Gospel Story Finder

It was Elliott’s first day at a new school, and he was nervous.
Mom, I’m going to miss my old friends.
I know you will, but you can make new friends.
After arriving at school, Elliott sat down in a new classroom. A lot of the children already knew each other. They were talking and laughing. Elliott sat quietly.
At recess Elliott couldn’t find anyone to play with. He didn’t know whom to ask. A couple of the boys on the playground said something unkind to him. Elliott was not happy.
Elliott returned home from school feeling sad.
What’s wrong?
I had a hard day at school. You said I would make new friends, but I didn’t. Some boys were mean to me, and I didn’t even do anything to them.
I’m sorry you had a bad day. If you keep trying, things will get better. Maybe we should pray about this. What do you think?
OK. I really want to have a good time at school.
Day after day Elliott prayed for help so he could have good days at school. Some days were a little rough, but he slowly started to find friends to play with.
Elliott kept praying for help. After a few weeks, Elliott was playing with new friends every day. Even though some kids were not always nice, he wasn’t bothered by them as much. Elliott knew Heavenly Father blessed him so he could be happy at his new school.

Wow! My first band concert! I buttoned the jacket of my blue uniform, then checked myself out in the mirror. Cool! Except that my red tie was still crooked. I yanked it off and tried again. Not good!
Dad’s a whiz at ties. He teases that you can’t be a good missionary until you can tie a proper tie. But he wasn’t home yet, so I zipped downstairs and found Mom in the living room. She did a super job.
I was tucking the tie into my jacket when my sister, Peg, bounced into the room, all decked out in her band uniform. Her tie was perfect, of course!
We’re in the same band. She’s a year older than I am, but we’ve always gotten along just fine—until the new girl, Dina, moved next door, anyway. Dina says she can’t stand her own little brother. I guess it’s catching—I’ve become a little brother for Peg to nag and scold.
She stood there now, looking down her nose at me. “My, my, how grand our little drummer boy looks in his new uniform! Are you all set to pound on your drum?”
“Now, Peg!” Mom chided. “You shouldn’t talk to your brother like that. Besides, a drummer is an important part of the band.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for the concert. Dad should be here any minute.”
Peg sniffed. “If you call banging on an oversize tin can important.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “Without the drum, the band couldn’t … well, it wouldn’t even be a band.”
“Ha! Bam, boom, bang! Who wants to hear that racket? Now, me—the first clarinetist—I carry the tune.”
Just then Dad poked his head in the door. “Everybody ready?”
We piled into the car and headed for the school.
In the auditorium, Mom and Dad settled into a couple of seats down front. Peg and I bustled to our places on the stage. I sat down at my drum and wrapped my fingers around my drumsticks.
They felt good in my hands.
Peg leaned across to Dina who plays second clarinet. Loudly enough for me to hear, she said, “My brother thinks we couldn’t be a band without him whacking away on that stupid drum.” They started to giggle, and I felt my face getting hot.
The band director, Mr. Larson, marched onto the stage and bowed. The audience applauded, then he turned to us and lifted his baton.
The whole auditorium got so quiet that you could have heard a spider walk across the floor. Mr. Larson leaned toward me. “Keep an even rhythm,” he mouthed. “The drumbeat keeps the band together.”
Then he signaled for me to begin my drum roll. My hands shook so that I was afraid the beat would come out ragged, but a crisp rat-a-tat-tat rattled off the drum, and Mr. Larson motioned to the others to join in with their instruments.
Beating time, time, time, I soared on the music, taking the whole band with me.
When it was time for Peg’s clarinet solo, all the other instruments quieted. I barely stroked the drum, keeping time for her. She hit the highest note in her piece and held on to it. Suddenly disaster struck—her clarinet was squeaking! The harder she tried, the more it sounded like a mad goose with laryngitis.
I changed quickly from a soft stroke to a hard beat. Mr. Larson brought in the rest of the band, Peg got control, and we finished the piece. The music died away, leaving me barely tapping the drum … softer … and … softer. When I stopped, the audience clapped like crazy.
The rest of the concert went off without a hitch. As we were all putting away our instruments, I noticed Peg drooped over her clarinet case, just sitting there. She didn’t even look up when Mr. Larson said that she had done a good job.
He patted me on the back, too, but I didn’t have time to soak up the praise. I was worried about Peg. I could tell that she was an inch away from tears.
When Mom and Dad stopped to talk to some friends, Peg and I went on to the car. Peg scrunched down in the seat like she wished that it would swallow her.
“You did great, Peg,” I said, giving her hand a quick pat. “Anybody can have a squeaky reed.”
“My reed was OK. It did fine for the rest of the concert.” She gulped. “I just lost it on that high note. It was a nightmare! I was so glad to hear that drum beat. …”
Peg’s breathing was funny—as if the air was lumpy or something.
Dad and Mom got into the car. “You guys were wonderful!” Mom said.
“Super terrific!” Dad agreed, starting the engine.
“The drummer did fine.” Peg’s voice was shaky. “The clarinetist should have stayed home.”
“Not so!” exclaimed Mom. “Every instrument is important to the band.”
Dad eased the car out of the parking lot and into the street. “That’s right. It takes them all working together to make beautiful music.”
“Sounds like people!” I piped up.
Peg reached over and squeezed my hand. “I have a thing or two to tell Dina about drums and brothers.”
She didn’t say little brother! This called for a celebration. “Anybody for ice cream?”
“Well, sure,” Peg said. “But you know how you always drip ice cream down your tie. And chocolate doesn’t go too well with red.”
“Since you have two ties, maybe you can let me have one if I do.”
“Kindness to brothers only goes so far,” she said.
I whipped my tie off and crammed it into my pocket. “Problem solved,” I said with a grin.
At the ice-cream palace, Peg dug into her strawberry sundae. Halfway to her mouth, a glob slid off her spoon, splotching her red tie.
“How about that?” I teased. “Strawberry doesn’t go much better with red than chocolate does.”
“Anybody can make a mistake,” she said. “Or maybe two.”
We all laughed. It was beautiful music.

The biggest question on Luke’s mind has been about what to decide regarding his mission. Like so many others in his situation, Luke has to choose whether to defer his mission call for a year or more, or wait and see if he can go as soon as possible with the original date.
Nothing is certain yet.
For Luke, direction came after watching general conference. “President Nelson and the other leaders were so optimistic,” Luke said. “It makes me optimistic too. So, at least for now, I’m going to plan on serving during my normal time.”
Luke knows that nothing is certain where COVID-19 is concerned. Even so, he’s absolutely certain about something else. “God is at the wheel,” Luke says. “He isn’t going to let us fail.”

One day, after we had reached the Coppermine River, we were paddling on the river during a blizzard. It was the end of July and the snow was flying! The current was powerful, but the head-wind was so strong we were struggling for progress. Bob said, “Dad, look at the shore.” I did … We were standing still. And when we stopped paddling, the wind blew us upstream! So we stopped and pulled over to the shore and gathered what wood we could for a fire to warm our hands.

Another time we were stuck on a boulder in a bad set of rapids, and it seemed as though we might stay there forever. But after a prayer and a quick maneuvering of the boat, we broke free.

Once we reached the river, we were determined to regain our lost time. We didn’t mind moving, because when we’d stop we’d start to chill. Even at night we slept cold. The ground was ice, and the wind was cold. We had some small containers of fuel, but just enough to warm our food. And so we paddled and rushed on. Our worst day on the river we traveled 5 kilometers. Our best day we traveled 80 kilometers, and we went over the falls and flooded our canoe at the last set of rapids out of eight we covered that day. The map showed eight sets of rapids, and we decided, because of our haste, to run them without studying them first, a foolish thing to do.

We slowly regained our lost time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small Eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had sailed over every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we carried our equipment around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

To any father who is trying to help his son decide to go on a mission, I would say that the most important thing is to know your son. Not everyone needs to go on a trip down the Coppermine River. The same kind of building experiences can take place at home, working in the garage together, playing a game of tennis, maybe just going for a walk where the two of you can be alone. I wouldn’t have gone on the Coppermine River if I hadn’t felt inspired to do so.

And to you young men who know you should be going on a mission, I would remind you that for every person there will be wilderness areas, Gethsemanes, Sacred Groves—places where we learn to rely on the Lord completely and call on him in fervent prayer. Don’t try to tempt the Lord by placing yourself in a dangerous situation, but be prepared to follow the promptings of his Spirit, wherever they may lead you.

Last year I went on a hike with my dad and brother. We hiked deep into the canyon. We soon started exploring a side trail. We found large caves and great lookout points. We climbed higher and higher over loose rocks and steep hills.
After a while we were completely lost. We didn’t know which way to go to get to the bottom of the canyon. We got stuck in thick brush, losing sight of both the top and bottom of the canyon. I started to get really frustrated. I did not know where to go, and neither did my dad!
It was getting dark and cold, and we were far from getting out of the canyon. I knew that Heavenly Father knew which way to go.
I said, “If we want to get out of here, we need to pray!” So the three of us knelt down in prayer, asking Heavenly Father to lead us out of the canyon.
As we started to walk, a feeling told me that when I saw a straight tall tree, we should turn left. After we turned left, I saw our car. I knew that Heavenly Father helped us get out of the canyon. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and we made it out safely—just as the sun was setting.
I am so thankful for the power of prayer and for Heavenly Father’s listening ear.

It’s Saturday morning, Shannon McNally is wide awake, and she’s still snoring. Listening to her and egging her on is Shannon’s younger sister, Landis. It looks strange, really. But it’s not. It’s what Landis likes. So Shannon indulges her mentally retarded sister.
“She likes for me to snore for her,” Shannon says with a shrug. Shannon doesn’t know why Landis likes that, or why she likes her big sis to play “The Wedding March” on the piano. “That’s just one of Landis’s things too.”
Shannon, 15, and Landis, 12, share a bedroom in their Union Bridge, Maryland, home. And despite Landis’s disability, the two sisters are just that. “We’re like regular sisters who have special things between them,” Shannon continues. That would explain the snoring and “The Wedding March.”
It would also explain why Shannon is such a big help to her mother when it comes to dealing with Landis. “Right now, Landis throws a lot of tantrums, she pulls hair, she spits, and she scratches. She’s also speech-disabled,” says the girls’ mom, Anjela McNally. “Shannon probably understands [Landis] a tad better than I do. I’ll say, ‘Shannon, what’s Landis trying to say?’ Shannon knows her sister very well and can usually tell me.”
That doesn’t mean it’s always easy for Shannon, a Mia Maid in the Westminster Ward of the Frederick Maryland Stake. When Landis gets upset, she’ll begin, as Shannon describes it, “trashing the house.” Once Shannon was heating up some leftover pizza, when Landis decided she wanted pudding instead. When Shannon told her she’d have to eat the pizza, Landis began throwing her food around the kitchen and knocking things off the counter.
“I get frustrated a lot over the things she does. I don’t mean to get mad but sometimes I do. Then I feel bad because I know she doesn’t quite understand why I’m yelling at her,” says Shannon. It’s at moments like these that Shannon will give Landis a hug, or sit with her in a chair, look at a magazine, and just rock back and forth. “It helps my anger to go away.”
“What is so incredible about Shannon is she’s able to not let what Landis does get her down too much. She has a great sense of humor about it,” says Sister McNally, a single parent who also has two sons, K. C. and Lucas, still at home. “Shannon is always willing to help, and she’s very kind to Landis. And Landis turns to Shannon for help as much as me or maybe even sometimes a little bit more than me.
“Shannon is a good role model for Landis,” Sister McNally continues. “But I think she’s more of a hero for Landis. Shannon has always been really pleasant and easygoing. I call her ‘my cheerful giver.’”
Even with all the help she provides her mother, Shannon still finds time for seminary, and school activities, which include her participation in color guard, a precision performing group that twirls flags. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, days Sister McNally is at school, Shannon is there to help Landis get off the bus. She also helps Landis get dressed, and will occasionally help with her bath.
There are moments when Shannon stops and considers her sister’s plight. She’ll think about times when Landis cries and doesn’t stop, and how hard it is to see her sister sad and not be able to find out what’s wrong. There are other times when Shannon will think about the gospel, and specifically about the Resurrection. “Landis has been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s hard for me to imagine her being perfect, her being able to speak,” Shannon explains. “I can’t really imagine her that way, but I know she will be someday.”
Sister McNally says, “I try to teach Shannon that she won’t always be recognized here for the help she’s given Landis, or for the way she’s been kind to Landis and helped make Landis’s life easier. But I also teach her that someday Landis will be able to come up to her and talk, and that this is not a permanent condition. As a family, we have had to do a lot of soul searching and a lot of studying of the purpose of life.”
For now, Shannon will continue caring for Landis. Like the nights when Shannon wakes up and makes sure her sister has blankets on her, or when she takes Landis outside to ride her bike. Those are the times when Landis will smile and so will Shannon. And one thing will be readily apparent. They’re sisters, and they love each other very much.

Illustration by Allen Garns
Our vacation was ending. Over waffles that morning, we planned how to make the most of our time at the hotel before enduring the five-hour drive home. My husband decided to take our three young daughters for a final escapade in the pool. I would take advantage of a treadmill in the workout room.
The treadmill I chose faced a wall-sized window overlooking the swimming pool. Shortly I saw a family, my family, make their way to the pool. Towels, shoes, and T-shirts flew everywhere as the girls excitedly prepared to jump into the water. Normally I would be following behind them, gathering up clothes and shoes and, quite honestly, being a bit annoyed by it all. Instead, I saw this family from the outside looking in, as though the giant window before me was a movie screen. As my feet pounded a rhythm on the rotating belt beneath, I watched.
I saw how happy everyone was, laughing and playing together, and I thought about the times I had become discouraged by the petty arguments that inevitably arise in a family, by the uneasy feeling that, despite my best effort, I was failing to teach my children to love each other. But as I watched, I saw people who were happy together. I discovered that I wasn’t failing to teach them to love one another; I was just failing to notice that they could.
I watched one of the girls jumping from the pool’s edge over and over again into her daddy’s arms. I thought about all the big jumps she would make throughout her life and hoped she would trust Heavenly Father to catch her each time. I knew that with each jump she was learning to trust and that being part of our family was a safe way to learn that trust.
Another daughter sought to perfect a swimming skill. I saw how her family’s encouragement kept her trying. There would be times in her life when she would need that same support in the face of more difficult challenges.
And then I watched as our third daughter was accidentally bumped into the pool. Upset and angry, she sputtered her way out of the water and into a chair. Immediately her family noticed she was missing. I watched each one lovingly encourage her to rejoin them. She eventually did, and I thought of her future, of all the times she would be hurt and feel like giving up. I hoped she would always find in the love of her family the strength to endure.
Suddenly, the realization hit me: our families can be a key to our ability to learn, understand, and live the gospel. Nephi noted that “by small means the Lord can bring about great things” (1 Nephi 16:29). And so it is with families. Yes, parents struggle. But every effort to teach and train and love, no matter how small, matters.
My little movie drew to a close. As I turned off the treadmill and watched my family gather their clothes, I felt renewed determination to keep going, to keep doing all the little things that I sometimes worry don’t make a difference.

Illustrations by Alessia Girasole
“It’s scripture time!” Lila said.
Lila loved reading to her little sister, Ánika, and her baby brother, Svetan. Soon Lila would be getting baptized! To be ready, she wanted to read the scriptures every day.
Lila opened the scripture storybook to the first page. Ánika and Svetan snuggled close so they could see the pictures.
“Listen carefully because I’m going to ask you questions after,” Lila said. Then she started reading the first chapter.
“Before we were born, we lived in heaven,” Lila read. “We didn’t have bodies yet. We were spirits.”
Lila, Ánika, and Svetan looked at the pictures of people dressed in white.
“Ready for your first question?” Lila turned to Ánika. “Where did you come from before you were born?”
Ánika clapped her hands. “Heaven!”
“That’s right,” said Lila. “And where did Svetan come from?”
“He came from heaven too,” Ánika said. Svetan giggled and put his fist in his mouth. Lila and Ánika laughed. Svetan was the cutest one-year-old in Argentina!
“Our whole family came from heaven,” Lila said. “Jesus did too. He came to help us so we can live with Heavenly Father again.” Lila pointed to the picture of Jesus on the page.
After she finished reading, Lila kept thinking about what it must have been like to live with Jesus in heaven. She wanted to be like Him. She wanted to always choose the right!
The next day at school, Lila’s tummy rumbled as she waited in line for breakfast. She could almost taste the empanadas as Señora Ruiz slid them onto her plate. They smelled so good!
Then Señora Ruiz poured Lila a cup of milk. Uh oh, Lila thought. The milk looked darker than usual. Sometimes her school added coffee or tea to the drinks.
“Is there any coffee or tea in the milk today?” Lila asked.
Señora Ruiz waved her hand. “A little coffee,” she said. “You won’t even taste it.”
Lila thought for a moment. She remembered how she wanted to be like Jesus and choose the right. She knew drinking coffee was something the prophets said not to do.
“No, thanks. I won’t have milk today,” Lila said. She gave Señora Ruiz a smile. Then she sat down to eat.
That night, Lila helped Papi wash dishes in the kitchen. She was still thinking about the scripture story. She was thinking about the milk too.
“Papi?”
“Yes?” Papi said.
“Why did Heavenly Father want us to have bodies?”
Papi thought while he rinsed another plate. “Well, He gave us bodies so we could become like Him,” he said. “Your body is a home for your spirit. That’s what we mean when we say our bodies are temples.”
Lila nodded. She sang a song about that in Primary sometimes! “So that’s why Heavenly Father wants us to take care of our bodies?”
“Exactly,” Papi said.
“Today at school, they put some coffee in the milk,” Lila said. “I didn’t drink it, though. I’m trying to take care of my temple.”
“I’m proud of you,” Papi said. He dried his hands on a towel and gave Lila a hug.
Lila hugged Papi tight. She was happy to take care of the body Heavenly Father had given her.
The family in this story lives in Argentina. Turn to page 10 to learn more about their country.

They’ll both tell you that the Church and its teachings have helped them in every phase of their lives. From the time they first became brothers, gospel teachings were evident. Brent was adopted as a baby, and Bill, along with his sister Karla, was adopted from Korea at the age of five. In preparing five-year-old Brent for his new brother and sister, their father, Roland Hiltscher, told him, “You know, your toys and things will be new to them when they first come. What will you do if they break them?”

“I’d tell them that’s all right, because sometimes I break them too,” responded Brent.
More recently, their church experience helped them with their election. Since they’d been brought up giving talks in church, they weren’t too nervous when they had to give speeches to the entire student body. And they say that leadership positions in the Church help them with leadership positions at school.
The brothers claim that seminary has also helped them. “Going to church just once a week wouldn’t cut it,” says Brent. “Around school, it’s not always easy thinking about church things. But if you go to seminary every day, it helps you keep your mind where it should be.”
With all that involvement, however, they don’t flaunt their religion. “I don’t run around saying, ‘Ho—I’m a Mormon, so I’m cool, and you’re not,’” Bill says. “But I don’t try to hide it from anyone. It’s just a fact of my life—like having dark hair. If other people accept it, fine. If they don’t, that’s fine too.”
People usually accept it. Mormonism is pretty widespread in southern California, and most people have at least a marginal knowledge of it. But there are some people in the community who are decidedly anti-Mormon. How do Brent and Bill handle that? “Some of our friends hear wild, terrible stories about the things we supposedly believe, but most of them realize that what they’ve been told is wrong,” says Brent. “They get a pretty good impression of what Mormons are about and what we do by the way we act.”
But there is also a lonely side to being known as LDS. As well liked as the Hiltschers are, there are some activities, particularly on the weekends, that the brothers are excluded from. “Sometimes we wish there wouldn’t be drinking at the parties so we would go,” Brent explained. “But it’s not like we wish we could drink. A lot of weekends, we just go our separate ways from our school friends.”
What do they do then? They found an answer one weekend when they decided to throw a party of their own. They had lots of games, lots of food, and lots of fun. That showed their school friends that you can have fun without drinking. The Hiltschers are also heavily involved in Church and school activities, homework, stake dances, service projects, part-time jobs (Bill tutors, Brent assists their father with his professional photography). They don’t have an awful lot of time to sit around and mope.
Now, just because these two brothers share the same standards and values doesn’t necessarily mean they’re clones of each other. “We both have a lot of strengths and weaknesses,” says Bill. “But it seems that my weaknesses are Brent’s strengths, and vice versa. I sometimes think that a better person would be made if you combined us both in one. For example, in academics, Brent seems to have this talent for English, history, and social science, while I have a talent for math and sciences.”
And the differences don’t stop there. They range from taste in food (Brent likes it plain and simple, Bill likes it hot and spicy) to basic personality types—Bill goes more with his mind, while Brent goes more with his heart. Bill leans more toward being intellectual, while Brent leans more toward being athletic, although they’ve both participated in sports and get good grades. Their differences show, though, that there is not one ideal way to be in order to be accepted.
Fitting in with your family is another important aspect of acceptance that the Hiltschers talk about. “Our parents are really supportive of the things we do, but we had to earn their trust,” Brent says. “Back in junior high, it seemed like they wouldn’t let us do anything we wanted to, but now they trust us.”
How did they earn that trust? “By hanging around with good people who have the same standards we do, for one thing,” says Bill. “Our parents know that we won’t go out looking for trouble with our friends. We also always try to be where we say we’ll be when we say we’ll be there, and we call if we’re going to be late. That helps,” he adds.
All this doesn’t mean these two are perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, and they’ll be the first to tell you that. Like any brothers, especially so close in age (they’re four months apart), they have their fights. And fears and pressures affect them as much as anyone else. Brent’s main fear in life is of unintentionally offending someone. Bill worries about the future and what it will hold for him.
The near future, however, they have mapped out already. Once they graduate from high school, they’ll attend college until they’re 19, and then serve missions. There will be more schooling when they return. Bill is thinking about becoming an engineer or architect, and Brent would like to maybe teach high school, or join in the family photography business.
Wherever they fit in the future, they’ve managed to fit in the present pretty well. Their secret lies in Bill’s advice to others: “Don’t try to change yourself to fit in with someone else. Know who you are. Then look around and find others who fit with you.”

Dear Topher,
Thank you for the get-well card and the snapshot of you and that kangaroo on the playground. It sounds like school in Blackwater isn’t much different from here in Michigan, except I have never seen anyone bring a wallaby to class!
Yesterday was my twelfth birthday. My little sister, Kimmy, drew me a picture of an elephant on stilts. It was pretty funny. The nurse hung it on the wall by the side of my bed. Oh, and Mom and Dad bought me a puzzle—one of those hard ones with zillions of tiny pieces. I guess they think I’m going to be here for a while! Dr. Gunnerson tries to find a piece every time he comes in my room, but he says it’s harder to put together than some of his patients.
I feel about the same, I guess. Some days are better than others. It’s hard to know about cancer.
Well, I’d better go now, Topher. I’m real tired, and Dad is making funny faces and it makes it hard to write.
Your pen pal,
Cindy
Dear Topher,
It was fun reading your letter. Good luck with your part in that ward musical. Are you serious about your bishop playing Bigfoot? Maybe they grow bishops bigger in Australia—ha, ha!
Speaking of bishops, Topher, mine has been coming to see me a lot lately. In fact, he helped me finish that puzzle. It’s a picture of a raccoon and a turtle. I told him that I wish more people would show reverence for Heavenly Father’s creatures by being kind to them. He said that life is precious—all of it. I asked him if animals go to heaven when they die. He said that it says in the Pearl of Great Price that all things were created spiritually before they were placed temporally upon the Earth.* He said that spirits are eternal, so that certainly ups their odds!
Then we talked about dying, how it is a part of living, that it is like a door we all pass through in order to keep on living forever. He said that it isn’t so important how much time we have on earth but what we do with the time we have. Then he held me a long time and didn’t say anything. It was like he couldn’t talk. I think he was crying. Then he whispered in my ear and said that Heavenly Father was very proud of me and had a special place prepared for me in Heaven.
Later that day Dad and our home teachers—Brother Sullivan and his son Larry—gave me another blessing. Dad asked Heavenly Father that if it was His will that I should be called home early, that my pain might stop so I could better enjoy whatever time I have left. Well, Topher, guess what? The pain went away. It is easier for me to write now too.
Linda, one of the nurses, is bringing my supper in, and it smells good, so I guess I’ll say good-bye for now.
Your pen pal,
Cindy
Dear Topher,
You asked me in the letter I got from you yesterday if I was afraid to die. I guess I should be, kind of. But I don’t feel scared. Mom told me what Grandma Clanton said before she died about four years ago. She said she would be leaving Mom and the rest of us for just a little while and to not be frightened. She said she’d be happy and that we shouldn’t worry about her. That helped me a lot.
Another reason I’m not afraid is because I have a testimony of Jesus. He died so that we might all live again and so that families can be forever. I have an older brother in Heaven. Maybe I’ll be able to see him. And my Uncle Eugene. And my ancestors. I kind of got to know some of them when my parents were working on their family history. One of them, Nathan Twiggs, carried a chair on his back all the way across the plains—and not just so he would have something to sit on when he got tired walking! His grandfather, Thomas Twiggs, made it and used to sit on it with Nathan on his knees and read the Book of Mormon to him. Dad said it was in that chair that Thomas got his testimony.
If I could choose between staying or leaving, I would stay here on earth for a while because when I think of leaving my family, I feel sad. But Heavenly Father knows best, and Mom said that we were all probably both happy and sad when we left our heavenly parents to come down here.
Oh, I wish I could see that play you are going to be in, Topher! It sounds like it will be fun. I laughed when you said you brought a friend to dress rehearsal and you pointed to Bigfoot and said he was your bishop, and your friend said, “No wonder everyone is so reverent—I wouldn’t want to upset him, either!”
Take care of yourself, Topher. Kiss a kangaroo for me. I think they’re cute.
Your pen pal,
Cindy
Dear Topher,
I’m Cindy’s mother. You probably don’t know me. Or maybe you do, a little. Cindy most likely told you about her family in some of her letters. She’s told us a good deal about you.
Cindy passed away last week, Topher. She wanted me to tell you good-bye and that she would see you later. She said for you to work on your testimony every day because it will help make your trials much easier to bear. And you know what, Topher? It does. It does!
Write us when you can. We would like to keep in touch.
Love,
Cindy’s mom
Dear Cindy’s family,
I cried a lot when you told me about Cindy. Then, well, it’s hard to explain, but a warm feeling came over me. It felt like the sun when it pushes down through a bunch of dark, wet clouds. I know Cindy is happy, just as she said she would be. And what she said about you asking me to work on my testimony? Well, I am. I want one, too, so that when things get hard or confusing I can be strong—and happy, even when I’m sad.
I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Topher

Paula didn’t know who she was. Oh, she knew she was Paula Gonzales, an American citizen who had spent much of her childhood in Mexico. But now, as a teenager, she was back in the United States, and what had worked well in Mexico wasn’t working at her new high school in the San Diego, California, area.
In April of 1989, Paula’s father was killed in a construction accident when a steel beam fell on him. Her mother, an American, had no means of supporting her six children in Mexico, so the family came to live near Paula’s grandmother in Leucadia, California. Paula suddenly found herself trying to juggle and balance conflicting social expectations.
It wasn’t that making friends was difficult for her. She spoke Spanish fluently and readily teamed up with some of the Hispanic students. Although her English language skills were limited, she also made close friends among the Anglo-American students. She liked them all, but this became the cause of her sense of displacement and pain.
“If I was with my Anglo friends, my Hispanic friends said I was betraying my culture and my people. If I stayed with my Hispanic friends, my Anglo friends said I was unfriendly,” Paula says.
In an effort to help her resolve her problem, Paula’s mother offered her the following advice: “It seems to me you are standing with one foot on each side of a wall. I think what you need to do is remove the wall stone by stone.”
And that’s just what Paula did. In the process she has not only been able to tear down barriers between people; she has been able to build up her capacity to be loving and charitable to everyone she meets.
Becoming fluent in English was Paula’s first step. If she could read, write, and speak in both languages, perhaps she could more effectively express her feelings to both groups. So she poured herself into study.
Next came a test of faith. Paula’s mother, who is a member of the Catholic faith, accepted an invitation to listen to the missionary discussions. Paula and her younger sister, Patricia, became enthusiastic investigators. They listened, read, and prayed. They attended meetings and developed a fervent conviction that the gospel was true. Peace came with their new beliefs. They told their mother they wanted to be baptized.
“It was hard for me to give my permission,” says Paula’s mother. “It meant they were leaving the ways of our family. I thought about it for a couple of months. Then I was filled with a warm feeling that this faith would bring them happiness, that I should let them follow their hearts.”
Now Paula had the skills and the knowledge to start helping others. She became a peer counselor at her school, helping her friends work through their problems. She helps others see the good in themselves and those around them.
“Looking for the good in others is the real basis of what I think Jesus meant when he taught about brotherly love,” says Paula.
Through peer counseling Paula found that drugs and alcohol are often at the root of people’s problems. Consequently, she immersed herself in her school’s Drug-Free Youth program. But she didn’t stop there. She found that awareness was only one part of the solution. She felt that removing people from dangerous situations could eliminate some of the most damaging problems. So she joined the Safe Ride program at her school. The organization gives rides home to teenagers who find themselves in compromising situations.
“We’re as close as the phone,” she says. “No one has to stay in situations involving dangerous activities, drugs, alcohol, or moral violations. We give them a way to escape.”
Many people would think Paula was doing all she could, but she decided that her peers needed to do more than escape bad situations; they needed chances to participate in good ones. Paula noticed that a large number of athletically talented Hispanic students were not involved in school sports. When she invited them to join her on the track team, she found that the problem was not lack of talent or desire, but a lack of money to provide physical exams, sports insurance, and track shoes.
Paula found a local health facility that was willing to do the examinations for free if each person was prompt for the appointments. She then petitioned service clubs and individuals to give financial aid for shoes and insurance. Donations finally covered costs. The track team got several new members.
Next, Paula’s focus shifted to people living just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico. She heard about the desperate conditions many families were living in and she went to work. She collected clothing, food, and household items from everyone she knew. Soon the collected items were taken across the border and given to the families who so badly needed them. She is still collecting and sending on a continual basis.
Paula spends so much of her time sharing with others, that some people think she needs to take time to relax and enjoy.
“I do enjoy. I enjoy my family, my church, and my friends,” says Paula. “Our family has never had a lot of material things, but I’ve always been taught to share what we have. Anyone can reach inside and share what they have in heart and spirit.”
Paula intends to enter a profession of some type that involves helping others, a goal that she knows will require a college education. So with that goal in mind, she is moving forward, helping everyone she can along the way. She has taken her own personal pain and turned it into gain.
Paula Gonzales now knows who she is.

The next morning, Joseph said nothing about Moroni, even though he knew his father also believed in visions and angels. Instead, they spent the morning harvesting a nearby field with Alvin.

The work was difficult. Joseph tried to keep pace with his brother as they swung their scythes back and forth through the tall grain. But Moroni’s visits had kept him awake all night, and his thoughts kept returning to the ancient record and the hill where they were buried.

Soon he stopped working, and Alvin noticed. “We must keep to work,” he called out to Joseph, “or we shall not get our task done.”14

Joseph tried to work harder and faster, but no matter what he did, he could not keep up with Alvin. After a while, Joseph Sr. noticed that Joseph looked pale and had stopped working again. “Go home,” he said, believing his son was sick.

Joseph obeyed his father and stumbled back toward the house. But as he tried to cross a fence, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

While he lay there, gathering strength, he saw Moroni standing above him once more, surrounded by light. “Why did you not tell your father what I told you?” he asked.

Joseph said he was afraid his father would not believe him.

“He will,” Moroni assured him, then repeated his message from the night before.15

Joseph Sr. wept when his son told him about the angel and his message. “It was a vision from God,” he said. “Attend to it.”16

The mental image of his wife also gave Viktor Frankl the strength to survive the agonies of a Nazi concentration camp: “As we stumbled on for miles, … dragging one another up and onward, … my mind clung to my wife’s image … her look was then more luminous than the sun. … for the first time in my life … I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love.” Therefore, “He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how” (Man’s Search for Meaning, 1984, 56–57, 12). His “why” was the vision of being together with his sweetheart. Full of such hope, he could live with the awful “how” of imprisonment.

In 2016, while serving a mission in Little Rock, Arkansas, I asked Brother Cava to deliver a package to my older sister, who lived on an island in Fiji. His response was not something that I had anticipated. “President Wakolo,” he groaned, “your sister passed away and was buried 10 days ago.” I had self-pity and even felt a little upset that my family did not even bother to let me know.

The next day, while my wife was teaching missionaries, this thought penetrated my soul: “Taniela, all these experiences are for your own good and development. You have been teaching and sharing your testimony about the Atonement of Jesus Christ; now live accordingly.” I was reminded that “happy is the man whom God correct[s]: therefore [we should] despise not … the chastening of the Almighty” (Job 5:17). It was a spiritual surgery for me, and the outcome was immediate.

Just as I was contemplating the experience, I was called upon to give my concluding thoughts to the discussion. Among other things, I shared the lessons that I had just been taught: one, I had just been chastened by the Holy Ghost, and I loved it because I was the only one who heard it; two, because of the Savior’s sacrifice and ransom, I will no longer refer to my challenges as trials and tribulations but as my learning experiences; and three, because of His perfect and sinless life, I will no longer refer to my shortcomings and lack of abilities as weaknesses but rather as my development opportunities. This experience helped me know that God chastens us because He loves us.

In December 2000 our stake choir was preparing to host a choral festival. Several choirs of great renown in the city of Posadas, Argentina, had confirmed that they would be participating, and many people would be attending. Through our singing we hoped to share our testimony of the birth of the Savior.
As the choir director, I was a bit anxious. Adding to my anxiety was that I was eight months pregnant with twins. I experienced pains during our final rehearsal a week before the concert and had to conduct sitting down.
By the time the rehearsal ended, I could no longer stand. My husband, Carlos, and my father gave me a blessing. Carlos then took me to the hospital, where doctors determined that the babies would arrive that day. I was fearful, but Carlos told me to trust in the Lord.
Soon the cry of a newborn baby flooded the room. My heart leapt for joy at the sound, but then the doctor drew close and said, “That is Kira crying, but Abril did not make it.”
I have no words to describe the feelings that swept over me. Soon I was moved to another room, where my husband was waiting for me. We embraced and wept.
“Dafne, we don’t know the Lord’s purpose in taking Abril to Himself,” Carlos said. “But we must be strong, accept His will, and move forward in faith.”
A little while later, Carlos held Kira’s tiny body and blessed her to live. She did, but because of complications, she remained in the hospital for the next 10 days.
I was released the following week. Because of frequent trips to the hospital to see and feed Kira, I gave no thought to the choir. The night before the festival, my father asked me if I had decided whether to conduct. “Pray about it, Dafne,” he said, “and surely whatever decision you make will be the right one.”
I thought about Kira, who still lay in the hospital. I thought about the choir members, who had worked hard to prepare for the concert. I thought about the Savior and His birth, life, and sacrifice. I knew what I needed to do.
The demonstrations of love our family received the next evening from choir members moved us deeply, and the spirit of harmony among them created a heartfelt desire to touch those who attended.
Because we hosted the festival, our stake choir sang last. When the piano and violin played the introduction to “The First Noel,” tears spilled onto my cheeks. Then, as the voices melded with the instruments, I was overcome with the sensation that I was in a beautiful place.
When we finished, I turned around to see that most audience members had tears in their eyes. People who perhaps had never heard the gospel’s message of peace and love had felt through our music the beauty and wonder of the birth of the Son of God.
Afterward, the director of one of the other choirs said to us, “We had good technique, but you sang from your hearts.”
On Christmas Eve my husband and I thanked God for sending Kira to our home and for sending His Son to earth. Because of the Son’s Atonement and our sealing in the temple, we know that Abril will someday be ours again.

My father was a farmer and put in long hard days of labor, much of it with animals. If any earthly trial I know of can drive a man to profanity, it is working with animals, and there are many men on whom it has had exactly that effect. My father wasn’t one of them. I’ll never forget a lesson he taught me one day while he was milking a cow that was sick with milk fever. Father had cracked his ribs not long before, and they were excruciatingly painful, but as if that weren’t enough, the cow in her sickness suddenly collapsed and fell right on top of him. It would have been a funny sight, him lying there in the spilled milk with a cow on top of him, if it hadn’t been for his white-faced agony as he struggled to rise. Although he was sick with pain, he didn’t call the cow any bad names. He got out from under her and onto his feet with difficulty and then helped the cow up. Then he ran his hand gently along her side and said, “You poor dear, I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

That may sound absurd to anyone accustomed to salving all wounds with violent words, but it seemed to me an expression of reason, kindness, and self-control far better than the string of oaths he could have spit out at a poor, dumb animal. I really don’t believe his ribs would have felt any better had he sworn, nor would he have felt any better about the experience. I don’t believe it anymore when someone tells me there are times when a person can’t help swearing.

Tommy’s mother also taught him how to love and serve others. Every Sunday before the Monson family ate dinner, Tommy’s mother prepared a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and gravy for Old Bob. Sometimes it also included Tommy’s mother’s famous ribbon cake with layers of green, pink, and yellow cake and chocolate frosting. Tommy’s job was to deliver the dinner to Old Bob.
At first Tommy did not understand why he couldn’t eat first and then take the plate over. But he never complained. He would run quickly down to Old Bob’s house, balancing the full plate. Then he would wait anxiously as Old Bob came slowly to the door.
The two would then trade plates—Bob’s clean plate from the previous Sunday and Tommy’s plate piled high with food. Then Bob would offer a dime as payment for the kindness.
Tommy’s answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.”
The old gentleman would pat Tommy’s blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.” When Tommy reported the compliment from Old Bob back to his mother, her eyes glistened with tears.

When I was a student at the University of Vienna in Austria, two missionaries came to my door, saying, “We have a message for you from God.” I invited them in, wondering why I did so because I didn’t have any interest in religion. Deeply affected by the Hungarian Revolution of 1956—which sent thousands of refugees streaming into Austria—I had been seeking to know the meaning of life. But I didn’t expect to find the answer in any church.
The message of these missionaries was the message of the Restoration. I think I loved the Prophet Joseph Smith from the first moment I heard about him. I was especially touched by the circumstances of his Martyrdom. Later, as I spent time reading the Book of Mormon and praying, I received through the power of the Holy Ghost a joyful, peaceful assurance that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith was the Prophet of the Restoration, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Lord’s restored Church on the earth, led by living prophets who prepare the world for His Second Coming.

Diana Vasquez didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to her father. She didn’t know she needed to. When she and her two brothers went to school on June 9, 2007, he seemed fine. But before she got home, he lay down to rest and didn’t wake up.
“It was so unexpected,” says Diana, who was 16 at the time. “At first I couldn’t accept it.”
But when tragedy strikes without warning, as it did in Diana’s family, suddenly things that really matter—like family—become more important.
Fortunately for Diana’s family, being united here and hereafter was something they were already working on. Pulling together when hard times could have pulled them apart has brought peace and happiness in this life and hope that they can be together in the next.
Less than a week before Diana’s father died, he taught a family home evening lesson on being united in keeping their covenants so they could be together forever. “Nobody has tomorrow guaranteed,” he said. “We need to be prepared so that if any one of us dies, we can still be together.”
Diana has learned how working together to keep gospel covenants can bring a family together, and she is grateful she learned before it was too late.
The last thing Diana’s father said to her as she left for school on the day he died was, “Te quiero mucho, Dianita.” (I love you very much, little Diana.)
Diana has confidence in the Lord’s promise that her family can be together again if they will continue to keep their covenants.
“I have seen how Heavenly Father has brought us closer together for following the Savior,” she says. “I have to believe He will also keep His promise that we can be together forever if we keep the commandments.
“I know our families can truly be eternal thanks to the divine plan.
“I know we can realize the eternal glory our Heavenly Father promises. Only by enduring to the end, putting our hearts into the things of God, and helping each other can we achieve our objective to be an eternal family.”

The next year I had a cast of students who were by no means religious. We had our problems, and I had the feeling it might be inappropriate to ask that group of students to calm down enough for prayer. I never suggested prayer before their first opening night.

It was a terrible performance. I’m not blaming anyone. We just did a poor job.

I had the cast stay after for a line rehearsal, but it took me more than an hour to go over my notes and point out what needed to be corrected by the next night. There was no mistaking that I was upset.

As we were leaving the theater, a few of the cast members were walking to the parking lot with me. One of the least religious of the group said, “Last year I heard you had prayer before performances.”

I was stunned. “Yes,” I said, “we did.”

“How come we didn’t have it this year?”

“I didn’t think any of you would want to have prayer,” I answered.

“I would,” he said without hesitation.

“So would I,” another added.

The next night we had prayer and our performance went off without a flaw. I’m not saying prayer can overcome poor rehearsals, failure to learn lines, or lack of preparation. But it can focus what a cast has going for it. It can bring them together in a unity of purpose.