Gospel Story Finder

When I was 16, I participated in a student foreign-exchange program for a year. I went from my home in Ukraine to a small town in Arizona, USA, where I stayed with a Latter-day Saint family. I had never heard of Latter-day Saints before.
The exchange program didn’t allow the family to preach to me, and I wasn’t allowed to meet with the missionaries. But I chose to attend church with my host family and participate in all Church activities.
I felt the Spirit with that family, and I felt much love at church. At that time I didn’t know that what I was feeling was the Spirit, but my heart was touched.
When I returned to Ukraine, I missed that feeling very much. I remembered how my life was when I went to church and lived gospel teachings. I realized what was missing, but there was no church and no missionaries where I lived, so I thought I would never have that feeling again.
About four years later, however, some missionaries knocked on my door. I was so happy to see them. While they were out working, they had listened to the Spirit, which led them to my house. I’m so grateful they were obedient. I was baptized and confirmed soon afterward.
Since then I have been sealed in the Stockholm Sweden Temple to my husband, a returned missionary who is from Russia. And now there’s a temple in Kyiv. We plan to attend regularly.
The temple is the most amazing place on earth. It is a place where you can be close to Heavenly Father. I feel so grateful that in the temple we can receive one of the greatest gifts given to us by Heavenly Father: to be sealed as families for eternity.
I am grateful to the members of that Latter-day Saint family who helped me feel the Spirit, starting me on a journey that would lead to a family of my own that is sealed together forever.

While most members had plenty of food, cooking it with the power off was a problem. And since everyone was so busy trying to clean up their homes, the evening meals provided by different wards in the stake were extremely welcome. For two weeks after the quake, meals were prepared by the Relief Society sisters in the stake and transported over long distances to Coalinga.
Even more important than the food was the emotional support and closeness derived from ward and stake members coming together to talk and share concerns. “Coalinga is about the farthest ward from the stake center,” explained Sister Millie Netherton. “We used to see these people at meetings and work with them, but we didn’t really know them very well. Now we fall into each other’s arms we’re so glad to see each other.”

Camping at a castle is just business as usual for the girls in the Adana Turkey Branch. All three girls live in Turkey because their fathers are stationed at the Air Force Base there. Because of their unique circumstances the regular girls’ camp program was modified to fit their needs.
The camp lasted only 24 hours (the girls spend their school vacations in the States with family and friends, so camp was held on a weekend), and the tents were pitched on rocks near an old castle in the Taurus mountains. Lots of other things were just like any other girls’ camp; they cooked tinfoil dinners over a fire, sang silly songs, and even made a craft.
“We’ve never had camp just for us,” says 17-year-old Hanim Christensen. “I wish I could have gone before. I really like it.”
The girls also certified and participated in a hike in scorching 90-degree temperatures, exploring the castle and mountain trails.
The girls had so much fun, they’re thinking of stretching camp out for two days next year.

“There was a guy in my quorum who would only come to activities that were more sports-based. Usually when we focused on Scouts or spiritual things, he wouldn’t come. But I just focused on being his friend and we became best friends. Now every Wednesday it doesn’t matter what we’re going to do. My friend is always asking me if I’m going to go, and as long as I’m going, he’s going to be there.” —Chase W., Georgia, USA

Often I have felt the priesthood power, power outside myself, moving through me to the person being blessed. I remember blessing a young mother who came seeking renewed strength to endure a difficult pregnancy with her third or fourth child. She had great faith, and as I blessed her as her bishop, I felt power streaming down my arms and through my fingers into the crown of her head. I felt it course through her body, even to the tips of her toes. It was a powerful, cleansing, rejuvenating force, almost electric in its energy, yet calm and soft and assuring. After the blessing, she arose, and with tears in her eyes said, “I felt that all the way to the tips of my toes.”

Three weeks before Christmas Dad gathered the family together for family home evening. He and Mom sat on the couch, while the four children, Lisa, Janie, Brian, and Kevin sat on the floor. “I have something important to tell you,” he said soberly after the opening song and prayer. “You know that I’ve been laid off from my job until at least January, so I’m afraid that there won’t be many Christmas presents this year, even from Santa. I hope that you children won’t be too disappointed.”
“Can we still put up our Christmas decorations?” Lisa asked.
“We can decorate the house with the things we have packed away,” Mom answered. “Christmas will still be Christmas, even without a lot of presents.”
“Are we still getting a baby?” Kevin piped up. “That would be the best Christmas present.”
Dad nodded. “The adoption agency called last week and said that our baby from Korea would be coming anytime.”
“Is the baby a boy or a girl?” Janie asked.
Dad chuckled. “We won’t know until the baby arrives. That’s going to be a surprise.”
“Surprise!” Brian repeated, clapping his hands.
“Where’s Korea?” Lisa asked.
“Korea is across the ocean. This baby doesn’t have any parents and needs a loving mother, father, brothers, and sisters.”
“We have all those things in our family!” Janie exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “We want to give the love we have to this baby too. Now, let’s have our lesson.”
After family home evening was over and the younger children were in bed, Lisa pulled the four flannel stockings out of the box in the closet. Each had a child’s name on it in red flannel letters. Her own looked old and worn after eleven years. Next came Janie’s, then Kevin’s and Brian’s. Brian’s stocking was the newest and looked the best. Next Christmas Mom would make another stocking for the new baby.
“May I hang them on the mantel, Mom?” Lisa called into the kitchen.
Mom came to the door, wiping wet hands on her faded jeans. “Just yours. I’m sure that Janie and the boys will want to hang their own stockings in the morning.”
Lisa nodded. I hope that at least our stockings are filled to the top with goodies, she thought. It will be hard enough to see a tree without all the usual wrapped packages under it. Of course, acting out the story of Jesus’ birth is special, and we’ll still do that.
Each Christmas Eve the family acted out the story while Dad read aloud from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. It was Janie’s turn to be Mary this year, and Kevin would play Joseph. Lisa supposed that she would be the angel and Brian a little shepherd. He was too big to be the Baby Jesus, so they’d have to use a doll for that role this year.
The family made December as special as they could without spending any money. The mountains near their home had lots of good pine trees, and after getting the necessary permit, they cut down a little one and hauled it home in their station wagon. Then they unpacked boxes of ornaments and decorated the tree.
The children created cards out of red and green construction paper decorated with glitter. They wrote poems for the greeting inside, then delivered them to friends and neighbors.
This year Christmas Eve was on Sunday, and the family all participated in the Christmas programs at church. Lisa enjoyed singing the Primary songs and listening to the ward choir during sacrament meeting.
On the drive home Lisa thought about their tree and the few gifts under it. It was difficult not to feel disappointed.
As they walked in the door, the telephone rang. Mom answered it. At first a look of surprise crossed her face, then she cried, “Oh yes! We’ll be there as fast as we can.” She hung up and turned to the family. “Lisa, can you tend the younger children for a few hours? Dad and I need to go to the airport.”
“Now? Today’s Christmas Eve.”
Mom nodded as Dad hurried to get their coats. “I think we just might have a surprise gift for Christmas. We’ll have our program when we get back tonight.”
The children waved good-bye from the window, and Janie murmured, “I wonder what it is. Mom and Dad were so excited. Maybe it’s the baby! Or it might be that Grandma’s coming from California.”
Lisa smiled at her sister. “I don’t think it’s Grandma—we’d have been getting a room ready for her. I guess we’ll have to just wait and see.”
The rest of the afternoon Lisa kept her brothers and sister occupied with stories and games. It was nearly dinnertime when their parents returned.
The front door opened with a whoosh of cold winter air, and Lisa, Janie, Kevin, and Brian ran to the door, practically stumbling over each other. “Where’s Grandma?” Kevin asked excitedly.
Mother laughed. “It’s not Grandma, honey, but it is somebody we’ve been waiting for.”
Dad went over to the couch, opened his great, heavy coat, and pulled out a large bundle. The bundle was a huge red and green stocking with blue and gold bows tied all over it. Inside was a baby boy with black hair and brown skin.
He opened his tiny almond eyes and blinked sleepily. On his head perched a red santa hat with a shiny silver bell.
Janie cried, “Our stockings on the mantel might be empty right now, but this one’s full to the top!”
Lisa thought that she would burst with happiness. Everybody was smiling at everybody else, and there were tears in Mom’s eyes.
“We have our Christmas baby now,” Kevin cried, and he hurried to set up the manger bed with Janie’s doll cradle.
“Please get me the scriptures, Lisa,” Dad said. He gave her a warm, understanding look, and the heavy, anxious feeling she’d had the past three weeks lifted from her heart.
Lisa pulled the book of scriptures from the bookcase. When she gave it to Dad, he gently put the baby in her arms. It didn’t matter anymore that there weren’t many presents under the tree. They had each other, and the spirit of Jesus Christ had come to their house that night through a tiny baby from halfway across the world.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
It’s the last Saturday before school starts, and everyone has an idea about the best way to spend it.
Dad just wants to relax with a fishing pole and doesn’t care if he catches anything.
Mom wants to spend the day with a good book.
Mandy wants to spend her time with her sketchbook, drawing birds.
Matt wants to go swimming to try out his new snorkel.
Good thing the Coopers know how to compromise and just have fun together.

“Hi, Mom,” Max called as he walked into the kitchen and set his backpack down.
“Hey, buddy.” Mom pulled Max into a big hug and ruffled his hair. “Wow. I can hardly see you under there! I think you need a haircut.”
Max grinned. “I was thinking the same thing. And I know just how I want it cut. You know that haircut where it’s shorter in the back and on the sides and longer on the top?” A lot of boys in Max’s class had that haircut. And so did Max’s favorite comic book character—Sam Slate, kid superspy.
“I’m not really an expert hair cutter, but I think I can do that,” Mom said.
“I’ll grab the clippers.” Max raced to the bathroom as fast as he could. He couldn’t wait for his awesome new haircut!
When Max got back, Mom was ready with a towel, a chair, and a hand mirror.
“How short do you want it in the back?” she asked. She showed Max the clipper sizes, one through eight. “The smaller the clipper number, the shorter it cuts the hair.”
“Hmm.” Max sorted through the different clippers. “Maybe a size two on the bottom and a seven on top?”
“All right. Have a seat. World’s best haircut coming up!” Mom draped the towel over Max’s shoulders and turned on the clippers. Max listened to the buzzing sound as she trimmed around his ears. The falling hair tickled the back of his neck. Max tried to picture how he’d look when Mom was done. He could already feel himself transforming into Sam Slate.
Max’s younger sister, Emma, came in through the front door.
“Hi, Mom! I’m home.”
“We’re in the kitchen, honey,” Mom called.
Emma poked her head through the doorway. “Oh! Looking good.” She came in and dropped her backpack on the table. “I’m starving!”
“Me too,” Max said.
Emma peeked into a cupboard. “Can I make peanut butter crackers, Mom?”
“Sure. Can you make Max some too?”
“OK.” Emma stood on her tiptoes to reach for the peanut butter on the top shelf. “It’s too high. Mom, can you help me?”
“Good timing. I just finished with the back.” Mom switched off the clippers and went to help Emma. Then she came back and stood in front of Max. “OK, now for part two.”
Max was so excited that he wanted to jump out of his chair. But he sat very still. Mom made the first cut. Then she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
Mom bit her lip. “Max, I am so sorry! I forgot to change out the clippers for the top.”
Max’s heart sank. He slowly picked up the mirror.
“I can cut the rest of your hair short to match,” Mom said. “But that’s the best I can do.”
Max stared at the big chunk of missing hair. He definitely didn’t look like Sam Slate. He looked like a disaster! For a second, he wanted to shout or maybe cry. But instead, he took a deep breath. Mom was just trying to help. After a minute, he felt a lot calmer.
“It’s OK, Mom. After all, hair grows back, right?” he said with a smile.
Mom gave him a hug. “Right. And when it does, I’ll triple-check the settings so you can have the world’s best haircut.”
Mom finished cutting Max’s hair. It wasn’t the cool style Max wanted, but it was OK. Max smiled as he looked in the mirror again. He had followed Jesus by choosing to be kind. And being like Jesus was even better than being like Sam Slate.

Brandon stretched his legs. He could feel how strong they were.
“Vroom, vroom!” Brandon said. He leaned forward on his tricycle. He just knew he could win the preschool tricycle race.
Brandon’s teacher waved a flag. “Ready! Set! Go!” she shouted.
Brandon took off. He felt the wind rushing through his hair. Whoosh! He felt his legs pedaling so fast. He was ahead of everyone.
Brandon sped across the finish line. He won!
Brandon’s teacher pinned a blue ribbon to his shirt. Brandon smiled. It felt good to win.
Brandon climbed onto his tricycle for the next race. He stretched his legs. He leaned forward. He was excited to race again.
“Go!” Brandon’s teacher shouted, waving her flag.
Brandon took off. He was in the lead again!
Then Brandon looked behind him. His friends were racing as fast as they could. But they couldn’t catch up to him.
Brandon was almost at the finish line. He could see his teacher holding another blue ribbon. He could win two blue ribbons today!
But then Brandon started pedaling slower. He watched Spencer and Luis race past him and cross the finish line.
The crowd cheered. Brandon watched his teacher pin a blue ribbon to Spencer’s shirt. He was smiling.
“Why did you slow down?” Brandon’s teacher asked.
Brandon smiled up at his teacher. “Because I wanted someone else to know how great it feels to win.”

Think about this next story.
In Thailand in 1955, a nearly 10-foot sculpture of a Buddha was being moved to a new building. Made of plaster and very heavy, it didn’t appear all that remarkable.
But as the statue was being lifted from its pedestal, the ropes broke and the sculpture fell to the ground. The anxious movers quickly checked the statue for damage, and to their dismay they discovered cracks in the plaster. Then a glint of color caught their attention.
Where the plaster was removed, they discovered that the sculpture was really made of gold!
Buddha statue: 9.8 feet tall, weighs 6.1 tons, worth $250 million.
Photograph from Getty Images
Apparently, hundreds of years earlier, the golden statue had been covered in plaster, perhaps to protect it from thieves, and over time the secret was forgotten until the fall revealed its true inner beauty. Today the gold alone is valued at $250 million, and the statue is housed in a building of honor as a beautiful, historic, religious work of art.2
The temple of Wat Traimit, Bangkok, Thailand.
Photograph from Getty Images

Fruit punch, dainty cakes, and lacy dresses were soundly defeated by bicycles, apples, and jeans as the Nephi, Utah, Young Women and their mothers voted for a pedal-power retreat.
Taking cue from the stake sports director’s suggestion that the women’s programs needed more activity, the mothers and daughters in the Nephi Stake scheduled a six-mile ride from the stake house to the airport and back. After the trip, most mothers agreed that they were grateful the course was flat and their tires weren’t.
A Nephi City policeman whose daughter and wife were riding with the group was on the scene to direct any traffic jams and, if necessary, revive puffing bikers with resuscitation gear.
The halfway point meant punch and apples and a short time-out for weak thighs and wobbly knees. Nearing the end of the course there were lots of red faces, but they knew they’d be a lot redder if they rode back in an accompanying truck via four wheels instead of two. One daughter had both her mother and grandmother riding with her, and the three generations were willing to take on any challengers.
Back at the stake house, mothers and daughters were served a well-earned lunch followed by a short program. There were even awards for bikers: “Lifesavers” for the most helpful; a “Powerhouse” bar for the speediest pedaler; “Snickers” candy for the biggest giggler; a “Rally” bar for the most impressive last effort; and a package of “Rolaids” for a mother who took a turn with a little too much enthusiasm and landed in a ditch.

When the mission was reopened, thirty members of the small branch at Cuantla were waiting at the train station to greet the missionaries when they returned. Twelve children and some young adults began singing songs of welcome. Afterward they shouted, “Qué viven los misioneros!” (long live the missionaries), as they showered the elders with confetti.
The missionaries were then taken to a home that had been decorated with beautiful flowers and cedar boughs in honor of this special occasion. Following a delicious dinner, a meeting was held.
President Pratt in his report to the brethren in Salt Lake told of the joy of the people in welcoming the missionaries. Even the children had planned for a program during the evening. President Pratt said, “It was wonderful to note the progress of the children of the branch along lines of study upon which they had been started by the missionaries. Little tots that were babies in arms when the missionaries left got up and recited one or more of the Articles of Faith.”

A man of wisdom often offered this simple piece of advice: “David, stand tall.” My dad did not expect that I would add inches to my stature or rise up on my tiptoes. He meant that I should be courageous in my decision, not compromising principles, not violating spiritual values, and not shrinking from responsibility. When I have followed his advice, life has been very good. When I have failed to stand tall, life has usually been unpleasant. I recently asked my two young grandsons what it would mean to them if Heavenly Father asked them to stand tall. I noticed one inadvertently raised himself to his tippy-toes so as to seem a little taller. And then they quickly said in unison, “He wants us to do what is right.”

This pattern can be seen in the life of Jasmine B. of Washington, USA, who received help in coping with a disease. Before contracting the disease, she was a healthy young woman who excelled on her high school track team and loved getting up early for seminary.
Then she started feeling ill. She lost 15 pounds very quickly, and no matter how much sleep she got, it became harder and harder to get up for seminary. She couldn’t run as well as she used to and was hungry, thirsty, and weak all the time.
Over a month went by before she started to pray for help. “I held off so long,” she says, “because the thought of praying for help was an act of submission, admitting that something was indeed wrong with me. It scared me.”
But because she humbled herself to seek the Lord’s help, answers started to come. She went to see a doctor, who discovered she had developed type 1 diabetes, which meant her body could not produce insulin to process sugar. Diabetes has lifelong consequences and must be carefully monitored. Even as the doctors developed a plan to help her manage her condition, she began to worry that she would not be able to continue running track.
“I never ceased to pray as I struggled to understand my new life and to control my disease,” she says. “I prayed for strength and understanding and that I would be able to accept this trial. I would not have made it through those hard days and weeks without prayer.”
Jasmine made incredible strides. Within two weeks of being diagnosed, she was back practicing on the track, and later that year she did well in state competitions. “I believe Heavenly Father has blessed me with a strong, healthy body because I have been striving to be steadfast in the gospel,” she says. “Having diabetes was not the end of the world. With His help, I knew I could get through this.”
By the grace of God and through her dependence on Him, Jasmine is able to cope with her disease and have wonderful successes in her life.

Now I think it is folly for one to compare one President of the Church with another. No one takes the place of another President of the Church. Each President has his own place. I had a lesson taught me some years ago when, in company with one of the brethren, I had reorganized the presidency of the Ensign Stake. We had named the bishop of one of the wards as stake president. It was near the end of the year, and he elected to remain as bishop, along with his first counselor, who was a bishop, until they had closed the books at the end of the year.
Six weeks after they were sustained, the stake president suddenly passed away.
Then I began to receive a barrage of letters. Where in the world was the inspiration for you to call a man whom the Lord was going to let die in six weeks? They invited me to talk at his services, and some seemed to be expecting me to try to explain why I had appointed a man that the Lord was going to take home in six weeks.
President Joseph Fielding Smith sat on the stand and heard my attempt to satisfy these people, and he said to me, “Don’t you let that bother you. If you have called a man to a position in this church and he dies the next day, that position would have a bearing on what he will be called to do when he leaves this earth.”
I believe that. I believe that every President of this church, every apostle of this church, every bishop, every stake president, every presiding position will have a bearing on what one is called to do when he leaves this earth.

“Did you really make a pro-and-con list?” The question my teenage son asked in an amazed tone referred to a list he found in one of my journals. It wasn’t just any old pro-and-con list; it was the list I had made 30 years ago, before I proposed to his mother. I don’t know how many men make a list like mine, but when I pondered the idea of marriage as a 24-year-old college student, it just seemed the right thing to do.
I don’t remember any other questions that day from my son about our courtship; he was too fixated on the list. I can still see him in my mind’s eye, yelling to his siblings, “Dad made a list about Mom! Come see it!” However, as I look back, I can think of many questions he could have asked.
Didn’t you love her? This question should have been his first. My answer would have been yes; that is why I made the list. I really did love her, and I desired more than anything for her to be happy. The list was more about seeing if I could make her happy than it was about whether or not I loved her.
Didn’t you have fun together? Again, my answer would have been yes; that is why I made the list. It was a way to see if my hope that she would always have fun with me could become reality.
Didn’t you think she was the right one? Perhaps this is the most intriguing question of all. I would have answered yes; I did believe she was “the one,” but I wanted to make sure my belief would inspire action on my part to make things work.
I don’t think I fully realized at the time the impact my mission president’s teachings on faith and its components of desire, belief, and hope were having on my courtship. With a clearer view from the passage of time, I am very grateful to President F. Ray Hawkins for his influence on me. I still have the notes I took as a 20-year-old missionary as my young mission president opened the scriptures and explained the elements of faith that would later figure into making the most important decision of my life.
Having the desire particle of faith, I needed belief and hope to complete my faith, and I needed to take action by asking Rosalie to marry me. The list—my manifestation of desire, belief, and hope—was important in giving me the courage to take the action necessary to complete my faith. James taught that faith without works is dead (see James 2:17). No amount of desire, belief, or hope would have helped me find the greater happiness and peace I have found in marriage if those particles hadn’t led me to ask the big question. (Sadly, the first time I proposed, Rosalie’s answer was no, but that is a story for another time. In such circumstances—when things don’t go according to our plan or timing—faith still plays an integral role in our lives.) It took some perseverance and patience for both of us, and we did later marry on a snowy day in December 1982.

Born to George and Antonia Foote in October 1947 in Alexandria, Louisiana, USA, she was the only sister to six younger brothers. After graduating from Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas, with a degree in English literature and secondary education, she moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she worked as a secretary at Harvard University. There she met David Cannon Marriott, who told her, “I have some friends I want you to meet.” He soon brought the missionaries to teach her and her roommates.
As she listened to the missionaries, she said, “the lessons filled in the missing pieces of my gospel understanding.” After her baptism in May 1970, she and David remained friends; after a year they began dating and were married in June 1971 in the Salt Lake Temple.
Working together with her husband, Sister Marriott stayed home with their 11 children while he pursued a career in business. They have served in many Church callings. She served with him as he presided over the São Paulo Interlagos Mission from 2002 to 2005, and she has served as an ordinance worker in the Salt Lake Temple, a stake and a ward Relief Society president, a ward Young Women president, a Gospel Doctrine teacher, and a food storage specialist.
In her new assignment, Sister Marriott hopes to share the same testimony she received as a young woman. She wants young women to know that “they are loved by their Heavenly Father with the deepest, most glorious love.”

I have a friend who got married recently, and I gave her a Liahona magazine that talks about marriage and the sacred responsibility to love each other and care for each other. Even though my friend is not a member, she read the magazine with her husband, and she thanked me sincerely because it helped her strengthen her marriage. The Liahona brings blessings to both members and nonmembers.
Beatriz de Guaigua, Venezuela

Jill Johnson of Sandy, Utah, tells how the Lord blessed her family: “As newly married college students, we had carefully budgeted our meager monthly income. Then the landlord raised our rent. We prayed for a blessing. The next day our old car broke down beyond repair. We wondered why we had these trials all at once, but the loss of the car turned out to be a blessing. With help from family and friends, we found we could manage without a car. The money saved on gas and oil was the same amount as our increase in rent. Sometimes we are blessed for obedience in unexpected ways.”

It was just before Christmas, and I knew I had things others could use. Room by room I went through the house, finding items we could donate to Deseret Industries. When it was finally time to go through our bedroom, my husband and I headed for our closet. We looked through our clothing.
“I don’t have anything this time,” I told him. “Do you?”
David put a number of shirts in a pile and found some shoes he no longer wore.
“What about this suit?” he asked. I had helped him pick it out years ago for a job interview. It still looked brand new.
“Honey, what do you think? It doesn’t fit anymore.”
“But it’s still like new,” I said.
“I really feel this suit needs to go,” David said. He took it from the closet.
As much as I liked the suit on him, he did have another, and after he tried this one on, I could see that it barely fit him now. I carefully laid it across the donation pile, but I didn’t feel right. Something was nagging at me. The suit didn’t belong there, and I knew it.
David went to his ties. He was ruthless in his weeding. He pulled out several and laid them with the suit, but that didn’t feel right to me either.
The suit in the pile interrupted my sleep. I wondered what was wrong with me to worry so much about a suit that didn’t fit and a bunch of old ties.
The following morning I looked at the pile of clothes. Again so strongly came the feeling that the suit didn’t belong. I took it off the pile and laid it on the bed along with some ties. After putting everything else into bags, I again looked at the suit. “Whom is it for?” I didn’t know.
I knelt beside the bed and prayed. I went to my desk and tried to think. My husband and I were the young adult leaders in the ward, so we knew who the next missionary was. It would be a while before he left. He also had a steady job, so getting a new suit wouldn’t be a problem. I called my bishop but got the answering machine.
Then there was a knock at the door. Opening the door, I was startled.
“Hi, Sister Ries,” the missionaries serving in our ward smiled.
A chill of sudden knowledge ran through me. “I don’t believe this” was all I could say. “Please stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Excitedly, I raced up the stairs while the elders laughed at my strange greeting. Such joy filled me as I brought down the suit.
“It’s a size 40 jacket,” I said, “and the pants are 33–32.” I looked at one elder, hoping.
The missionary’s face lit up. “I’m a size 40 and a 33–30 in slacks.” His face softened. “My parents and I had been praying that I’d find a suit to finish out my mission. I’ve got a little time left, and I’ve nearly worn this one clear through.”
The faithful elder accepted Heavenly Father’s gift of the suit and ties gratefully, and after I closed my door, I again went to my bedroom to kneel and thank Heavenly Father for the love He has for His children. He always listens to prayers.