulder to cry on? Find people who need help and help them.
Remember what you’ve learned. At camp you often draw closer to the Lord, as well as to the other members of your Young Women group. Instead of letting those good feelings fade, build on them throughout the year.

The children have learned in the process of growing up what their parents expect. One young man said: “I remember when one of my friends asked if I’d like to go to a movie with him on a Sunday afternoon. I said no, and he wanted to know why—was that one of our rules? he asked. I thought about it and suddenly realized that it was one of our rules, but it had never been stated in those words. It’s just one of the things that our family would never do.”

In 1837, two years after being ordained an Apostle, Elder Heber C. Kimball was sitting in the Kirtland Temple when the Prophet Joseph Smith whispered to him that the Lord wanted him to go on a mission to England. He would be the first missionary sent outside North America.
“The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me,” Elder Kimball said. But he accepted the call and went to England—even leaping from the boat upon his arrival in Liverpool. “The moment I understood the will of my heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed” (see History of the Church, 2:489–90).
Elder Kimball’s mission opened the door to much success in England over the next several years, as thousands of people accepted the gospel and became a great strength to the Church.

President Smith showed an example of such kindness in a meeting where an accident involving a Church-owned automobile was discussed. An elderly man driving a vegetable truck with no insurance had caused the mishap. After some discussion, it was recommended that the Church pursue the matter in a court of law. However, President Smith spoke up: “Yes, we could do that. And if we press with all vigor, we might even succeed in taking the truck away from the poor man; then how would he make a living?” The committee reversed its recommendation and let the matter rest.15

Britta and Peter go to the Hyde Park Ward in Chicago. The building where they meet is very crowded because many people have been joining the Church. The ward is trying to raise money to help pay for a new building. At a yard sale for the building fund, Britta sold a pot holder that she made. “Every penny counts!” Britta says. Peter is always proud to pay his tithing on the money that he earns doing special projects, such as folding clothes for his family.

Now, some of you may not have a paper waiting for you. It may be a textbook with a math problem hidden in it. Let me tell you about a day in your future. You’ll have a teenage son or daughter who’ll say, “I hate school.” After some careful listening, you’ll find it is not school or even mathematics he or she hates—it’s the feeling of failure.

You’ll correctly discern those feelings, and you’ll be touched; you’ll want to freely give. So you’ll open the text and say, “Let’s look at one of the problems together.” Think of the shock you will feel when you see that the same rowboat is still going downstream in two hours and back in five hours, and the questions are still how fast the current is and how far the boat traveled. You might think, “Well, I’ll make my children feel better by showing them that I can’t do math either.” Let me give you some advice: they will see that as a poor gift.

Brothers, sisters, and friends, in 2013 my wife, Laurel, and I were called to serve as mission leaders in the Czech/Slovak Mission. Our four children served with us. We were blessed as a family with brilliant missionaries and by the remarkable Czech and Slovak Saints. We love them.
As our family entered the mission field, something Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin taught went with us. In a talk titled “The Great Commandment,” Elder Wirthlin asked, “Do you love the Lord?” His counsel to those of us who would answer yes was simple and profound: “Spend time with Him. Meditate on His words. Take His yoke upon you. Seek to understand and obey.” Elder Wirthlin then promised transformative blessings to those willing to give time and place to Jesus Christ.
We took Elder Wirthlin’s counsel and promise to heart. Together with our missionaries, we spent extended time with Jesus, studying Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John from the New Testament and 3 Nephi from the Book of Mormon. At the end of every missionary meeting, we found ourselves back in what we referred to as the “Five Gospels,” reading, discussing, considering, and learning about Jesus.
For me, for Laurel, and for our missionaries, spending time with Jesus in the scriptures changed everything. We gained a deeper appreciation for who He was and what was important to Him. Together we considered how He taught, what He taught, the ways He showed love, what He did to bless and serve, His miracles, how He responded to betrayal, what He did with difficult human emotions, His titles and names, how He listened, how He resolved conflict, the world He lived in, His parables, how He encouraged unity and kindness, His capacity to forgive and to heal, His sermons, His prayers, His atoning sacrifice, His Resurrection, His gospel.
We often felt like the “[short] of stature” Zacchaeus running to climb a sycamore tree as Jesus passed through Jericho because, as Luke described it, we “sought to see Jesus who he was.” It was not Jesus as we wanted or wished Him to be, but rather Jesus as He really was and is. Just as Elder Wirthlin had promised, we learned in a very real way that “the gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel of transformation. It takes us as men and women of the earth and refines us into men and women for the eternities.”
Those were special days. We came to believe that “with God nothing shall be impossible.” Sacred afternoons in Prague, Bratislava, or Brno, experiencing the power and reality of Jesus, continue to resonate in all of our lives.

On the evening of 4 April, TV Successo in Mozambique aired a show that they had never run before. Instead of the usual lineup of evening television programs, the station aired uplifting musical items and inspiring messages from Church leaders around the globe. For the first time ever, this local TV station aired the Sunday morning session of general conference.
It was close to midnight on the same evening when President Russell M. Nelson addressed members of the Church to end the conference. It was then that he announced that several more temples would be built.
“We want to bring the house of the Lord even closer to our members, that they may have the sacred privilege of attending the temple as often as their circumstances allow,” said the prophet.1
“And then,” says Freeman Dickie, who is currently serving as the Beira Mozambique Stake president, “They announced that we were getting a temple in Beira!”
Despite the late hour, “messages were being sent around on the WhatsApp groups. People were awake and celebrating! First, we were able to watch general conference live on TV for the first time, and then the same night came the temple announcement! You can imagine how exciting it was.”

Avery pressed her yellow crayon onto the paper. It was art time in class, and Avery was drawing a picture of herself with little flowers on her shirt. She drew six petals on each flower because six was her favorite number.
Avery put down her crayon and smiled at her drawing. It was perfect! Then she noticed that Jeremy, the boy who sat next to her, was frowning. He was hunched over in his seat. Avery smiled at him, but he didn’t look at her.
“What did you draw?” she asked. “Can I see?”
Jeremy didn’t say anything. He covered up his paper with his red-and-white striped sleeve.
Later Avery and her class went to lunch. Avery sat down with a group of friends. She saw Jeremy sitting alone at another table. His eyes were big, looking around at everyone. He looked sad. Avery thought about how Jeremy usually played alone at recess. What could she do to help him feel better?
That night Avery prayed and told Heavenly Father about Jeremy. She asked Heavenly Father to help her know what to do. She stayed still even after she said “amen,” just thinking.
Then she had an idea! Avery grabbed some crayons and paper. She drew a picture of herself and Jeremy playing with a basketball. They had big smiles on their faces! Avery carefully colored four red stripes on Jeremy’s shirt. Then she wrote Jeremy’s name at the top of the picture.
When she was done, she ran to the kitchen. “Look, Mom!” She held up the picture so Mom could see.
“That’s a happy picture,” Mom said.
Avery smiled. “It’s for Jeremy. He’s in my class. I hope he likes it.”
Avery looked at her drawing again. “Can I have a piece of candy?” she asked. “I want to tape it to the picture.”
Mom smiled and pulled out a box from the cupboard. It was filled with little candies of all colors. Avery picked a red-and-white peppermint and taped it to the corner of the picture.
When Avery got to school the next day, she gave the picture to Jeremy.
“This is for you,” she said. “I hope we can be friends.”
Jeremy took the picture and looked at it. Then he grinned.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never gotten a present from a friend before.”
Avery’s heart felt happy. “Do you want to play with me at recess?” she asked.
Jeremy held up the picture. His smile was as big as the one in the drawing. “We can play basketball!”

We also visited my widowed Aunt Dorothy before she died. She had been very ill for some time, yet she lived on. She waited patiently to be with her husband again after this life. She depended on help from others but lived as fully as possible. She often read the scriptures. A small sign in her home expressed Dorothy’s attitude. It simply said, “Joy.”
Some of the happiest people I know: my mother, Ramona (top), my cousin Dave and Penny Barnes (center), and my Aunt Dorothy (above).
Photographs courtesy of the author
The Keetch family, my mother, Dave, Penny, and Aunt Dorothy are examples of being joyful during trials. They simply live the gospel and look to better days ahead. In doing so they show joy that exceeds the temporary, though painful, trials they face. With faith in God, they follow His plan for them and rely on Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement. This brings joy and peace.