Gospel Story Finder

I joined the Church at age 15, and four years later I submitted my missionary application. At the interview with my stake president, he complimented me for deciding to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. Then that inspired leader said something that made a profound impression on me: “Brother, from now on, strange things will happen in your life to try to get you to change your mind about your decision to serve the Lord.”
While waiting for my mission call, I was working as a trainee at Xerox. This work made it possible for me to obtain some of the things that I would need for the mission field and to help my mother with expenses at home. Things were going very well.
Unfortunately, “strange things” did begin to happen. First, my mother was assaulted and almost died from her injuries, but a kind Heavenly Father miraculously spared her life.
At that time, my mother, two younger sisters, and I were living in a rented house. We lived off my income and a small benefit that my mother received because of my father’s death years before.
Some people, including Church members, would ask, “Are you going to have the courage to leave your mother like this and go on a mission?” Hearing this question over and over began to cause doubts in my heart.
One day my stake president called and told me that my mission call had arrived and asked me to come to his office that evening so he could give me the much-awaited envelope from Church headquarters. I was both nervous and happy at the news.
On the same day, my manager at work asked to talk to me before lunch. When I entered his office, I was greeted in a friendly manner, and we talked for a few minutes about my training and what I had learned at the company. Then, that powerful man in the organization said something that was the dream of most of the people in the city: “You have done a good job here as a trainee, and we want to hire you and keep you on the team. What do you think?”
This was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. The seconds felt like eternity. It seemed that I could hear people asking me if I was going to abandon my mother without my financial support and go to the mission field.
Nevertheless, I remembered the things I had learned from the scriptures and my Church leaders, and in a very sacred way, I knew with an unshakable certainty that God wanted me to serve as a full-time missionary of His Church. I knew that He would take care of my family, that I could trust Him, and that everything would be fine.
I explained the situation to my manager, and his reply still echoes in my mind: “I thought that you were such a level-headed young man, and here you are throwing away the opportunity of your life.”
I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for his offer, and 28 days later I reported to the missionary training center in São Paulo, Brazil.
During my mission, the Lord provided for my family’s needs through Church friends and in miraculous ways. My mother’s health was restored and new job opportunities arose for my sisters and her.
“Strange things” really do happen when we decide to serve the Lord. Yet I would humbly add my testimony to the testimonies of thousands of others who have embarked in the service of God that missionary service has profoundly affected my life.

President Lee’s stake became so good at providing for each other’s needs that Heber J. Grant, the prophet of the Church then, called President Lee into his office.
Heber J. Grant: President Lee, the Lord would like you to direct the welfare program of the whole Church.

“One day when our firewood was all wet,” says Alex Wright, 19 (now on a mission in Brazil), “a bunch of guys came and brought us dry firewood. That was on the same day we’d been reading about service.”

Similarly, during a meeting in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in January 1840, at which Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon testified on behalf of Latter-day Saint reparations after the Missouri persecutions, Brother Rigdon spoke eloquently and at length on biblical evidences for the Restoration, but Joseph virtually sprang to the pulpit afterward to tell his personal experiences of how God called him, “bearing testimony of the visions he had seen, the ministering of angels which he had enjoyed.”2

Andy’s bare feet kicked at his reflection in the water. He bit his tongue to keep himself from talking, but it didn’t stop his thoughts. Why can’t I go? I’m twelve now. I could help!
Slowly Andy put his moccasins on and sauntered up the footpath to the house. Disgustedly he kicked into the dirt. The flying pebbles sent the chickens squawking in every direction.
“Andy,” his mother asked, “are you still pouting about your father’s decision?”
“I’m not pouting.” Andy stuffed his hands deep in his overall pockets and leaned against the porch post. “I’m just wishing I could go on the hunt.”
“Maybe next time,” Mother said.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“I know, but the bobcat hunt is not just a game. You’ve heard of the damage that old cat’s done. If the cat wasn’t killing the sheep, the men wouldn’t go either. It’s dangerous! Now come on in, your father’s already washing for lunch.”
“Andy,” Father said as they finished eating, “I’m sorry you can’t go on the hunt. I hope you understand.”
Andy sat back down in his chair. His eyes were glued to his empty plate. “Is Billy going?” he asked.
“No. Mr. Longrun and I decided together that you are both too young. Maybe next time, Son.”
Andy went back out to the porch and sat on the step. At least Billy isn’t going either, Andy thought. But still I wish I could go. I’ve listened to all the men talking at the trading post and I know almost everything there is to know about that cat.
His thoughts were interrupted as a wagon pulled up in front of their house. Billy Longrun jumped out of the wagon and started toward him. He didn’t smile and Andy knew why. Without a word Billy sat down on the steps.
After a long silence Billy finally spoke. “My mother said you could come stay with me while my father is gone.”
Andy began to smile. He remembered what fun it was to stay in a Navajo hogan. If he couldn’t go hunting, this was the next best thing.
“I’m sure Mother will let me go,” he said.
“Let’s ask her now. I don’t want to watch them leave,” Billy said as he pushed his black hair out of his eyes.
Andy’s mother said that he could stay with Billy, and in a few minutes he had a small blanket roll of his belongings collected.
“I’m ready!” he shouted as he ran out the door. “I’ll race you to the black rock.”
Both boys ran as fast as they could to the rock then slowed to a walk, laughing between deep pants as they tried to catch their breath.
“I have an idea,” Andy said when he had his breath back. “While the men are on the hunt, let’s go trapping.”
“That’s a great idea,” Billy said. “Then when they get back we’ll have some pelts to show them.” His black eyes began to shine.
“That way staying home won’t be quite so bad,” Andy said.
Mrs. Longrun was sitting just outside the hogan weaving. Her long black hair was tied back with a piece of bright cloth and her arms and fingers were covered with beautiful turquoise and silver jewelry.
Billy sat down beside her. “Can we go trapping?” he asked.
“If you don’t go for long,” she answered.
“We’ll be back before the sun sets,” Billy promised.
Inside, the hogan was very warm. The fire in the coal stove was still smoldering. There was not a lot of furniture, but Andy recognized the bedrolls stacked against the wall. While he put his bedroll by the others, Billy gathered up the traps.
“Now be careful,” Mrs. Longrun called after them. “Don’t forget the time.”
Andy and Billy tramped through the bushes and grass into the hills, then they followed a large stream into the forest. It did not take long to find several good places to set the traps. Just as the boys started back, Andy suddenly grabbed Billy’s arm and said, “Hey, wait!”
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“What’s that between those two trees way over there?” Billy looked in the direction where Andy was pointing.
“I can’t tell.”
“Let’s go see. We have time,” his friend suggested.
Billy looked at the sun and then nodded in agreement. Quickly the boys made their way over to the trees.
As they came closer Billy grabbed Andy’s arm. “Stop! It’s a shindee hogan.”
Andy had heard his father talk about the Navajo customs, and he knew that when one of them died a new door was cut in the north wall of the hogan for everyone to leave and then the hogan was destroyed. But if for some reason the hogan was not destroyed, it was considered haunted. The haunted hogan was called a shindee and under no circumstances would any Indian go near it.
Slowly the boys found their way back to the stream and started for home. Billy’s mother had supper ready. “Tell your mother about the shindee hogan,” Andy whispered as he took a bite of fry bread. Mrs. Longrun stopped short.
“It was near the river in the forest,” said Billy. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Was it near the high ledge?” Mrs. Longrun asked.
“Yes, and it was almost hidden by the trees,” Andy told her.
Mrs. Longrun began to smile. “It is not a shindee. It was Littlewolf’s hogan, but it was built in a very bad place. Instead of building on the warm mesa he built in the forest where the sun could give it no warmth. He had to move.”
Very early the next morning Andy and Billy were up and off to check their traps.
The first trap had been sprung, but nothing was in it. However, a skunk odor was so strong that it was almost impossible for the boys to get near enough to reset the trap.
“Wow, that animal left a strong message!” Andy said as they wiped their stinging eyes.
“Let’s get out of here!” Billy motioned for Andy to follow.
They hadn’t gone far when they heard a strange, weak bleating sound.
“Oh no!” Billy pointed to the left. “One of the lambs is caught in our trap.”
The lamb’s front leg was not seriously cut, however, and carefully Andy opened the trap while Billy tried to comfort the frightened animal.
“She’s just scared. She’ll be fine,” Andy said as he patted the lamb’s head.
“We’re not far from that abandoned hogan. Let’s take her there until we finish checking the traps,” Billy suggested.
The boys were almost to the hogan when they heard a noise. Carefully they crept behind a dirt bank so they could see what was causing it. Two bobcat cubs were playfully rolling in front of the hogan.
Quickly the boys ducked down! “The big cat must be near,” Andy whispered. “The man at the trading post said she’d never go far from her cubs.”
They looked again just as the mother cat appeared with her ears pricked, as if she sensed intruders. Then the lamb began to bleat. The hungry old cat tensed and held very still. Billy grabbed for the lamb’s mouth, but it was too late. The cat had heard.
“What will we do now?” Billy asked softly.
“Put the lamb down!” Andy cautioned.
“But we can’t let the cat get her,” Billy protested.
“We won’t,” said Andy. “We’ll just use her for a decoy. Hold the lamb down in that crevice where it will be hard for the cat to see her and I’ll circle around behind the hogan.”
Andy took the downwind side and quickly, but very quietly, circled behind the hogan to where the cubs were still playing. The big cat continued to search for the lamb.
Carefully Andy crawled up behind the cubs and then, when the old cat was out of view, he grabbed one of the cubs by the tail. The cub started squalling.
Andy leaped behind a rock just as the mother cat ran to see what was wrong. She pushed the cubs into the hogan and then came out again, her head erect and alert for intruders.
Andy’s heart was beating so hard that he was afraid the cat could hear it. But she soon disappeared into the hogan. Andy moved cautiously toward the opening of the hogan, slammed the door shut, and put all his weight against it.
“Hurry, Billy, and bring the biggest rocks you can carry,” Andy shouted.
The angry cat growled and pawed furiously at the other side of the door. Andy’s heart was racing faster than ever while he waited for Billy to bring rocks to barricade it. Afterward both boys quickly carried heavy rocks to make the barricade secure. Then they ran home, stopping only to pick up the lamb.
Breathlessly they told Mrs. Longrun what had happened. She listened quietly and then said, “The men were just here. They’ve been hunting the cat all night, but they could not find it. I’ll see if I can catch them and tell them where it is.” And she hurried from the hogan.
In a few minutes Billy’s mother returned. “I told them where to go,” she reported. “You boys did a very dangerous thing. You could have been slashed to ribbons.”
“But I know all about that cat,” Andy insisted. “And we’ve helped everyone by catching it! I’m just glad I listened to the men talking about her at the trading post.”
“Bobcats are smart,” Mrs. Longrun explained. “There is only one thing that really saved you from being attacked. The cat must have thought the intruder was a skunk because that is what you both smell like!”
“Is that why she didn’t come after us?” Andy asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Longrun answered. “And it’s lucky for you or you might have been in real trouble.”
“I’d be in trouble if I went home smelling like this,” Andy said. Then turning to Billy he added, “I’m glad for that stinky old skunk, but we better wash up good, so my mother will let me in the house tonight or I’ll have to start living in that shindee myself.”

“And so,” Sister Adams said, “as Jesus tells us in Matthew 7:7 [Matt. 7:7], ‘Ask, and it shall be given you.’ When we ask in faith, and do our part, Heavenly Father will always answer us. He wants us to be happy.”
So, Brandon thought, if Heavenly Father wants me to be happy, then He must want me to get away from what makes me unhappy. Yeah! And what makes me unhappy is Bobby!
Brandon rolled his eyes, remembering Bobby’s “Please, let me come with you, Brandon.” … “I didn’t mean to break it, Brandon.” … “Can I ride your bike?” … “Can I sit by you?”
That night Brandon prayed eagerly, “Heavenly Father, please make Bobby leave me alone. He’s always pestering me and making me really unhappy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Brandon hopped into bed with a smile on his face.
On Monday, Bobby insisted on walking to school with Brandon. He kept interrupting Brandon and Peter while they were talking about important stuff. He squeezed in beside Brandon at lunch and dripped milk on Brandon’s new pants. After school, he cried so hard that Mom made Brandon take him along to nail down the floor of the tree fort. On the way there, he spilled all the nails.
This isn’t working! Brandon’s thoughts raged. He grabbed Bobby’s hand and stomped back home.
Brandon flopped into bed after a complaining prayer that night. Then he thought, What did Sister Adams say exactly? Oh, yes—we have to do ourpart too. Of course! That’s what’s wrong. I’ve been expecting Heavenly Father to do it all for me.
“Run, Peter,” whispered Brandon the next morning. “Go to school by yourself, Bobby,” he yelled over his shoulder as the two older boys raced away.
At lunchtime, when Bobby approached their table, the two friends locked elbows and spread out their legs. “He’s turning around, Brandon,” Peter said, holding up his hand for a high-five. Brandon looked. All he could see of Bobby was hunched shoulders as he trudged away.
“No, you can’t carry the hammer, and no, you can’t come!” Brandon hissed at Bobby after school. “You’re nothing but a pest, and nobody wants you along anywhere—especially at the tree fort.”
Bobby’s face began to crumple. Brandon grabbed Bobby’s shirt front. “And if you start to bawl, I’ll never let you do anything with me again.”
Tears coursed down Bobby’s cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound.
Brandon marched off, clutching his hammer so tightly that his fingers ached. Nailing down the floorboards was hard work, but it went fast without his brother’s pestering. He stopped only when the sun was almost down.
Walking home, he was glad that he’d finished so much and glad that his prayers were being answered. But when he went inside, there was Bobby, sitting as still as a statue outside Brandon’s room. Brandon scowled and slammed his door shut, all his good feelings vanishing. His mind saw only Bobby’s sad face.
He’s just making it worse and worse, Brandon ranted to himself. He breaks my stuff. He ruins my games. And now he’s ruined my enjoying the tree fort too. Well, he’d better leave me alone—or else!
On Saturday afternoon, he came home from soccer practice to find Bobby wobbling down the street on his new bike. Brandon grabbed the handlebars and yanked the bike around hard. Bobby flew off. The next instant he was screaming. His hands were skinned, and a bump was growing on his forehead.
Brandon pushed his fear away with more anger. “Don’t you ever touch my bike again! Don’t ever touch anything of mine, for as long as you live!”
Brandon felt himself marched into the house. Up the stairs he went and into his room. “Hurting someone else is not the way to take care of disagreements, Brandon,” Dad said. “You know that. You will stay in your room until you can make things right with Bobby.”
Glaring at Dad as he closed the door behind him, Brandon stomped to the window. Mom was helping Bobby into the house and holding a cloth to his forehead.
Brandon refused to come down for dinner. He wasn’t about to “make things right.” It wasn’t fair to be punished when Bobby had taken his bike without permission.
On Sunday, Brandon came out only to go to church. Sister Adams taught the class how to use the Topical Guide in their Bibles to find scriptures to answer their questions and help them learn how to solve problems. She explained that the Holy Ghost could help them know which scriptures to read.
Back home, Brandon ate his meals in his room, still fuming. I’ll never make up with that little pest!
Monday was Bobby’s birthday. After school, Brandon stood at his bedroom window, watching Bobby and his friends yelling and jumping around in the backyard.
“Oh, wow! My favorite!” Bobby yelled as he tore open a package. “A praying mantis transformer robot!”
Brandon clenched his fists. He’d been wanting one of those for months.
“Oh, wow! A dragonfly robot!” Bobby waved a robot in each hand.
Brandon slumped on his bed.
After the guests had gone home, Bobby pounded up the stairs and into Brandon’s room. “Brandon!” He stopped at his brother’s scowl. “I—I just wanted to show you my transformers. …”
“Well, I don’t want to see them. So just get out of here.”
Bobby turned and shut the door softly behind him. Tears squeezed out onto Brandon’s cheeks. Since he’d decided to pray for what he wanted, everything had gone wrong! He didn’t understand it at all.
He must have dropped off to sleep, because it was dark when he woke up, way past dinnertime. His stomach growled as he opened his door to listen. They’re having family home evening without me, he thought. They don’t care about me at all.
Then he saw it—the praying mantis transformer robot. It had been placed on the tray of food by the door.
He sat in his doorway and picked it up. Did Bobby really give this to me? Shame flooded through him. Why would he do that, after how mean I’ve been to him? And what do I do now?
Sister Adams had said to look in the Topical Guide. She’d said that the answers to our problems are all in the scriptures.
He knelt by his bed, wanting help more than he’d ever wanted it before. “Heavenly Father, I feel awful! Please help me to feel the Holy Ghost prompting me, so I can know what scriptures to read that will help me. I really want to understand what to do about Bobby. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out wrong.”
Opening his Bible to the back pages, Brandon searched in the Topical Guide until he found the word Ask. That was what he needed to know: how to ask Heavenly Father for blessings so he could really get them. He began reading the phrases listed there. When he came to “Mosiah … 4:21 whatsoever ye a. [ask] that is right,” he was sure that this was his answer. He almost tore a page in his Book of Mormon in his haste to find the scripture:
And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.
Understanding flooded Brandon. It was right to ask Heavenly Father to help him be happy. What was wrong was trying to have happiness by making Bobby unhappy. Bobby couldn’t just disappear. He was part of Brandon’s family! So what was right was for them to be happy together. And that meant doing what the scripture in Mosiah said: imparting—sharing. Sharing things. Sharing time. Sharing fun.
And Bobby showed me how. Brandon picked up the transformer, which was even more precious now. Then his eyes scanned his room. When they came to his shell collection, he picked it up and went downstairs. “May I talk to Bobby?”
Brandon beckoned Bobby into the kitchen. “I found the transformer, Bobby. Thanks! That’s the best present I ever got.”
Bobby’s grin could have lit a rocket.
“And this is for you,” Brandon told him, handing him the box.
“Your shell collection? But, Brandon, it’s your most special thing!”
“No, it isn’t—my brother is.”
The warm feelings flooding Brandon were unmistakable. This time, he had asked for what was right and had done his part right. He could feel himself receiving happiness through his body. Bobby wasn’t a pest—he was a pretty neat kid. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently.
With their arms around each other, the brothers trooped into the living room.

A few weeks after their marriage, “T” felt they needed some recreation and suggested a tennis game. “I tell you, I never was beaten so badly in my life at anything,” President Benson laughs. “I said, ‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ Flora replied, ‘Oh, I won the women’s singles championship at Utah State Agricultural College.’ I hadn’t known that.”

17 October 1830: Parley P. Pratt, Oliver Cowdery, Peter Whitmer Jr., and Ziba Peterson left on a mission to the Lamanites (see D&C 32). On their way they taught and baptized Sidney Rigdon and a congregation of his followers in the area of Kirtland, Ohio.

While getting ready to leave the house for a four-week summer vacation, my family and I set out to make the house completely spotless. That meant it was the time of year again for me to clean everything out from under my bed—the accumulation of a year’s worth of junk that I had put out of sight and subsequently forgotten. I dreaded the task, but it had to be done. So after cranking up my music and setting it on “shuffle,” I got to work.
I spent the next few hours on my stomach, reaching as far as I could underneath my bed and pulling out handfuls of old school papers, Halloween candy wrappers, my sister’s doll accessories, and countless other knickknacks. I dragged everything out onto my bedroom floor. When I was satisfied that not a crumb was left under my bed, I turned and found I had thoroughly trashed the rest of my room.
Exasperated, I began the seemingly impossible task of sorting the trash from the keepsakes. Near the bottom of the pile, I found three papers stapled together and folded into fourths. I unfolded the bundle to see if it was something I wanted to keep or something I wanted to toss into the recycling bin.
Immediately I recognized the letter I was holding. I sat on the edge of my bed to read it. The date at the top of the first page was my 12th birthday—the day I became old enough to enter the Young Women program, the day I became old enough to go to the temple and perform baptisms for the dead. My dad had written the three-page letter and given it to me along with my presents. At the time I received the letter, I didn’t even read the whole thing through, I admit. But now, reading it five years later, I knew that it was the best gift I had been given that year.
Lately I had started to feel a decline in my desire to read the scriptures and to go to Church activities. Sometimes at night I would collapse on my bed and go right to sleep rather than take just a minute to pray. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the gospel; I did believe. But I wasn’t acting on my beliefs. I wasn’t going out of my way to serve others or to do the things I had been taught to do. I was struggling in my decisions, in limbo between following the world’s ways and following God’s ways.
Finding my dad’s letter again made the pathway clear. Two things about the letter really jumped out at me. First, after expressing his own love and testimony of the gospel—and adding that he knew I loved the gospel too and wanted to live righteously—my dad shared this advice:
“You become what you think about. If you spend your entire day thinking about the things the world thinks about, you will become like the world. It’s impossible to become anything that you don’t think about. If you want to become a righteous daughter of God who understands the Savior and His mission, you must study and think about those things.”
When I read that passage, it hit me that I hardly spent any of my time thinking about the eternal plan. I would think more often about what was going to happen in the next chapter of the novel I was reading than about the words of the scriptures. When I daydreamed, it wasn’t about the celestial kingdom or about serving others but about what I would do with my friends that weekend.
The next thing my dad wrote also hit me:
“The captain on the biggest ship in the ocean needs three things if he wants to get his cargo to the port: he needs to have a reliable map that shows him the way; he needs to believe that the map is reliable; and he needs to actually drive the ship in the direction indicated on the map. It’s the same for you. You have the map already. You need to have faith in Heavenly Father’s plan for achieving eternal life (belief in the map), and you need to work every day toward your destination (follow the map).”
At the moment that I finished reading those words, my music, still set on “shuffle,” switched to an Especially for Youth album. The lyrics to one song, “Stand in Holy Places,” brought tears to my eyes.
The song and the words of the letter, combined with the sudden sense of the Spirit, made me realize that, just as I needed to clean the junk out from under the bed, I needed to clean out the worldly things in my life and live in the uncluttered, spotless ways of the Lord. Like my chore that day, it would be difficult and would take time, but in the end it would be worth it.
Who knew that such a spiritual awakening could occur because of housework? The Lord works in mysterious ways. As I went back to cleaning my room, I made a silent covenant with the Lord that I would clean up my life, too, and strive to live how he would have me live.

Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.

In June we dedicated a new temple in Atlanta, Georgia. This was the culmination of a dream that began a century and more ago when, in the days of the poverty of our people, missionaries were first sent to the southern states. A few accepted their testimony, but many more rose in bitterness against them. These early missionaries endured much persecution. Some were stripped and beaten; some were murdered by hateful enemies. But with faith they persevered. Eventually, thousands upon thousands joined the Church, and today the work is strong and growing in that beautiful part of the nation where we now have hundreds of faithful congregations of Latter-day Saints.

On the occasion of the Atlanta Temple dedication, the testimonies of the people—those spoken and those expressed in tears of gratitude—together with their songs of thanksgiving, all bore witness to the strength of their faith and their love for God.

When my wife and I visited Salt Lake City recently, we needed to find an ATM on the street. While we were looking around, we heard a voice from a parked car behind us say, “Are you looking for something? Can I help you?” The man, who introduced himself as Mike, added with a smile that it feels probably weird for a stranger to yell at us from a car, but in Utah we might not be surprised by that. He asked where we are from and when he learned that we are from Prague, his eyes lit up. He had recently spoken to a friend of his who was having trouble getting information about her ancestors from the Czech Republic, so he immediately wondered if there was anything we could do to help. We replied that we would be happy to send him contacts of brothers and sisters who were doing genealogy in our country. He thanked us, we said goodbye and he got into his car. As we were leaving, we noticed that Mike had gotten out of the car again and was coming back to us. This time, however, the happy smile was replaced by emotion.
With tears in his eyes, he told us how grateful he was for our brief encounter and that he felt urged to get out of the car. He had been trying unsuccessfully to help his friend with genealogy in Bohemia for a long time, and because of her advanced age, she was losing hope of finding her ancestors in Bohemia. Mike too was about to give up, but the previous day when he visited the temple he felt that the solution would come - and it came through us. And so he wanted to share with us the joy and gratitude he felt at another testimony of how wonderfully God‘s guidance works in our lives.
Our encounter with Mike is an example of how the Spirit works. Mike made an effort to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit and through his willingness to help complete strangers, he subsequently received not only help for his friend, but we all received another testimony of how God, through the Spirit, gives us answers and brings solutions. Yes, it was a small thing, but it is from such small and tiny things that the great mosaic of spiritual knowledge in our lives is made.

McKenzie, age eight, has recently been baptized and confirmed. She said, “The best part of being baptized was when I went into the water. I felt pure, comfortable, excited, and happy.”

The modesty movement is catching on in a lot of places. Youth in the Naperville Illinois Stake also recently organized a modesty fashion show in their area. The youth and their leaders worked with local and online vendors of modest clothing to put on their show of beautiful dresses with appropriate necklines, lengths, and fits. (For dress and appearance guidelines, see For the Strength of Youth, 14–16).
The Naperville stake also has a “style committee” that works to help adults and youth in the stake learn how to dress modestly and where to find helpful community resources. This committee, along with the youth, organized a fashion show titled “Modest Elegance: It’s for ME.” Committee members Josetta Nair, Julie Koch, and Hillary Kennefick all have experience in sewing and fashion design.
“The style committee teaches us about fashion,” says Lauryn Moon, 17. “They weren’t just helping us find modest dresses, but cute modest dresses.”
“Dressing modestly gives me self-respect,” Amelia Weinert, 17, said. “I want boys to like me for me. Wearing the kind of dresses you find in most stores, you get attention for the wrong reason.”
Brittany Blotter, 17, from the Naperville stake, agrees: “I have completely changed,” she says. “The way I feel is different. The way I act is different. I’m just so happy!”

When my friend Kamryn was 10 years old, she contracted a rare but permanent eye disease that infected the cornea of her right eye.4 At times, when the associated pain became constant and unbearable, Kamryn could not endure any light. Her parents, worried she might go blind, would darken the windows of her bedroom to try to keep her comfortable. Kamryn’s mother, Janna, recalled:
“About four months after her diagnosis, I walked into her dark room. As my eyes adjusted, I could see Kamryn curled in the fetal position on her bed. She was in so much pain that she didn’t move or even cry when she heard me come in. She just lay there with both eyes swollen shut.
“I knelt by her bed, took her hand in mine, and squeezed it three times—our secret code for ‘I love you.’ Normally she would squeeze back four times for ‘I love you more,’ but she didn’t respond. She was in too much pain. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I looked at my once-vibrant 10-year-old crumpled in a ball. My heart broke.”
Janna said a silent, heartfelt prayer.
“I told Heavenly Father that I knew He knew best, but I prayed, ‘Please help her.’ As I sat there praying, a wave of warmth washed over me. I felt calm as a thought about the Savior Jesus Christ came to my mind: ‘He is the light. Find Him in the dark.’”
Janna lifted her head and whispered in Kamryn’s ear: “You have to find the Savior in the dark.”
Afterward, Kamryn fell asleep listening to hymns and scriptures on the Church library app.
When her eye infection flares up, Kamryn finds the Savior in the dark.
Photograph courtesy of Kamryn’s family
Kamryn’s disease lies dormant most of the time, but when she suffers flare-ups, Janna and her husband, Darrin, comfort her and again put blankets over her bedroom windows. During those painful times, Kamryn says, “I’m just finding the Savior in the dark.”5

I had always just assumed that when you got into ninth grade, you went to seminary. So I was surprised when I received a call from the bishopric asking me if I wanted to enroll.
I thought, “Sure. Why not?”
The next thing I knew, it was the first day of ninth grade, and I was on my way to released-time seminary. I was pretty scared and not very excited. “Yeah,” I thought, “another church meeting to go to every day. What could my teacher possibly have to teach us every single day? And I was supposed to do this for four years? What if I didn’t know anyone in my class? What if I didn’t like my teacher? What if I just didn’t want to go?”
But I forced myself out the door of my high school and took that long trek to the seminary building. When I got there, I looked for my name to see which class I was in. I then waited for someone I knew so I wouldn’t have to be alone. Little did I know that in seminary you are never alone. I finally gave up waiting and went to class. As I walked into the classroom, I was greeted by a warm smile and a friendly handshake. That’s when things started to get better.
I took a seat, and as I looked around at all of the beautiful pictures on the walls, my friends started to come in. Friends! Now I could have fun.
Class finally started, and we all told a little about ourselves. Then the teacher, Brother Toma, introduced himself and told us about seminary—how important it was to come every day and how there would be gospel study, fun activities, and sometimes even treats!
I couldn’t believe how fast that class went by. It was so much fun; I didn’t want to leave. When the bell rang, I had to drag myself back to the school.
When I returned to school, I could instantly tell a difference. My school had never seemed so worldly before. I was amazed at how strong the Spirit had been in that seminary building, even on an orientation day.

Gemma and her friend Harper sat under the tree in front of Gemma’s house. The tree was full of pink blossoms. It was a lovely day.
“Guess what?” Harper said. “My cousin is graduating from elementary school.”
Gemma picked at the grass. She wished she were graduating too.
“That’s cool, I guess,” she said.
“We are going to have a big family party to celebrate,” said Harper. “My cousin gets to go to middle school next year. He is so lucky!”
“My brother already went to middle school,” said Gemma.
“Did you know in middle school you get your own locker?” Harper asked.
“Yes, I know!” Gemma said. “I just told you—my brother already went to middle school.” Why does Harper keep bragging? Gemma thought. She’s not giving me a chance to say anything!
“And gym! They get to go to gym every day,” Harper said. “My cousin said—”
“Harper, I don’t care what your cousin said,” Gemma said. “I already know all about middle school.”
Harper stared down at the blossoms that had fallen from the tree. Gemma’s face felt hot. She didn’t know what to do or say.
At last Gemma stood up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and ran into her house.
Why did she get so mad? Harper didn’t do anything wrong. Gemma sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. She wished she hadn’t said that to Harper. It hadn’t been kind at all.
She looked at her desk and saw a peach-colored binder with shiny hearts. It was the baptism book her mom had made. Inside were pictures from her life and notes from family and friends. She grabbed the binder and flipped through the pages.
She noticed one note. It read, “I want you to know that Heavenly Father is proud of your choice to be baptized. When you make mistakes and repent, He will forgive you. Repentance is a good thing!”
Gemma took a deep breath. The way she treated Harper was not a good choice. But she knew what to do now.
She ran outside and sat down by Harper. Harper looked down.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” Gemma said.
Harper looked up. “That’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for saying sorry.” She gave Gemma a blossom that had fallen from the tree.
That night, Gemma told Mom what had happened. “Harper forgave me,” Gemma said. “But I still need to repent to Heavenly Father. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Mom said. She gave Gemma a big hug. “Do you want to pray about it right now?”
Gemma and Mom knelt down.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Gemma prayed, “I’m sorry I was so mean to Harper. I want to repent and do better.”
Gemma felt good inside as she prayed. She was glad she could fix things with Harper. And with Heavenly Father. Repentance was a good thing!
This story took place in the USA.
How do you feel when you repent?

This statement is in harmony with the sentiments of President Brigham Young. “Talk about these rich valleys,” said President Young, “why there is not another people on the earth that could have come here and lived. We prayed over the land, and dedicated it and the water, air and everything pertaining to them unto the Lord, and the smiles of Heaven rested on the land and it became productive.” (Journal of Discourses, 12:288.)

The winter that year was the coldest it had been in that part of the country for many years. The snow fell and the thermometer dropped lower as the days went on. Soon the ground froze hard, and ice began to form in the river.
I was a missionary in southern France and had come to this area expecting to find warm winters and pleasant summers. My expectations were realistic and were consistent with those of the native residents of the country. Like many of the apartments in that area, ours was built for warm weather. The walls were not insulated, and neither were the water pipes that were attached to the outer walls of the building. It was economical and suited the region.
As the days went on and the weather grew colder, the people grew colder also. Their attitudes became closed and narrow, which made our contacts with them more rare and difficult. We soon found that in the center of the city the water pipes were freezing, leaving people without water. The freeze spread like a plague, and we hoped that it would not reach our part of town. Anxiously we watched and waited, but it wasn’t long until we woke up one morning to a freezing cold apartment and no water. Many of the residents had family or friends in neighboring cities or a well in their backyard. We, of course, had no such resources.
We did the best we could to survive this difficult time by buying the expensive bottled water sold at the stores. We walked the 20-minute walk every morning to the chapel to wash up and cook. As time went on, we felt that we should get a bucket of water in our apartment that we could wash with and use in an emergency. We decided to take some time out of our Preparation Day to find someone who still had running water and would give us a bucketful.
We soon found that the cold attitudes that had met us during our regular tracting were repeated when it came to our earnest pleas for one bucket of water. The people responded to us with a coldness that equaled the bitter wind. The typical response we received was, “If I give you my water, then what will I drink? The more I give away, the less I will have.” It was hard for us not to become discouraged. The time wore on with no success, so we decided we would try one more door and then start back for home.
We approached the door with what energy we could and knocked. It was interesting to compare this day’s work with the work we usually did. The people didn’t understand the significance of what we were trying to say to them. They didn’t really care about what we presented. They just knew that they were busy and didn’t want to be disturbed by two sister missionaries, strangers in a foreign land, wearing long overcoats and black name tags.
A woman opened the door and looked at us with sympathy as we made our approach and explained our problem. Soon the answer came, which sounded at first like all of the rest, “One bucket of water?” And then she added, “One bucket of water—is that all? I will give you two, or three, or ten, or more. Keep coming back, because if I give my water away my pipes will never freeze. When the water is flowing, it doesn’t ice up. In a way, it is almost like in giving I am receiving.”
This one woman, in a country far from our homes, was living the way the Savior taught us when he said, “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matt. 25:35).

For instance, I have been thinking much of late of a friend in South Vietnam. I know not where he is or what his condition may be. I know only that he is a man of quiet and transcendent faith in God, our Eternal Father, and in his Son, the Living Christ. As the light of freedom flickers and dies in that land of sorrow, I think I can hear him sing, as I have heard him sing before,
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o’erflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
Hymns, no. 66