Gospel Story Finder

Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everyone knew it, and if you asked him, he told you so.
Some months earlier, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had visited a stake conference in Chris’s hometown, Taber, which lies in the vast farming plains of Alberta, Canada. Elder Nelson had blessed the stake, saying that, with fasting and prayer, the missionary work in the area would flourish. Chris had taken this message to heart, and so had his seminary teacher, Steven Scott.
“After Elder Nelson’s talk, I told my students that the Lord needed us,” says Brother Scott. “Our goal that year was to know the Savior—to understand the Atonement—and to do missionary work. The students invited non-LDS friends to seminary, to lunch, or to dances and activities, and things started to change.”
Chris enthusiastically shared the gospel and invited friends to seminary. He spoke openly of his desire to serve a full-time mission. As he did so, his family noticed a change in him.
“He made up his mind he wanted to serve a mission,” says his father, Rod Yokoyama, “so he wanted to change his life and do all the things a missionary would be doing. It seemed like he was giving us more hugs and telling everyone about the gospel.”
If you ask other teens what they remember about Chris (nicknamed “Beans”), you’ll hear the same things over and over: “He was friends with everyone.” “He was such a great example.” “He loved everyone.”
His 16-year-old sister, Aniko Yokoyama, says, “He cared about me just like a best friend. He showed me how to love everyone. And he included everyone in everything. With everyone he met, he tried to make their day or make them laugh.”
Cody-Lynn Jensen, 17, recalls, “I had English class with him, and when he would show up to class, we’d all be like ‘BEANS!!’ And we’d all gather around him. Everyone sat on the side where Beans was, and there were a couple of rows of empty desks on the other side of the room. He was just that kind of kid.”
Laura Campbell, 16, says, “If I said, ‘Hi, Beans,’ I’d get the best, ‘Hi, Laura!’ with the most enthusiasm. He’d just make your day by saying your name and giving you a smile. Everyone knew how good Beans was.”
“I think he was one of the greatest examples of a Christlike person,” says Reid Walters, 18. “He’d go out of his way completely to help everyone and make everyone happy.”
One Friday night in December 2008, after a Christmas shopping trip with two of his friends, Chris was killed when the car he was riding in slid on some ice and crashed into a truck. News of the accident spread quickly and seemed to affect the whole town. The next day, hundreds of (mostly non-LDS) teens gathered at the stake center, seeking comfort. On Monday those same young people also crowded into the seminary building.
Faced with so many grieving teens, Brother Scott simply told them the truth—that Heavenly Father has a plan, that death is part of that plan, and that Christ’s Atonement makes it possible to return to our Heavenly Father. He taught them that the work of bringing souls to Christ continues even in the spirit world and that perhaps Chris was now doing that work.
Liz Shimbashi, 17, remembers that time well. “Lots of people came to the seminary building after the accident. It was hard at school, but then people would come here, and they realized, ‘Hey, seminary is a good place.’ So we invited them to return, and lots of them did.”
For many of the non-LDS teens, the need to be comforted grew into a desire to know more. And the seminary students, who had already been enthusiastic about sharing the gospel, now did it with a more serious purpose and deeper understanding.
“The biggest reason people came was because they saw how much Beans loved people, and through that they saw his testimony,” recalls Rachel Bennett, 16. “I think they wanted to know what he knew.”
Luke Nelson, 16, says, “Beans’s death made me notice how other people didn’t know what we know and that we’re so comforted because of what we know about the Atonement. I want to share that with everybody so they can be comforted and be peaceful and happy.”
“People wanted to know the answers to questions like ‘Is he going to heaven?’ So they came to seminary to learn just because of his example,” says Megan Fajnor, 17.
Chris’s cousin, Jarred Haynes, 17, who is not LDS, started coming to seminary at that time “because it’s something that he really would have liked me to do. I wanted to learn more about what he believed, and I wanted to do something for him.”
Another non-LDS student who visited the seminary at that time, Shandyn Nakamura, 17, says, “I know Beans wanted us in seminary. He tried so many times to get so many people to come here. He asked me to come. When you come here, you have a whole different feeling. You feel the Spirit, and you feel like you’re in a completely different place. I just feel loved.”
Ashley Meisner, 17, agrees. “I came over because of Beans—at first. I was kind of unsure of where I stood from a religious perspective. So I think I needed to enhance that perspective. Then I came over, and the feeling was amazing. It was so loving. The lessons were just what I needed to hear. It helped me through a lot of things that were hard to get through.”
Having been to other Church activities with her friend Liz Shimbashi, 16-year-old Jessica Stoddart knew the feeling. “It’s a great feeling. I just feel like I know it’s the Holy Ghost.”
Cassie Hull, 18, puts it this way: “I feel the Holy Ghost there. I could tell that’s it, because everywhere else it’s like, sure, you can feel happy, but this is a different happy.”
These and other non-LDS teens who came to seminary experienced long-lasting changes in their lives. Many have continued to attend seminary. Some have even been baptized. “I’m taking the missionary lessons,” says Jarred Haynes. “And if I know that my friends who are members are not praying, I encourage them to pray or to read their scriptures. I guess I’m being a good example to them, even as a nonmember.”
“Since coming to seminary, I don’t get as annoyed or angry as easily anymore,” says Mitchell Geeraert, 15. “I just feel a lot better throughout my days.” And Chelsea Orsten, 15, says, “Seminary’s really made me think of who I want to be and how I want to change. It’s encouraged me and helped me get through a lot of hard things.”
For the seminary students in and around Taber, sharing the gospel is now not only a way to serve Heavenly Father and their fellowmen but also a way to remember and honor their friend Chris. And they believe that in spite of their sadness and grief, Heavenly Father has blessed them in unimaginable ways because of their faith and trust in Him.
“I believe sharing the gospel is why we’re here on this earth,” says Aniko, thinking of her brother. “Chris spent his time well by being an example. Now that he’s gone, we all have to be an example like that. He was an example of Christ. Sharing the gospel is just sharing happiness. If you want your friends to be happy, then you invite them to learn about the gospel.”
Liz Shimbashi agrees. “It’d be amazing to have the love that Beans did and to be that example. That’s how I want to be.”
As she reflects on the events in Taber over the last couple of years, Laura Campbell echoes the thoughts of many others: “Heavenly Father must have had something really important for Chris to do. But at the same time, so many people’s lives have changed because of him.”
Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everybody knew it. And for those who knew him, one thought has brought more comfort and inspiration than perhaps any other: Chris is a missionary.

Maren Nelson, 16, of the Alma Branch, was helping her mother make a salad for dinner. When the house started to shake, she automatically dove under the table, pulling her mother with her. Huddled together, they could see cupboard doors flying open, dumping dishes out. The refrigerator fell over, spilling food everywhere. The built-in oven was wrenched from the wall, kitchen cabinets tore loose and fell into a messy heap on the floor. A massive china cabinet tipped over against the table, crushing the chair between. “After the shaking stopped,” Maren said, “I remember the terror in my father’s voice as he yelled into the house to find out if we were safe.”
The Nelson home was one that was heavily damaged. Maren was grateful her family was uninjured. “Even though our home was destroyed, I have learned and continue to learn from the experience. The most important thing is that we are all alive and together.”

I’m home now, at our dinner table, after working my four-hour shift in the bookstore. Mom has just warmed up a plate of food for me.
“I think we’ll have fun in that class,” she says, scrubbing off a pot in the kitchen sink. “I can’t believe we ended up together. Of course, if you think it’s too awkward to have me in the same class, I could transfer.”
“Oh, no, Mom. I don’t mind at all,” I tell her, hiding the fact that for one more semester my social life probably will be roughly on par with a turnip. “But why family relations? It’s not like you don’t have any experience. Remember us? Your five children?”
Mom stands up straight and sets aside her dish rag. “Well, I’m taking three classes. Geology, because every time I’ve looked out this window in the last 27 years, I’ve seen mountains. I want to know more about those mountains. The humanities class is to help me better appreciate the beauty around me.” She picks up the rag and begins some intense scrubbing on a casserole dish. “And the family relations class—that’s to help me know if I could have done a few things better.”
I know what she is talking about—my younger sister, Jan. A little more than two years ago, when I was on my mission in Peru, Jan left home just before graduating from high school. We don’t really know where she is. A phone call, a postcard, maybe a letter at Christmas, first from Chicago, then somewhere in Florida, then a half-dozen other locations. She just tells us that she is fine, working, and maybe will come back someday. We’ve all lost sleep over her.
I finish my meal and give her a hand with the rest of the dishes before heading to my room to work through some calculations for my building materials class. I hope for the millionth time that Jan is okay somewhere.
I’ve decided not to break things off with the blonde-haired girl from California, at least not yet. In fact, once again I think our relationship is progressing nicely. She did sort of look around in class the other day. I took that as a sure sign she was checking to see if I was there.
Anyway, the big break came when the instructor, Dr. Holgate, took roll out loud. I very casually pretended not to be paying attention, but I was all ears, hanging on each “Here!” as the names were called out.
“Carianne Meacham?”
“Here!”
That’s it! She has a name. I scribble furiously in my notebook. Carianne. A wonderful name. It fits someone used to surfing off Malibu, working on her tan, and playing volleyball on the beach, all important qualities in a prospective wife.
My mother is nudging me. “The teacher’s calling your name!” she whispers hoarsely.
“Here!” I blurt out, standing up. The whole class laughs.
Tonight I am again trying to concentrate on homework. But there’s a huge distraction sitting on the end of my desk.
It is the university phone book.
Inside it, I know, Carianne Meacham’s name will be listed, where she lives, her hometown, her major, and her phone number.
Try this scenario:
“Hello, Carianne. I’m David Williams, the guy you said hello to in family relations class two weeks ago, the ruggedly handsome one who sits next to his mother.” Well, maybe I could get just a few basics about her from one quick peek at the phone book.
I open it and search through the M’s. Voila! Meacham, Carianne L. Sophomore. Nursing major. Lives off campus. But what’s this? She’s from Seattle, Washington, land of perpetual drizzle.
I can adjust. I like rain. I like little green plants growing behind my ears and between my toes. I like rust, honest.
I wonder if Carianne knows what sacrifices I’m making for her.
Family relations class, a debate is raging. Dr. Holgate raised the question. “Is there ever a time when parents are justified in asking their children to leave home?” The arguments churn on. The class consensus seems to be that, yes, there are rare occasions when a child should not be allowed in the home, such as if his or her behavior is damaging the entire family or setting a bad example for younger siblings. Dr. Holgate is at the front of the class, looking slightly entertained. Class is almost over.
“Any other thought?” she asks.
“Yes!” my mom says.
“Go ahead.”
“When you have children, they are yours forever, not just in good times or okay times, but always. You have to love them always, show them that you care always, and be there for them always,” Mom says, her voice slightly quivering.
It is an amazing turn of events. The class bursts into applause. Up front, Dr. Holgate is beaming. The buzzer sounds and class is over. Several students come up to talk with my mom, the new class star. One of them is Carianne who grasps her arm and says, “Ruth, what you said is true.”
While I’m happy for my mom, it’s a little difficult to accept that Carianne is more impressed with my mother than with me.
Not a good day in Family Relations 101. Dr. Holgate announces we need to pair up with someone else to work jointly on our final project. It will be a report on some aspect of family relations. The choice of topics is up to us. Half of our grade will be on our paper, the other half on a 15-minute class presentation by the two-person teams.
“Okay, pair up,” Dr. Holgate urges. “If you can’t find a teammate, I’ll assign you.”
Carianne Meacham stands up and turns toward me. My heart starts to thump. This is it. I knew I was right. All semester long, she’s secretly wanted to get acquainted. I owe Dr. Holgate for this opportunity, I really do.
Carianne smiles. I smile back. I’m already to ask, “How ya’ doin’?” which is my best get-acquainted line. She is only inches away. I hear her voice.
“Ruth, would you like to work together?” she asks my mother!
“Why yes, I’d be tickled to.”
Cruel fate. Aced out by my mom. Again.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up into the bespectacled face of a man in his late 20s, balding, with a lopsided smile.
“Hey, we’re the only ones left without a partner. Whaddya say? Pete LaFete is my name, and I’ve got some great ideas for this project.”
I can’t find the right words to tell him I didn’t take this class to further my male bonding experience. But I’m so stunned, I nod. Peter LaFete and I are a team.
I am slumping. I am a baseball player who has gone hitless in his last 27 at-bats, a singer who comes down with laryngitis the night of the big concert. I’m struggling with my engineering classes, and Family Relations 101, the class I took for enjoyment is turning into a nightmare. Hey, I’m 22 years old, and I should know more about … about … life.
Yes, life. I should be more on top of it than I am now. I need a triumph. Just a small triumph, a little victory to reinforce that I do have something to look forward to.
I got together with Peter LaFete. We are going to do our research paper on successful dating. Pete is single, six years older than I am, and has just changed his major to family relations although he has 224 credit hours and should have graduated before I left on my mission. I told him since neither of us has much of a track record in dating, we might have a credibility problem.
“No way, pard. I know a lot about dating,” he says confidently.
I have a few theories about why Pete is still single.
Dark, cold, and rainy. Sort of like my life right now. I am in my room, studying. It is almost 11:00 P.M. Mom and I went over each other’s notes in preparation for the final tomorrow in Family Relations 101. Then I came up here to hit the books. Downstairs, everything is quiet. The rain slashes against my window. It’s on nights like these that I most often think of my sister and wonder where she might be.
I hear a commotion on the porch. I get up from my desk, wondering what is going on. There is a loud knock on the door. Mom and Dad are at the bottom of the stairs, fumbling with bathrobes, turning on the entry lights. Dad opens the door a little and peers into the darkness. A figure steps into the light spilling from our home.
It is my sister, soaking wet, looking tired, looking very different than the skinny junior in high school I knew when I left on my mission.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“This is your home, Jan,” my dad says softly.
“Mom, Dad, I need to start over.”
“We’ll talk later,” Mom says. My sister throws her arms around Mother, and they both begin to cry.
I think my slump is history.
It is Friday, at the end of the semester. All of the work for family relations and my other classes is done. Mom and Carianne were a brilliant team. Their presentation was terrific.
Pete LaFete and I were less than genius. “I’ve found in my experience,” Peter lectured during our presentation, “that a proper way of saying good night on a fourth or fifth date is to kiss a girl lightly on her forehead. Girls remember it.”
I bet they do, Pete.
Anyway, I’m just getting home and pushing my way through the back door. Something smells great in the kitchen. Mom is at the stove.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Jan?”
“In the dining room with your dad. She registered at the community college today. Maybe she’s finally turning the corner. By the way, I invited some company over for dinner tonight. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No big deal, Mom,” I answered, since we often throw an extra plate on the table for guests. I peek into the dining room, and there, with her back toward me, chatting away with my dad and sister, is Carianne Meacham.
My mom smiles serenely.
“I got an A in family relations, remember? And I saw her name in your notebook the other night when we were studying. Now try to say something besides, ‘How ya’ doin’?’ Carianne is an intelligent girl, and I don’t think that will impress her at all.”
And that’s the way I got to know Carianne Meacham.
Sometimes I sit back and like to sort things out. I’ve been thinking about the last months. I think about Mom going back to school at age 53 and showing all of us that learning is something you do all your life. I think about her report card, two A’s and a B. (“Geology wasn’t as intriguing as I was hoping,” Mom explains.) I think about my sister and what my mom had to say about loving always. And I understand better that there are at least two kinds of education. One kind deals with the mind, the other with the heart.

Talking with Junko, Hiroyuki, Tetsu, Mikako, and the other young members from the Tokyo area, it was easy to wonder what Elder Heber J. Grant or other early missionaries to Japan might say if they could speak to them today. On August 12, 1901, Elder Grant (who later became the seventh president of the Church), along with three other elders including 19-year-old Alma O. Taylor, sailed into Tokyo Bay to open the first LDS mission in Asia. During the next 23 years, only 166 baptisms were recorded, and the mission was closed, not to reopen in Japan until 1948.

Since then, however, the Church has grown rapidly. Today there are approximately 71,000 members in Japan, 15,300 in the Tokyo area alone. And some of them have parents or even grandparents who joined the Church and raised their children as members.

Junko’s father, for example, was a convert to the Church. He and his wife raised six girls and three boys—an exceptionally large family by Japanese standards—in the gospel, sharing with them often the story of their conversion. “It makes me feel fortunate, blessed really, to have been born in the Church,” Junko said.

Shoko Sakamoto, 14, from the Tokyo Third Ward, is the youngest daughter in her family. She came to the interview with her mother. “My parents joined the Church when I was in kindergarten,” she said. “So everyone in my immediate family is a member of the Church. It is a great blessing. In our home evenings we all learn to be friends with each other. Happiness is being with my family.”

Sarah Kikuchi, 16, from the same ward, was also raised in an LDS home. Her father and mother were constantly involved in church activities, always accepting church callings, and so were the children, including Sarah.

“I watched the Church grow and I thought that someday there might be a General Authority from Japan,” she said. Then on October 1, 1977, Yoshihiko Kikuchi was sustained as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. “I never suspected that my father would be one!” Sarah exclaimed. (In July 1982, after these interviews were held, the Kikuchi family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah.)

Sarah said that her Church background has helped her grow in many ways. “When I was little, I was bashful and afraid to do anything. But as I grew up, I was given speaking assignments and committee responsibilities, and it forced me to learn to be more outgoing. Now I’ve got a little more pluck. I’m not afraid to speak in public.” Saturday morning before meeting the rest of the group at the temple, she had given a speech to the entire student body of her high school.

Ask Sarah what she thinks of the Church and she is unwavering: “I know that Joseph Smith founded this Church after having seen God and Jesus.”

The majority of young members in Japan are, however, converts themselves.

Hiroyuki Inoue, 17, of the Machida First Ward, remembers vividly the day he and some friends went into Tokyo “just to hang around.”

“We saw several missionaries at a display in the street. One of them held out his hand to me and said, ‘I would like to talk to you a little.’ I was strongly impressed with this missionary’s sincere eyes, his beautiful, shining eyes. He gave me a feeling that what he was telling me was of great significance to me. I promised to attend church the following day.

“At church, even though I had never been there before, I felt as if I was coming back after a long absence. The missionaries taught me the gospel. When I learned about the atonement of Jesus Christ and the many blessings the Lord has given to us, I was happy. My knowledge became sure that he is my Savior and this is his Church.”

Kenji Nishibori, 17, of the Sugamo Branch, learned of the restored gospel from his older brother. “I knew he was attending meetings, but I was afraid to go to his church,” Kenji said. “Then about five months later, I ran into missionaries on my way home from school. I didn’t think I was serious about investigating, but I went to their chapel, in another part of town where my brother wouldn’t see me. As I listened to the speakers in the meeting, I found what they were saying was marvelous. Then I began to investigate in earnest, and it didn’t take long before I had a testimony of the truth. My father died 12 years ago, but now my brother and I are hoping our mother will someday join the Church.”

Kenji was wearing a dark uniform that buttoned down the front. Asked about it, he explained that it was a school uniform. “They may vary from school to school, but everyone wears them. When I graduate from high school I won’t be able to wear it anymore, so I want to wear it as long as time permits.”

Will he soon be wearing the “uniform” of a missionary?

“I already wear it, when I go to church or work with the elders. So I’m used to it. There is a necessity to go on a mission. We must spread the gospel to many, many people. More than 80 years ago, when the first missionaries came to Japan, people did not know about the Church at all. We have grown a lot compared to 80 years ago. Yet we still have a long way to go. We won’t have done our work until everyone in Japan knows about the gospel. And then we can go on to other lands.”

Heber J. Grant would be proud.

“Ohayogozaimasu! (oh-hi-oh go-ZAH-ee-mahss)” the bishop’s counselor said into the microphone.

“Ohayogozaimasu! (Good morning!)” the congregation responded out loud.

It was the next day, Sunday, and sacrament meeting in the Yokohama First Ward was beginning. The youth played a significant role, as they do in most sacrament meetings. A young man acting as usher had just finished handing out programs at the door. Aaronic Priesthood brethren were preparing to bless and pass the sacrament. Youth speakers sat nervously in their chairs, knowing they would soon have to stand and present a message. The bishop signaled a deacon to come forward and run an errand for him.

Yokohama, located 18 miles south of Tokyo, was only a small fishing village until the emperor opened it to foreign trade in 1859. Today it is a leading port and shipbuilding center of the world, and its expansion has merged so much with that of Tokyo that many Westerners consider it almost a suburb. Two wards, the First and the Second, meet in the Yokohama chapel. Both include a lot of teenagers. And talking with them only reinforced the impressions formed by talking with the youth in Tokyo.

Koji Saito, 17, explained that Church growth in Yokohama has been largely a family affair.

“Three sisters who were members of the Church moved to Yokohama to be close to their parents,” Koji said. “Then more and more relatives joined the Church. The Saito, Endo, and Tanaka families in our ward are all related. I wish more people in Japan would understand that sometimes there are entire Mormon families here, not just isolated converts.”

Koji’s sister, Yuki, 15, said that her family likes to spend time together. “Because of my father’s work situation, we can’t have home evening on Monday. So instead we get together on Saturday afternoon. After talking and relaxing, we go over the scriptures we were assigned to read the week before in Sunday School.”

Daisuke Asama, 15, talked about the challenges of being a stake president’s son.

“When my father was set apart,” he said, “I was told that people would look to me as an example. I am trying my best to be worthy. I study the scriptures with my friends. I am trying to save money for a mission. I would like to go right away when I turn 19.”

Kaori Sasaki, 15, told of hearing the Tabernacle Choir sing during its September 1979 visit to Japan. “Coming out of the concert hall afterward, I ran into one of my kindergarten teachers. Only when she was my teacher she wasn’t a member of the Church. But there we met each other as members of the Church. I was so happy it made me cry.”

She said the choir’s visit received a lot of favorable publicity. “On television, they had quite an exposure. I think it helped more people know about the Church, as well as about the choir.”

Mayumi Yoshida, 18, talked about the Tokyo Temple: “For the Saints of Japan, it was a long-cherished dream. It signifies the fact that we can also share the gospel with those in the spirit world. I suppose every girl hopes to be married in the temple. But just because there is a temple built doesn’t mean you can enter it automatically. You can’t prepare for temple marriage in a week. It is important to prepare little by little, day after day.”

Others spoke, too. Rumi Mizuno, 15, said she tries “to make spiritual hours out of the spare evening hours after Church, a time to get close to Heavenly Father and the Savior and know that they are my friends.” Tetsuya Baba, 17, represented a lot of other members when he expressed appreciation for President Kimball and invited him to “come visit us again soon.” And Mitsuko Watashinabe, 14, dreamed of a day when everyone in Japan would live the gospel. “After all,” he said, “Heavenly Father wishes all his children to return to him.”

The next morning, Monday, Tokyo was enshrouded in rain. In the gardens of the Meiji Shrine, which honors the first emperor to experiment with democracy, there was silence everywhere. In the heart of the world’s largest city, where traffic jams are commonplace and commotion is standard, there was only calm and repose.

It was a perfect place to think. And after two days of interviews with LDS youth, it seemed appropriate to draw some conclusions. Japan is a country as old as the centuries, as modern as tomorrow’s dawn. And if Japan is known as the Land of the Rising Sun, then its capital must be the City of the Rising Sun. For it is from this massive conglomeration of towers, parks, ports, business offices, manufacturing plants, and humanity, that the rays of progress and the hope of a bright future have spread throughout Japan. It seemed only natural that part of that light for the future should be the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, first brought to Tokyo by missionaries struggling to clear away the clouds, now shining bright in a city where a temple of God stands tall.

There was once a group of villagers who instructed their young shepherd, “When you see a wolf, cry ‘Wolf! Wolf!’ and we’ll come with guns and pitchforks.”

The next day the boy was tending his sheep when he saw a mountain lion in the distance. He cried out, “Lion! Lion!” But no one came. The lion killed several sheep. The boy was distressed: “Why didn’t you come when I yelled?”

“There are no lions in this part of the country,” they replied. “It is wolves that we are afraid of.”

The young shepherd learned a very valuable lesson:
People respond only to what they are prepared to believe.

Naheed drank her breakfast of lassi (a mixture of buttermilk and sugar cane juice), but she did not really want it. She was too excited to either eat or drink, because today she would go to school for the first time in her life.

Naheed would be eleven years old soon, and as long as she could remember, she had wanted to go to school. But in her small village in Pakistan it was unusual for girls to get an education. Naheed loved to slip into the post office to watch Ali Mujuber, the calligrapher, writing letters for the villagers who could not write for themselves. She also listened as he read the replies that came back to the letter senders.

Ali Mujuber would first ask the person who wanted to send a letter, “To whom is it to go?” and “To what village or town?” Then he would take his bamboo pen, check its point carefully, dip it into the big ink bottle while listening carefully to what the person wanted to say in the letter, and start scratching words onto the paper.

Naheed would watch closely while Ali Mujuber formed the beautiful characters. She liked to hear the scratching sound of the pen. And she enjoyed sniffing the ink smell and hearing the drone of the villager’s voice. More than anything in the world, Naheed wanted to know the mystery of the writing and the reading of the squiggly shapes … and today she would begin.

“Very soon I can do what Ali Mujuber does,” she mused.

Her brother, Bashir, heard her. He smiled, for he had gone to school for a short time himself before Father needed him in the fields. “It is not so easy,” he warned. But he cheerfully helped his sister prepare her clay slate and bamboo writing stick.

Soon Naheed was off, carrying the slate and sharpened writing stick.

“Kuda Hafiz (may the Almighty save you),” Mother called as Naheed started down the path to the great spreading banyan tree in whose shade the pupils would learn from their teacher. School would only be held on dry days, for if it rained, the students would have to run home for shelter.

Naheed dawdled on the way home, wondering just how many days it would take sitting under the banyan tree for her to know all that Ali Mujuber knew. Her head was in a spin thinking of the many, many days to come. “Maybe I was foolish to think I could ever do such an important and difficult thing as this business of reading and writing,” she murmured half aloud. Perhaps Mother needs me at home, she pondered. Perhaps school is a waste of the hours.

Mother sat beside the fire in the courtyard making chapati, the bread for the family’s evening meal. She greeted Naheed with a smile. “And how was school?” she asked.

Naheed shrugged and passed into the family’s room to put up the slate and bamboo stick.

Mother looked anxious as Naheed came back to the courtyard. “And school?” she asked again.

“Mother, I cannot do that which Ali Mujuber can do. I can never make even one of the figures that mean so much in the letters Ali Mujuber writes.”

Mother stopped her work and looked into her daughter’s eyes for many beats of the heart. At last she spoke quietly. “Naheed, my daughter,” she began, “many of the duties of a woman’s life are learned easily in a moment or in an hour or a day. As a girl like you, I was given only these kinds of tasks. The school was closed to girls. But you … you, my daughter, have the chance of learning words and their sweet secrets. But such precious secrets are not given easily … surely not in one day’s time.”

Naheed’s eyes fell. Mother was right. Naheed had made a big mistake to think she would learn everything on the first day of school. She left her mother and skipped to the center of the village. Her heart was light. “I can do it. I know I can do it,” she hummed to herself.

She watched the village boys line up for a game of pir kaudi (tag or tackle game, having a finish line). From where she stood she saw her mother moving gracefully with the big water jug on her head along with the other women of the village toward the well.

Suddenly she was filled with a feeling of hope and gratitude. She was going to school again tomorrow and for many tomorrows to come, but she was not going to go alone. She would take with her every day the young girl her mother once was. And Naheed would learn so much so well that she could teach her mother everything she (Naheed) learned. Everyone in the family would then have a person nearby to read and to write the precious words of the world.

Veronica’s story, Madrid, Spain
When Veronica (pictured below) was 17, her twin sister died in her arms. Three years after her sister’s death, on her own and struggling through life, Veronica started going for walks to work out her feelings of sadness. She had always believed in God, so one day while she was walking, she prayed, “Lord, why are you doing all of this to me?”
At that moment, she looked up at an LDS Church building she had always passed by. Really seeing it for the first time, she became curious; she went inside and introduced herself to two sister missionaries, who taught her later that week.
Veronica says that after the first lesson, “I stood up and told them, ‘You’re all crazy,’ and I left.” She didn’t want any of it, but eventually she began to reconsider.
“I think it was the first time I prayed so much. I felt like God was telling me, ‘I am sending you this opportunity so that you can get to know me better. Don’t you want it?’”
She decided she did want it. Despite losing her home and her job because of the gospel, she was baptized. Even though her life continued to be difficult sometimes, she trusted in the Lord. “Before I knew about the Church, I would cry or get mad if I didn’t know how I was going to pay my rent. But now I know that the Lord will provide.”
Veronica’s patriarchal blessing told her that she was to serve a mission, but she didn’t have any skirts or any way to buy them. A member of the Seventy and his wife were passing through the area and heard about her need; the wife had felt inspired to pack extra skirts for the trip, and she gave many of them to Veronica. She also encouraged Veronica to attend institute. When Veronica’s bishop started an institute program for their area, she began attending regularly.
Institute has given her peace and happiness. “I think what I like the most about institute is that during the week, we have a lot of different tasks to do. We have Sundays to renew our covenants with Heavenly Father. But on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, what do we have? I am grateful that we have institute at least once during the week because it is a way to remember Jesus Christ. Institute is one way He’s helping me progress.”
And Veronica did serve a mission. In October 2016 she left to serve in the Chile Osorno Mission.
She says, “I know that I’m here today because of Him. I know that He has prepared a plan perfect for each one of us. He will give us opportunities throughout our lives. I can feel His love every day, even though sometimes I say, ‘Father, why is this happening to me?’ But before I go to sleep, He responds, ‘This is happening because of this. Now go to sleep.’ And I love Him, too. Maybe I had to go through everything I went through to come to feel so much love for Him.”

We were introduced to the Church by our neighbor who sang songs that we later learned were hymns. Our neighbor told us about a wonderful place called Primary, where children learned to sing. The missionaries were contacted, and they started visiting our home to teach us.

However, my dad had strong feelings against the Church and about his children being taught by the missionaries. Being a small boy, I never understood what those two elders went through to bring the gospel into our lives. Dad would kick them out if he found them at our home, and he would deliberately turn off the lights if the elders stopped by in the evening. Just as my dad was relentless in trying to stop the missionaries from teaching, Thelma was twice as determined to learn about the gospel and read the Book of Mormon. Thelma and the elders never gave up, and for this I am thankful.

Going to church was a struggle because Dad tried to stop us by using a variety of tactics, such as requiring that we do chores before we could leave for church.

One Sunday morning was particularly hard. He did not want to let us go, but we refused to be stopped. He kicked a garbage can and spilled its contents all over the floor we had just cleaned. Thelma quietly began picking up the garbage without complaining. After she had cleaned the floor again, she asked if we could go to church. We had finished all the chores and more, but he still did not want to give his permission. Finally he asked pointedly, “Why do you insist on going to this church anyway?” Thelma then bore a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and of the message of the Restoration of the gospel. As she concluded, my dad waved his hand and gave his permission.

Dad never tried to stop us again after this incident and eventually, even though he did not like it, gave his consent for us to join the Church.

As a teenager, however, I started falling away after I moved to a new ward. I attended youth activities most weeks, but I kept to myself and didn’t participate much. I didn’t enjoy church on Sunday, but I attended off and on. I realized that I was not really converted to the gospel and its teachings. I didn’t have a testimony of my own.
As usual during one fast and testimony meeting, my mind wandered. I wasn’t really listening as ward members bore their testimonies, but I said amen at the end of each one. Then a sister went up to the pulpit and started bearing her testimony. When she mentioned cake, I looked up and started paying attention.
“I always speak to Heavenly Father, even when I’m baking a cake,” she said. “I say a little prayer that the cake will rise and come out well. I know He answers our prayers.”
I didn’t think much about that testimony until our car wouldn’t start when we needed to go to the store to get some food. At that moment I remembered the words of the sister. So, I went back to my bedroom to ask God to help us so that the car would start. I knelt and prayed. When I finished, I took the car keys and put them in the ignition. And then came the answer to my prayer—the sound of the car starting.
Because of that answer to a simple prayer, I went from almost falling away to continuing on a path that has helped me gain a personal testimony and become fully converted to the gospel. The words to my favorite Primary song, “I Feel My Savior’s Love,”1 became more than just words of a song. They became feelings that I really have.
I pray about everything now. And though the answer or the timing isn’t always what I desire, I still choose to hear Him as I remember Nephi’s words: “But behold, I say unto you that ye must pray always, and not faint” (2 Nephi 32:9).

Just the other day I was talking to the father of another young man who was leaving this city of ours to go to New York to accept a position as a lawyer. The president of this organization, which is one of the large organizations in the country, knew one of our Church members in the East who was vice-president of a large company; and the president of this company asked him, knowing who he was, if there were any young man whom he could recommend. He said, “We want someone who will live as your young men live, somebody we know will not carouse, who will be on the job, whom we can depend on.”
And this man who was the vice-president of the company said, “I know a young man in Salt Lake City.” They invited the young man to come to New York and paid his way back there, interviewed him, offered him a job, paid his way back, and offered to pay his wife’s fare to go there also to find a place to live.
I can’t overemphasize to you young men the importance of living the way you should, for your good, for your own success, for your own happiness, and for the influence you will have on those boys with whom you associate. They expect you to do what you are professing to do; to be what you profess to be; and, if you don’t you let them down, other boys who don’t have the priesthood have the opportunity for that influence on their lives.

When I had left Hawaii, some friends saw us off. One of them happened to be an inactive Mormon, and when he said goodbye, he added, “If you ever get in a bind and need help, call my church. They’ll help you.”
I knew absolutely nothing of Mormons except that they had a fine Tabernacle Choir. I did not like the idea of begging for help, least of all help from some strange church that I’d never even visited; but I was desperate, and there seemed no other choice. In searching the telephone book, I found an endless number of Mormon churches and listings, so I picked one that was called a mission home. I thought that a mission home would be more apt to be compassionate. A young elder answered the phone, and I told him pretty much the same thing I had told the three ministers: that I did not need money, but I was in desperate need of advice. His reply was that he was quite new to the area and he himself could not help me, but if I would give him my name and phone number, he would have someone else call me. I hung up, half-suspecting never to hear from them again.
To my surprise, within ten minutes I received a call from a lovely lady who listened to my story and then agreed that I could use some assistance. She told me to get all my luggage together, call a taxi, and meet her in thirty minutes at the Berkeley bus terminal. After she described her car and what she would be wearing, she added, “By the way, are you a member of the Church?”
“Here it comes again,” I thought cynically, but into the phone I simply said, “No, I’m not.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, “I just wondered. See you in half an hour.”
I hurried my things together, cleaned up the children, checked out of the hotel, and headed for Berkeley. I was surprised, and a bit suspicious, at the woman’s willingness to help a total stranger, but at this point I was willing to take advantage of any offer.
Her first move was to treat us to lunch. Then I learned that she was the wife of a man named O. Leslie Stone, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy who was then the stake president there. She got us settled into a boarding house and promised to get me the names of some potential babysitters. All this, in spite of the fact that I emphasized to her my strong bitterness toward churches of any kind, and my intention to stay that way. I couldn’t get over it!
She didn’t seem to care that I was so antagonistic, nor did she try to convert me or criticize me. She even seemed to act as though I was doing her a favor by letting her help me. A Bible verse kept echoing through my mind: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” (John 13:35.)
Over the next few days, Sister Stone came every day. She did, indeed, find me a babysitter, a woman from her church. Also she helped me find and get moved into a small, furnished apartment, and she gave me the name of a man to see about a temporary job. Still she didn’t preach to me. It amazed me; and still that same scripture kept flitting in and out of my thoughts, “if ye have love one to another.”
In the apartment I rented, I found a small Mormon book entitled, Articles of Faith, by James E. Talmage. I never knew if Sister Stone secretly placed it there, or if it had been left by the former tenant. At any rate, I began reading it after the children were in bed at night; not because I was interested, but because there was nothing else to do.
During those first few weeks, not a Saturday went by that Sister Stone didn’t stop and ask if we would like to go to church with her on Sunday. When I would politely refuse, she never pushed the issue; but still she regularly asked. At the same time, I became more and more engrossed in the book. I had never heard of such things as I found in that book, though I had studied the Bible faithfully most of my life. Much of what I read I either wondered about or outright disagreed with, so I started jotting down notes of such items as I came across it.
One Saturday when Sister Stone came by, I still refused to go to church with her, but I did tell her that I had some questions about it, and that if she would send her pastor to talk to me I’d discuss them with him. In just a few days I was visited by a man named Marvin Turner and his wife, who said they were stake missionaries and had come to answer my questions. Almost defiantly I brought out my written questions, seven pages in all, and told them that if they could answer them I would listen to whatever they wanted to teach me. Brother Turner’s response was that he did not have all the answers, but he knew that through the Church he could find me logical, reasonable answers. Through the patience and tenderness of the Turners, I finally reached the time when I was willing to pray about the truthfulness of those things that they taught me. I consented to go to church with them. Some time later, I was baptized. However, when I moved to southern California, I lost track of my new friends. I remarried and had other children.
That was many years ago. Now I sit in sacrament meeting and watch while one of my sons passes the sacrament and another one blesses it; I watch the faith and testimonies of each of the children grow; and my thoughts turn toward people who have joined the church as a result of different ones spreading the gospel; and I think too of our kindred dead who have had their baptisms and endowments and sealings done through our genealogy work.
Ultimately my thoughts turn toward a gracious Sister Stone and a sharing, loving Turner family somewhere among the vast number of Saints who, I have no doubt, are still serving the Lord through loving and caring. I ask myself how I can ever repay those people who cared so much for someone so rebellious long ago. And the answer comes to me loud and clear: “Go, and do thou likewise.” (Luke 10:37.)

I was at my friend’s house, and we were riding our bikes. My friend’s neighbors were riding their bikes too. We all decided to play cops and robbers. We played and played for about an hour. It was fun! Finally we were tired, so we put down our bikes and sat in the grass. I was so excited. I had made some new friends!
Then a kid picked up his cell phone. He scrolled through it. Then he said, “Hey, guys, look at this!” He showed us a funny video. It was really funny! And then he showed us another video. All of a sudden, I felt a bad feeling. They watched the video over and over. I felt worse every time. Again and again. Worse and worse. I was scared. If I left, my friend might not be my friend anymore. But if I kept watching, I wouldn’t be having faith.
Finally, I whispered to my friend, “I need to go home.”
He said, “Why?”
“I don’t like these videos.”
“OK, bye,” he said.
As I rode my bike back home, I felt the bad feeling slip away. An amazing feeling replaced it. I got the gift of the Holy Ghost a few years ago, and I felt it that day.
I had followed the Holy Ghost.

“Carson is here today,” James’s mom said, pointing to a boy in the hallway by the Primary room.
James groaned. Carson was wearing jeans and an old shirt. James knew his mom and dad would never let him wear anything like that to church, but they would never let him get away with a lot of the other things Carson did either.
Last week at school, Carson had been kicked out of class for talking back to the teacher. He always made fun of the way James dressed and gave him a hard time for being the shortest boy at school.
“What if he yells at Sister Win or starts a fight?” James asked.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Mom said. “Carson has never been to church, and he’s probably nervous.”
When class started, Sister Win asked who had brought their scriptures. James raised his hand along with the rest of the class, but Carson shook his head. He looked embarrassed, which surprised James. Carson usually made a joke when he didn’t do his homework. But the more James thought about it, the more he wondered what it would be like to go to a new church for the first time.
Sister Win handed Carson her scriptures to use. When it was Carson’s turn to read a scripture, James began to worry. What if Carson tossed the scriptures on the floor or refused to read?
But Carson didn’t do any of those things. He stared at the words on the page and scowled. After a moment, James realized that Carson couldn’t read very well. James had never noticed this before at school.
What do you think James will do? Will James laugh at Carson? Will he ignore him? What would you do if you were James? Turn the page to find out what happened.
James leaned over to Carson and whispered, “Verily.”
Carson looked surprised, but he said the word and continued reading the verse. When he struggled with a word, James helped him with it. At the end of his turn, Carson looked over at James and gave a small nod.
James wasn’t sure if things were going to be different at school after this. The funny thing was that he didn’t care. He felt good knowing he had helped a boy who always gave him a hard time, and nobody could take that feeling away.

“I wish we didn’t have to take the tree down,” Jeff sighed. “It still looks so pretty.”
“I know it does, honey,” Mom said, “but Christmas was 10 days ago.”
Jeff and his mother carefully wrapped shiny ornaments, bows, lacy stars, and the treetop angel in pieces of tissue paper and put them in boxes so nothing would break.
“Next Christmas we’ll decorate the tree again,” Mom said, “and we can make lots of new ornaments.”
She took the last string of lights off the tree, and Jeff put away the ornaments he’d made in church.
“The empty tree looks lonely. It makes me feel sad,” Jeff said. “I wish we could have Christmas all year.”
“In a way, we can,” Mom said. “Christmas means giving, and we can do that all year.”
“But how?” Jeff asked.
“Well, for one thing, the tree doesn’t have to stay empty.” Mom went into the kitchen and got bread, cranberries, and nuts from the cabinet.
“Let’s take the tree outside and put it near the kitchen window. Then we can put the food on the branches for the birds.”
After Jeff and his mom put on their coats, they lugged the tree into the backyard and trimmed it with the food.
“Now the birds can sing while they eat,” Jeff said with a smile. “What else can we do?”
“Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here,” Mom said.
While Jeff looked out the window at the blue jays and cardinals eating food from the tree, Mom found a notebook. “Let’s make a Christmas All Year calendar,” she said. “We’ll fill it with good things to do that will make others happy. Each month we can do a different project. We did the food tree, so let’s write that on the calendar for January.”
Jeff enjoyed making the calendar. When it was finished, here’s how it looked:
JANUARY—Make a Christmas food tree for the birds.
FEBRUARY—Bake valentine cookies for neighbors.
MARCH—Make snowmen for friends.
APRIL—Plant flowers in our garden.
MAY—Help older neighbors clean their yards.
JUNE—Pick strawberries and give them to someone.
JULY—Have a picnic with our family.
AUGUST—Have a lemonade stand.
SEPTEMBER—Help my teacher keep the classroom neat.
OCTOBER—Have fun raking leaves in our yard.
NOVEMBER—Invite friends for Thanksgiving dinner.
DECEMBER—Decorate the Christmas tree.
“We can celebrate Christmas all year!” Jeff declared as he helped Mom hang the calendar on the kitchen wall. Outside it started to snow, so Jeff put on his hat, coat, and mittens and ran out into the front yard. His neighbors were taking down their outdoor Christmas decorations. They waved. Jeff called to them, “Merry Christmas to you for the whole year!”

Serving a mission in Indonesia in 1976, I was once again in a place where the Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into the language of the people who were joining the Church. I remember how our mission president, Hendrik Gout, took my companion and me to the city of Bandung, north of Jakarta, to visit the man who was translating this sacred book. We all prayed that it would be completed soon—especially Church members who were eager to have the privilege of finally reading the Book of Mormon.
I was there when that translation of the Book of Mormon was published and distributed. I think there may have been feelings as sweet and deep as those which were evident in 1830, when the first Book of Mormon was published. This thrilling event was a blessing of extraordinary magnitude. My two native Indonesian companions slept holding their copies of the Book of Mormon.

Carrie Laub, in Hebron, remembered when she and her mother went out to the watermelon patch and enjoyed a watermelon. Her father ate with them and then went to work, but her mother stayed with her and continued eating. In a few minutes her father came back and said, “You still eating?” and the mother replied, “I am going to eat enough so in the winter when they are all gone, I won’t wish I had eaten some more when I had a chance.”

They point to Tiffani as the one who first started formally investigating the Church. During her junior year of high school, she started dating an LDS boy. She began attending church with his family and eventually started meeting with the missionaries in his home. Gradually, she made some changes in her lifestyle. Her friends noticed, but they thought it would pass. But to Tiffani, it was no fad; her testimony had begun.

Meanwhile, after investigating the Church for more than a year and a half, Tiffani was ready to be baptized. Nine days after Sara’s baptism, Tiffani’s baptismal service was held.

“I’ve got it!” Lindsay yelled as she ran backward. The red rubber ball fell with a whump into her outstretched arms, and her friends cheered. Lindsay loved playing kickball at school. She loved running to kick the ball, rounding the bases, and trying to get home before someone got her out. She also liked catching the ball to get the other team out.
Lindsay looked to see who was next to kick the ball. Molly stood in front of home base, shuffling her feet and looking down at the ground. Long, tangled brown hair hid her face. Her clothes were dirty and didn’t fit, and her shoes had holes in them. Lindsay and Molly were in the same Primary class at church, but they weren’t really friends. Actually, nobody seemed to be friends with Molly. Most of the kids made fun of her, and sometimes Lindsay made fun of her too when Molly wasn’t around.
As Molly waited to kick the ball, some kids started whispering and giggling. The pitcher rolled the ball toward home base. Molly kicked and missed. Some of Lindsay’s teammates cheered while Molly’s team groaned. The pitcher rolled the ball again. Molly ran and kicked as hard as she could—and missed again! This time, Carrie, one of the school bullies, laughed loudly. “She can’t even kick a ball!” she yelled. Lots of other kids joined in the laughter. Carrie and a couple of her friends started yelling mean things about Molly’s hair and clothes and the way she ran.
Molly looked sadder and sadder as more children made fun of her. She seemed to scrunch up inside of herself and wouldn’t look up from the ground. Watching Molly, Lindsay felt sick to her stomach and wanted to make the bullies stop. But what could she do? She thought about the family home evening lesson her mom had given the night before. They had talked about how Heavenly Father loves all of His children and wants them to love each other. She thought about the song they sang: “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” Mustering her courage, she called out, “Leave her alone!”
It was suddenly quiet as everyone turned to look at Lindsay. Carrie and her friends stopped laughing, and one of them yelled, “What did you say?”
“I said leave her alone,” Lindsay repeated. “She’s doing her best.” Lindsay held her breath while she waited to see what the girls would do. Carrie and her friends whispered to each other for a minute. Then they started yelling mean things about Lindsay! They made fun of her clothes, her hair, and the way she played kickball. Lindsay started shaking and felt tears drip down her cheeks. Then the bell rang for school to end.
Lindsay ran all the way home and cried as she told her mom what had happened. “Mom, I was trying to be like Jesus and think about Molly like He does. I thought I was choosing the right, but I got made fun of! It’s not fair!”
Her mom stroked her hair. “You did choose the right, honey, and it isn’t fair. But choosing the right doesn’t mean that nothing bad will ever happen to you. Just think about Jesus.”
Lindsay remembered that Jesus had always chosen the right, but people made fun of Him, spit on Him, and even crucified Him. “Then why should I try to be like Him if bad things are going to happen to me?” she asked, wiping away a tear.
Mom hugged her close. “Bad things might happen to you, but I promise you that wonderful things will happen when you follow the Savior,” she explained. “How did you feel when you stood up for Molly?”
“I was scared, but at the same time I felt good inside. I knew I was doing the right thing.” Lindsay started to feel a little better. “You know what, Mom? When those kids were saying all those mean things about me, I thought, ‘This must be how Molly feels a lot of the time.’ And it’s terrible! I’m never going to say mean things about her again.”
Just then the doorbell rang. When Lindsay answered it, she saw Molly standing on the porch, shuffling her feet and looking nervous. “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me during kickball,” she said.
Lindsay’s heart filled with happiness. Suddenly the bullies didn’t seem to matter that much. “You’re welcome,” Lindsay said. “Do you want to stay and play?”
Molly smiled, and Lindsay didn’t notice her clothes or shoes or hair at all. When she looked at her, she only saw a friend.

Teddy tried blowing on his shiny new whistle all the way home and all the way up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. But the only sound he heard was the barking of Winkles, Mr. Collier’s huge German shepherd.
“Hello,” Teddy’s mother greeted him at the door. “Winkles is certainly upset about something. Did you see a stranger in the hall?”
Teddy shrugged. “No, Mom. I didn’t see anyone.” Then he added in disgust, “Boy, is this ever a dumb whistle.”
“What’s wrong with it?” his mother asked.
“I spent all of my money at the school fair for this whistle, and all I got was a dud. It won’t even blow.”
Teddy went to his room and tossed his schoolbooks onto the bed. Holding the whistle up to the light, he tried to see if something was blocking the holes where the sound should come out. “It looks OK and just like an ordinary whistle, only it doesn’t work,” he said, shaking his head in puzzlement.
Teddy ran his fingers through his hair then tried the whistle again. Nothing! He stuffed the whistle into his pocket and went into the living room.
“Hear that barking?” Mom asked, shaking her head. “I wonder what’s gotten into Winkles?”
Teddy’s eyes brightened a little. Maybe he could play detective and find out why Winkles was barking! That sounded like a lot more fun than trying to blow on a whistle that wouldn’t work. “OK if I go over and see what’s going on?” he asked his mother.
“It’s fine with me. Just don’t stay too long.”
Teddy dashed out the door. He liked to visit Mr. Collier and Winkles anyway. Mr. Collier was a retired fireman who often wore faded blue overalls. Teddy wanted a pair just like them.
As soon as Teddy neared the door, Winkles gave a familiar woof. He’s the best watchdog in the whole building, Teddy thought.
“Who’s there?” came a deep voice from the other side of apartment 3C.
“Me, Teddy. I mean, Theodore,” Teddy said wrinkling his nose. Only Mr. Collier called him by his full name.
The door swung open and the huge dog bounded out, still barking and with his tail wagging wildly. Teddy knew that he had to let Winkles calm down before stepping into Mr. Collier’s apartment. Suddenly, the dog stopped and trotted back into the apartment. “He thinks it’s OK for me to come in now,” said Teddy.
Mr. Collier nodded his head in agreement and smiled. “Hello, Theodore. Nice to see you again.”
“Hi. Mom and I heard Winkles barking. I came to find out what’s wrong.”
Mr. Collier scratched his pointy chin. “Mmm, I can’t figure it out, Theodore. He starts barking all of a sudden and then quits.”
Teddy glanced at the huge dog that was now stretched out on the floor, panting and looking content.
“Doesn’t seem to be bothered by anything now,” Mr. Collier said. “But you don’t look happy, Theodore. Didn’t you have a good time at your school fair today?”
“The fair was fun, but I sure got cheated! I spent my money on a whistle that doesn’t even work!” Teddy told him.
“Doesn’t work?”
“That’s right. I blow it and nothing comes out but air.”
“Maybe I could fix that whistle for you. Why don’t you go back home and get it,” Mr. Collier suggested.
Teddy beamed. Mr. Collier could fix anything. “I’ve got it right here,” Teddy said as he pulled the shiny whistle from his pocket.
The old gentleman examined the whistle carefully and then asked, “Theodore, have you tried that whistle since you’ve been home?”
“A lot of times, and it just doesn’t work. Listen.” And Teddy blew it again as hard as he could.
Winkles suddenly pricked up his ears. His bright golden eyes were alert. Suddenly, he leaped up and began barking again. Teddy quickly took the whistle from his lips and gulped.
“All right, Winkles. Quiet, boy,” said Mr. Collier.
The barks became woofs and finally Winkles flopped to the floor again. Mr. Collier turned to Teddy. “Remember once when I told you that a dog’s hearing is more sensitive than a human’s?” he asked. “That’s why Winkles is such a terrific watchdog. He hears people and noises before we ever hear them. And it’s the same with your whistle. Winkles can hear it even if we don’t.”
“But it doesn’t work at all!” exclaimed Teddy.
“It works fine, Theodore. Only the pitch, the sound it makes, is higher than a human ear can pick up,” Mr. Collier explained.
“You mean Winkles has been barking because he hears the whistle?” Teddy asked, plopping down next to Winkles and stroking the dog’s head.
“That’s exactly right,” said Mr. Collier, chuckling.

A few years later, when I was about 10 years old, my mother and I went to a special meeting. Because so many people were there, we sat in the choir seats behind the speaker. With Mother’s help I had brought a notepad and a pencil so I could take notes. As the speaker started talking about the Holy Ghost and I started taking notes, I began to feel the influence of the Holy Ghost so powerfully that I couldn’t take notes and I started getting tears in my eyes. I kept my head down, and the tears rolled down my cheeks and dropped onto the page where I’d been taking my notes. These memorable experiences confirmed to me that the Spirit is very real. The gift of the Holy Ghost that comes to us at an early age is a discernible, recognizable blessing. He will help us know what Heavenly Father wants us to do, and will help us return to Him someday.