Gospel Story Finder

Kim could feel her face turning red and the tears pushing. Biting her lip hard, she forbade the tears to come.
“Practices,” Sister Tibler was saying to Corrie, “will begin next Saturday at nine o’clock. See you there!”
“Wow!” Corrie exclaimed as the Laurel adviser left. “This sounds so fun. Imagine me the lead in the stake play.”
“That’s neat!” Kim managed to say, but felt as if she would choke on the words.
“I’ve never been in a …” Corrie chattered on and on as they walked home, completely oblivious to Kim’s feelings. Kim nodded, agreed, smiled, but inside the hurt surged and grew until she could barely hold it in. It was the best performance she’d ever given—and the most painful. Finally they reached Corrie’s house.
“Want to come in?” Corrie asked.
“No, I’d better get home and help Mom with dinner.”
“Hurry home to help? You’re nuts. Stay here till it’s ready and then go. I’ve got a great new record we can listen to.”
“No. I’d better go,” Kim answered.
“See you tomorrow then,” Corrie called as she disappeared inside. “But don’t forget, I offered you a way out of work!”
Kim hurried up the street. The rest of the family would already be home, but maybe she could slip in with no one noticing. Quietly she opened the door, tiptoed into the family room, and headed for the stairs.
“Hey, Kim,” her sister, Janice, called. “Did Sister Tibler give you that part you wanted in the stake play?”
“No,” Kim answered, the word swelling in her throat. “She gave it to Corrie.”
“Figures.” Janice said. “Maybe if you went inactive for a while they’d let you do something fun.” Janice laughed, but the words broke Kim’s hold on the tears. Running down the stairs, she felt her way to her room, threw herself on the bed, and let the tears fall.
“I needed that part!” Kim whispered. “And I could do a better job.” Her sobs exploded in her throat. “Corrie doesn’t need it! It couldn’t mean as much to her. Why? Why? Why? It isn’t fair.”
“Kim?” her mother called softly through the door. “Can I come in?”
Kim sat up, grabbed a tissue, and tried to wipe away the evidence, but she knew even without looking that her eyes were too red to fool anyone.
“I guess so,” Kim answered.
The door opened and Mrs. Harper, a small lively woman, entered. “Janice said something was wrong.”
Kim kept her head turned away from her mother. “Just thinking.”
“Janice also told me what happened.”
“Janice talks too much.”
“Can I help?”
Suddenly the pain and bafflement came, pouring out in words. “Oh, Mom. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but sometimes I just don’t understand. I’ve gone to church all my life. I try to be good. I do everything I’m asked to do, which is always the yuck and the work; call all the Laurels, wash a thousand stacks of slimy dishes at the high priests banquet, tend Mrs. Smith’s bratty, messy kids because she’s sick. But no one ever notices me. Every week I’m in my meetings. No one says a word. Corrie comes once a year and there’re trumpets and red carpet and hugs and kisses and,” Kim raised her voice in mock imitation, “Oh, we’re so very, very, very, very, very glad and happy and overjoyed and delighted to have you here, Corrie!”
Kim wiped once more at her eyes. The pressure had eased and the tears had slowed. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this. I know they’re just trying to help Corrie become active, but Mom, no one ever tells me they’re glad to see me. There’s never red carpet or trumpets for me. And now …” The tears started again despite all her efforts to hold them in. “Now they’ve given her the lead in the stake play. I needed that part. You know how Mr. Thornley told us that if I could just be in a couple more plays he thought I’d be able to get that drama scholarship.”
Mrs. Harper sat next to Kim and hugged her close. “I don’t know what to say. I know how you feel.”
“Oh, Mom, I even feel bad that I feel bad!” Kim tried to laugh. “I feel guilty. I should be happy that Corrie is beginning to come out to church.”
“And maybe that’s your answer,” Mrs. Harper said.
“Answer?”
“Not every girl your age would even feel guilty. That shows a great deal of maturity. Maybe the blessings of doing what’s right—washing dishes and tending kids and being active—aren’t material blessings, aren’t parts in plays. Think about it awhile.” She hugged her daughter again. “I don’t mean to diminish your pain. It’s there. I know it, but you’ve kept it private and you didn’t hurt Corrie. I’m proud of you.”
Kim smiled—barely.
“Come on now, let’s get dinner and then if you want, we can talk about it more later.”
Kim wiped at her eyes one more time and put on a smile. It was one of the best stage faces she’d ever created.
“That’s better,” Mrs. Harper said. “Now let’s get dinner.”
The pressurized feeling was gone, but all afternoon the thoughts and emotions jostled inside her. It really wasn’t fair. No amount of reasoning or logic could bring her to any other conclusion. But what had her mother meant? What other blessings were there?
Dinner was eaten, cleaned away, the home evening lesson was over, and Kim was writing in her journal when the telephone rang.
“Kim,” Mrs. Harper called, “Sister Tibler’s on the phone for you.”
Kim wished she could ask her Mom to say she wasn’t there, but it would be easier to get her to sprout wings and fly.
“I’m coming,” she called back.
Kim took the phone but her mother didn’t leave.
“What is it?” she asked as Kim hung up. “She sounded upset.”
“She was. Lara’s father had a heart attack this afternoon. He died about an hour ago.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Harper whispered.
“They don’t have any relatives around, and Lara’s mom is taking it pretty hard.”
“And Lara’s an only child, isn’t she?”
“Yes. That’s why Sister Tibler thought we ought to go over and keep her company. See if we can help.”
“I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies in the freezer. Take those over and see if there’s anything I can do to …”
Kim smiled, then chuckled.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Harper asked.
Kim hugged her mom. “Nothing. It’s just you.”
“I only wanted to …”
“I know,” Kim interrupted. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. As a matter of fact you’re pretty special. Will you get the cookies while I put on my shoes? Sister Tibler said she’d be right over.”
Kim barely had her shoes on when Sister Tibler honked. She opened the door to find it was dusk and raining. “Give Lara these,” Mrs. Harper said, handing Kim the cookies. “But most of all give her yourself.”
Kim pulled her coat up over her head and ran to the car. As she settled into the seat she became acutely aware of the ping ping of rain on the roof and the apprehension rolling and swelling in her stomach. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t had time to think before now. What should she say? What should she do? Self-consciousness and helplessness settled heavily on her thoughts.
“Before we go,” Sister Tibler suggested, “I think maybe we ought to say a word of prayer. If you don’t mind, I’ll say it.”
They bowed their heads and Kim tried hard to listen, but the dripping rain and the barrage of feelings kept distracting her.
“Help us know how to convey our love and how to comfort … ,” Sister Tibler was saying.
Ping. Splash. Ping. The rhythm accelerated and with it Kim’s heartbeat.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Kim whispered.
Exchanging only a few comments, they drove, parked, got out of the car, and ran through the rain to the house. Lara answered the door.
“Hi, Lara,” Sister Tibler said, her voice such a contrast to the cold rainy night. “We heard what happened.”
Quietly, without words, Lara stepped back to let them in, her eyes red and swollen. Self-consciously Kim handed her the cookies and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. If I only had a script, she thought, as her own eyes began to swim. Then she did the only thing she could do. She hugged Lara tight. After that the words came.
Lara’s mom was still at the hospital and the bishop was with her, but Lara was alone. She needed them. She talked about her feelings and fears and reminisced while Kim and Sister Tibler listened. They talked about the gospel and the comfort it was. They even laughed a little and talked some more until Lara’s mother finally came home.
“We’ll be going now,” Sister Tibler said.
“Thanks for coming.” Lara squeezed Kim’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
Outside the dusk had turned to darkness and the rain had stopped falling, leaving the earth soggy and the air misty. Kim felt a strange sensation of cold trying to penetrate her skin while warmth pushed and pulsed from her heart. Silently Kim and Sister Tibler drove through the wet streets, neither one wishing to interrupt the special feeling with words.
“Thanks for going with me,” Sister Tibler finally said, as they drove in Kim’s driveway. “I called all of the other girls to see if any of them wanted to go, but they all had some excuse. Maybe it was for the best. They wouldn’t have been able to comfort Lara like you did.”
“It was a good experience. Thanks.” Kim jumped from the car before Sister Tibler could say more. Dodging the puddles she ran to the house. Mrs. Harper was waiting in the family room.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Really good. I was surprised. At first—riding over—I was so scared. But when we got there, we just started to talk about what Lara was feeling and about the promises of the gospel. It was so special. I didn’t do anything. Lara just needed a listening ear.”
Mrs. Harper hugged her daughter. “You gave her yourself.”
“I just listened.”
“That’s what I mean. You gave her your love.” Mrs. Harper hesitated.
“Come on, Mom,” Kim laughed. “After 17 years I know when a sermon is coming. Lay it on me!”
“I don’t mean to sermonize. I wanted to give it time so you could discover it on your own. It’s what I was talking about this afternoon.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Kim responded, putting her hand to her head melodramatically and swooning. “The suspense will kill me.”
“All right, Ophelia, you asked for it.” Mrs. Harper suddenly grew serious. “Remember this afternoon when I told you that plays and such aren’t the blessings of doing what’s right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the blessings are things we often don’t even recognize—things like faith, maturity, love, compassion, wisdom, and understanding. They may not get you a scholarship, but they last a lot longer.”
A warm feeling of affirmation and assurance spread through Kim. Then the glimmer returned to her eyes. “Hey, Mom, you ought to write to the Prodigal Son’s brother. He needs tonight’s sermon.”
“You nut!” Mrs. Harper pinched playfully at Kim’s cheek. “If you’re going to make fun of me you’d better get to bed.”
“Oh, I’m not making fun. In heaven I asked for a mother who was also a preacher,” Kim laughed. Inside she felt the joy of a new understanding. There would be other plays and other parts, maybe a drama scholarship and maybe not. But there was only one life and a person had to gain from it as much as possible, even if that meant tending Sister Smith’s kids.

Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.

Elder Robert M. Daines was working as a law and business professor at Stanford University when he was called to serve as an early-morning seminary teacher.
As a lifelong Latter-day Saint, Elder Daines knew the gospel, but something about the calling pushed him to study the scriptures like never before. His wife, Ruth, said he often went to bed early and arose at 4:00 a.m. because he needed three hours to prepare for his daily lesson with 15 students.
“Some people have talent; some have to hustle,” he said. “I’m in the ‘You’d better hustle’ category.”
Elder Daines said he pored over the scriptures for hours each day because he wanted to know and feel the Savior’s love and then help his students make the same connection. The decade-long experience had a powerful impact on his faith and testimony.
“I feel like I was truly converted and came to know Jesus Christ as a seminary teacher in Palo Alto, California,” said Elder Daines.

“Where did you get your name?” Elizabeth asked Jenny as they climbed to the fork in the branches of the old cherry tree and settled in to enjoy the spring sun shining through the leaves.
Jenny had never thought about where her name came from. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I guess from my mom and dad.”
“No—I mean, where did they get it from to give it to you?”
“Where did they get if from?” Jenny repeated, puzzled.
“Well, Mother said that they named me Elizabeth and hoped that I’d be as strong and courageous as my great-great-great- grandmother Elizabeth. She crossed the plains with a covered wagon, and she walked most of the way and never complained a bit.”
Jenny smiled, but something in the way Elizabeth talked about her grandmother Elizabeth made Jenny a little envious.
“And she got married when she was seventeen,” Elizabeth went on enthusiastically, “and she had nine children. Four of them died when they were little, but she kept on going. She made hats to earn money while her husband served a mission. I want to be just like her: strong and valiant and faithful and courageous and wonderful.”
“Is that all?” Jenny laughed good-naturedly.
“Are you sure you’re not named after one of your ancestors?” Elizabeth queried her friend. “Maybe a famous queen named Jennifer or something? We could have magnificent times pretending to be the women we’re named for.”
“Nope,” Jenny said a little sadly. “I’m not named after anyone. I’m just me.”
“Well, ask your mother. Maybe she’s just never told you.” Elizabeth made it sound as though you weren’t important if you weren’t named after someone else.
“I could pretend that I was named after someone,” Jenny said, wishing that she could change the subject.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Elizabeth persisted. “Somehow when you’re named after a true blood relative, it makes all the difference in the world.” Elizabeth leaned closer and whispered, “It makes pretending seem almost real.”
Jenny smiled. Sometimes Elizabeth’s dramatic ways made Jenny feel as if they were on television or something, not just friends talking to each other.
“Jen—ny! Jen—ny!” her mother called from the back door. “Time for lunch.”
“I have to go now,” Jenny said, “but I’ll see you right after lunch.” She climbed down from the cherry tree and ran into the house.
Mother was at the sink, filling water glasses with one hand and holding Joey, who was crying, with the other. Jenny was still thinking about what Elizabeth had said. “Why did you name me Jenny?” she asked.
Mother looked up startled. “Because we liked the name. Don’t you?”
“Yes. But why Jenny and not Ann or Margaret or some other name?”
Joey cried louder and hit one of the glasses with his two-year-old fist, sending water spraying across the kitchen.
“Joey!” Mother cried and began wiping up the water while trying to calm Joey down.
Jenny took Joey from her mother and sat down. But she couldn’t quit thinking about her name. Why couldn’t I have been named after some fantastic, wonderful woman I could tell stories about? She hardly noticed her mother taking Joey for his nap or even the taste of her sandwich. Why don’t I have the name of someone I can dream about and try to be like?
“Is anybody in there?” Mother put her nose next to Jenny’s and peered into her eyes and laughed.
Jenny laughed too. “I was just thinking.”
“I could tell,” Mother said. “But what were you thinking so hard about?”
“My name. Why am I just Jenny and not Jenny named after some other Jenny?”
“What?” Mother looked even more puzzled, so Jenny started from the beginning and told her everything.
“I can see why Elizabeth likes being named after her great-great-great-grandmother. She must have been a wonderful woman. But you do have someone wonderful whom you can try to be just like.”
“I do?”
“We all do. Let me show you.” Mother got her scriptures, then sat by Jenny and opened them to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants. “Read this,” she said, pointing to verse 77 [D&C 20:77].
Jenny quickly read it. “That’s the sacrament prayer on the bread,” she said.
“What does that have to do with me being named after someone wonderful?”
“Do you remember when you were baptized and Dad and I told you about the covenants that you were making?”
“Yes. You said that taking the sacrament each week was to remind us to keep those promises. But I still don’t understand. …”
“Read this part of the verse again,” Mother told her, “starting with the second ‘O God, the Eternal Father.’”
Jenny found the words, “‘… that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son’”—Jenny stopped and read it again—“‘that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son.’”
“When we take the sacrament,” Mother explained, “and have been baptized as members of His church, we promise the Lord that we are willing to take His name upon us and to be called by His name.”
A warm tickle spread up Jenny’s back. “I do have someone I am named after!”
“Yes, but it is a very sacred thing. It is not something to pretend about in the cherry tree. It is not something to even talk about lightly with friends. But it is something that you should think about every time you partake of the sacrament—and every time you make an important decision! You are a member of Christ’s church. You should be like Him and live worthy of His name.”
“Wow! That’s a lot to think about.”
“It’s the most wonderful name you could ever hope to be called by. So don’t worry about Jenny being just a name. You have another name to live up to.”

First, we realized that our communication with God was not often enough or strong enough. True, we had always said our individual prayers, but when, because of the missionaries, we also started to pray together regularly as husband and wife and with our children, we experienced a tremendous feeling of closeness, not only with each other but with the Almighty God.
The missionaries had taught us that he is a personal being, that he is literally our Father, and prayers began to flow from the heart and were no longer repetitious. We came to know him as a loving Father, just and kind, reliable and true. What great need there is in the world today to commune with the Infinite, to talk and walk with God, to know that he speaks to us today and that we are in reality his children.

Every time I have the opportunity to direct myself to young people, I have a difficult time to keep from weeping. You see, once I had a boy, and when he had spent one year in college, he went to war. I like to think he went bravely.
When he was interrogated by the sergeant in charge, the sergeant said, “There are these schools.” And he named them—“radio, cooking, foreign language, intelligence, hospital. …” He named about eight of them. The young men were told that they could go to one of these, if they wanted to choose, before they went further into the army. He said, “You can go to one of these schools, or you can take combat.” And my son and one other young man with him said without any hesitation, “We’ll take combat.”
Later I said to him, “Why did you ask for combat?”
And he said, “Someone has to do the fighting.” He said that he did not want to have it on his conscience that he had deliberately dodged so that some other boy might have to take a chance on being killed. He said, “If anyone has to die in this war, I would feel terrible if I didn’t take my share of the risk.”
To me he is still twenty—about your age. And so perhaps you will allow me to speak to you as though I were speaking to him. The advice I would give you, I would give him.

Kayleb, Dustin, Dylan, Kyra, and Kaylee B., ages 7, 11, 9, 5, and 13, traveled from Idaho, USA, to watch general conference at the Conference Center together. Dustin really liked the story Elder Holland told about Stephanie because “she was strong and faithful and a good example for all of us.” Kaylee liked when Elder Nielsen taught us to trust others like you trust yourself, because we’re all on the same team.

Our branch president here in Uppsala, Sweden, told us that we need to increase subscriptions to Nordstjärnan (Swedish) in order for it to remain a monthly edition. He said, “We need to hear the words of the prophet, so we’d like everybody to consider buying a gift subscription.” I was so touched, I immediately gave him my money for a gift subscription, as did many other members of our branch and stake.

Violet Wilson, 18, from Kellogg, Idaho, had also been involved in Church activities for several years before she joined. She said that an important influence in her joining was the members making her feel like she was one of them.

Now I have labored so much with the missionaries. I have been on four missions, and presided over two, and I have toured many missions, and love to hear those young men bear their testimonies. For instance, another young man in Oregon in our testimony meeting said that there wasn’t a company in this world that could pay him a large enough salary to get him to leave his missionary work. And he had been in the armed forces and away from home for several years and then out into the mission field. I had a letter here just last week from a missionary from up in Idaho, and I copied a little paragraph from it. I’d like to read it to you. He said this:

When I was 11, at a regional conference in Johannesburg, South Africa, President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) shook my hand and said, “You’re going to go on a mission and be a fine missionary someday.”
Most young men would have cherished those words forever. Not me. For the next 10 years I had no desire to serve a mission. I was more concerned with success in sports and my social life. I thought that giving up two years would throw all that away. During interviews with my branch and stake presidents, I would come up with excuses as to why I didn’t want to serve.
At 21, still with no desire to serve a mission, I visited my family in the United States, in Iowa. They had moved there the year before. While in Iowa I had the chance to go to the Winter Quarters Nebraska Temple with the local singles branch. I wasn’t endowed, so I figured I’d perform baptisms for the dead.
Upon arriving at the temple, I discovered there was no baptismal session scheduled for the afternoon. I thought, “Great, what am I going to do for the next two and a half hours?”
I decided to go to the Mormon Trail Visitors’ Center across the street. After watching a 15-minute movie about the pioneers, I was greeted by two sister missionaries who were going to take me on my own personal tour. After learning a little bit about me, Sister Cusick asked why I hadn’t served a mission. The usual excuses came flying out. Sister Cusick then testified to me not only of the pioneers but also of missionary work.
After the tour I sat in the temple waiting room, thinking. Suddenly, my excuses for not serving a mission became a stupor of thought. The Spirit testified strongly that I should serve a mission. From the time I started talking to the sister missionaries, everything had changed inside me. The Spirit testified to my heart what I needed to do.
Months later I found out that the still, small voice had told Sister Cusick that I needed to have my own tour. She didn’t know why, but the Lord had plans for me.
I served in the California Ventura Mission—the greatest mission in the world—and built some wonderful friendships that I hope will last through the eternities. I didn’t believe President Hunter for 10 years, but he knew exactly what he was talking about.
My life changed completely, all because a sister missionary acted on the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

Illustration by Joseph Alleman
I joined the Church when I was 20. Shortly thereafter I married a man from the ward, and we moved because of work. When I was 22, our first son was born. At that time, my visiting teachers started visiting me regularly, even though we lived at the edge of the ward boundary.
Since I was a new mother at that time, my conscience told me that I needed to get in contact with my own mother. But I had broken off all contact with her eight years earlier when my parents divorced. Each time my visiting teachers came over, we spoke about it, and I felt that the Spirit was urging me to take this difficult step.
We discussed how I could begin rebuilding our relationship since my mother does not belong to the Church. So much had changed in my life in the eight years that had passed since our falling out. Because of the strong promptings of the Spirit, I decided to contact my mother’s mother first. My grandmother was blind, so her mail was sent to my aunt who cared for her.
I received a wonderful letter back, and we went to stay for a visit with my grandmother and my aunt. My grandmother was pleasantly surprised and asked only that I stop by to see her daughter—my mother—on our way home. She was very happy.
My grandmother was a Lutheran, and she loved the Savior. While we stayed with them, my husband would read to her each morning from the Book of Mormon. She really enjoyed it. After a few mornings, my husband and my grandmother felt so full of the Spirit that my grandmother went to her desk and pulled out a genealogy book that had belonged to my deceased grandfather and showed it to him. There were eight generations listed neatly, including even their occupations. My grandmother was very happy while we were staying with her, and I promised her that I would visit my mother on the way home, which I did.
Five weeks after our visit to my grandmother’s, she had a stroke and passed away. Two years later I performed the temple work for my ancestors from my grandmother’s information.
I now have a good relationship with my mother. We live in the same town, and she helps me with my children at times.
Without the regular visits from my visiting teachers, who encouraged and supported me through this time, I would never have dared take this step to repair my relationship with my mother. Not only I but also many generations were blessed.

Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to the Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry ‘Heber’ Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’ At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

The Christmas season often reminds me of my childhood and the feelings of beauty, joy and peace during this special time of the year. My grandmother, a devoted Catholic, taught me to enjoy this wonderful season of the year. Usually every Saturday I would go with her to the local Catholic church, where we would clean the building and then decorate the stand with natural flowers in preparation for the Sunday worship service.
I remember we once had to decorate the chapel for a Christmas Eve celebration. We picked flowers and entered the church, but before we started decorating, she softly and convincingly told me, “Today’s decoration is special because tomorrow, we celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus, the Son of God.” I had a special feeling. I had just learned from my family that Jesus is our Savior.
Realizing that I had the privilege to prepare to celebrate His coming gave me a special feeling that I have not forgotten. That Christmas had a deeper meaning for me. The Christmas song we sang that day—“Faraway, I hear angels of heaven singing glory to God in heaven and peace on earth to men of good will”—still echoes in my mind. Looking at the Nativity scene, I felt like I was part of the event of the birth of Christ. The Nativity scene was often decorated with candles that illuminated our eyes and our hearts. It was not adorned with decorations that we have today, but its simplicity and natural beauty gave true meaning to Christmas. I felt that someone special had been born—He was my friend, my Savior and the Light of the World. I felt an unusual peace in my heart and, being a child, I could not quite yet understand where that feeling came from, nor could I explain it. I am grateful today for my grandmother, Geneviève Nkulu Yohari, who understood and put into practice the Savior’s call, “Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).

When I heard those words I thought of a boy with a noble birthright, but lacking what many of you have. He was born on November 22. Thirteen days later his father was buried. He was named and blessed by the bishop of his ward, Edwin Woolley. The name he was given by the bishop was Heber Jeddy Ivins Grant. “I was only an instrument in the hands of his dead father … in blessing him,” Bishop Woolley later remarked. Heber Grant “is entitled to be one of the Apostles, and I know it” (The Presidents of the Church, ed. Leonard J. Arrington, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986, p. 212).
People then and since have called Heber J. Grant a “child of promise.” He was. But his departed father didn’t make the promises to the child. His Heavenly Father did. Your Heavenly Father did—the same Father who chose you to come into this time and place to hold, honor, and to nurture those who hold his power. You have a right to become like your Heavenly Father. You are a royal child of God, a child of promise, chosen from among many to be here and to have your royal inheritance, time in the fulness of times.

I guess it was inevitable. I was spending the evening visiting with friends when two women—Mormon missionaries—knocked at the door. They were friendly. I was uncomfortable. I almost had the feeling of being caught in a trap. I decided to give them an argument.
“Do you believe the Bible?” they began.
“Of course,” I replied, not really knowing what I did believe.
They began by reading Acts 7:55–56, trying to show that there are three separate Beings in the Godhead. Then they worked their way into the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I knew there was an answer to their interpretation of the scriptures, and I knew I needed help to find it. After all, I reasoned, everyone knows that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are manifestations of the same person. Was it okay to bring someone to the discussions who knew the scriptures better than I did? The missionaries assured me that it was.
The next week, I arrived with a cousin who was active in my religion. I became a spectator in the discussion that followed. If I had been impartial, I would have given the victory to the Mormon missionaries. But, of course, I decided that my cousin just wasn’t knowledgeable enough. I would find someone more knowledgeable to confront them.
During the week, I contacted a friend who was studying to become a minister. He could give me the support I needed.
“How do I answer Acts 7:55–56?” I asked, after explaining my situation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I tend to separate the Godhead more than most members of our church.”
My next source of information was a minister who lived near me. He was a friend, and I had talked with him many times before. His answer to Acts 7:55–56 was less than satisfactory: “How do you know what a person might see while he’s being stoned to death!”
I decided to stop seeing the missionaries. I had heard enough. I told the two missionaries of my decision, whereupon they presented me with a Book of Mormon and decided there was nothing more they could do to interest me in the Church.

When I was younger, my older brother would take me out with him. I loved it because it showed his love for me and gave me someone to look up to. When I was older, I would take my little brother with me. Some of the best times I remember are when I was with my brothers. Looking back, I wish I had spent more time with them.
Elder Eric Andrew Smith, 19Illinois Chicago North Mission

I was baptized on 17 December, and I was more excited for my baptism than for Christmas. It was special because I was baptized the same day as my mom, and my dad baptized me. My best friend’s mom gave a really special talk. When I was getting baptized, I had a really warm feeling inside. After I was confirmed I felt better than I have ever felt before.Kylee Leftwich, age 10 Springville, Utah

Before the two were married, they lived 100 miles (161 km) apart while he studied in Tijuana, and she studied in Mexicali. In the months before their marriage, they prayed and fasted to know where to live and start their family. Elder Casillas remembers the feeling he had from the Holy Ghost.
“I remember while we were fasting, hearing the Lord say, ‘If your mountain is La Rumorosa [a large mountain located between the two cities], I will take it away,’” Elder Casillas said.
He said the Lord cleared the path for the couple to be in Mexicali when the university there unexpectedly accepted him as a transfer student.
In Mexicali, “we met people we needed to meet. And we served in callings where we needed to serve,” he said.
This experience set a pattern for their life together. “When we put God first, all other things find their place,” Elder Casillas said. “It requires a little bit of faith and a little bit of action, and then the Lord extends His hand to bless us.”

When our son was four years old, he would frequently ask me to sing “Master, the Tempest Is Raging” (Hymns, no. 105). His little eyes would shine during the chorus when the Lord commands the winds and the waves to be still. He would ask me about Jesus’s power. I would answer that Jesus can do anything in righteousness because He has all power. The Savior was our son’s hero.
But when our son was 13 years old, he went into a deep depression. He no longer had any desire to speak or even to eat. He lost interest in his former activities, and he especially did not want to participate in family prayers or family home evenings. He seemed to no longer have an interest in church or the gospel.
The rest of our family prayed and fasted often for him, as did many brothers and sisters from our ward and stake and many of our friends and relatives. Our efforts felt like Alma the Elder’s experience of praying for his son (see Mosiah 27:14, 22–23).
When our son was 13 years old, he went into a deep depression and no longer wanted to participate in family prayer or family home evening.
We did not want to force the gospel on our son, so we told him that he did not have to participate in our family prayers or family home evenings but that we would like him to be there with us. As we followed the Savior’s words to “pray in your families unto the Father … that your … children may be blessed” (3 Nephi 18:21), both our family prayers and our family home evenings became more powerful. We felt the Spirit in our home. And though our son was silent, he was there.
Little by little over the next two years, we saw that our prayers and family home evenings were having an influence on our son. During one family home evening, he bore testimony of the Savior and then asked if he could prepare a family home evening. He began to participate in family prayers and to attend church happily. He experienced a mighty change of heart that came as he felt the redeeming love of the Savior (see Alma 5:26). The Lord, with His healing power, had truly saved our son.
He began to be happy and full of life once again, willing to help others and to show love. He told me he knew the Savior had healed him. Our son’s trials helped him forge a powerful testimony and an increase in love for and trust in the Savior. He served the Lord as a missionary in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission. After his return he married in the temple, and he and his wife have a wonderful daughter.