Gospel Story Finder

Grandpa had a great desire to serve, and no matter what the job, he was dedicated to it. He served as stake clerk for many years. When the shaking of his hand became so severe that it became difficult to write, the stake president asked him if he would like to be released. Without hesitation and with a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa replied, “You know, President, it’s not writing I have a problem with. It’s fishing. Whenever I go fishing my hand gets to shaking so that I can’t tell if I’ve got a fish on the line or if it’s just me.” With that, Grandpa continued to serve in his position almost until his death.

When I was a young girl, my family had a huge furnace in the living room, which made heat by burning coal. Every day one of us had the responsibility of going out to the coal shed behind our house and bringing back a bucket of coal. Then the small bits of coal were poured into one end of the furnace. Throughout the day the bits of coal slowly fed the fire.
Our coal shed held about five tons of coal, and, depending on how cold the weather was, we’d use a ton or a ton and a half every month in the winter. Anytime our coal shed became low, we knew that it was time to call the coal man to deliver more.
One year, however, we did not have enough money to pay for coal, so we didn’t order any. The weather had not yet gotten very cold, and we decided that we could keep warm by wearing our coats around the house during the day and by sleeping under a lot of blankets at night. I still remember how odd it seemed to be able to see our breath inside the house as we talked to one another.
Wearing our coats in the house worked well until the weather suddenly turned really cold. One morning, when we were wondering what we should do, we heard a familiar sound. The coal truck was coming down our street. Everyone looked out the window as it pulled into our yard and began filling up our shed with rich, dark coal.
My mother quickly ran outside to explain that she had not ordered any coal and could not afford the fuel that the man was shoveling into our little shed.
The man just smiled and said, “I know,” and continued to fill our shed with five tons of coal—enough to last the rest of the winter. Then he drove away without saying another word.
Fast offerings had paid for the coal that day. Even now, whenever I see a bit of coal, I remember that others had fasted so that we might be warm that winter.

Elder David Antonio Parada and Elder Sergio Saavedra turn the corner and start up the next street in a busy neighborhood in San Salvador. Children are chasing each other. A dog is barking. Women and girls pass by with loads of food or laundry on their heads. Radios tuned to various stations are blaring from open windows, each playing music with energetic Latin rhythms.
Just as the elders reach the red house, the novios (an engaged couple) arrive from the other direction for their appointment. They invite the missionaries into their house and arrange the chairs into a circle. After prayer, the girl disappears into another room and comes back with the copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Have you been praying?” Elder Parada asks. The girl nods. “Have you been reading the Book of Mormon?” Yes, they read their assignment in 3 Nephi 11 [3 Ne. 11]. “Wonderful! Keep reading and praying about it, and you’ll know by the power of the Holy Ghost that it is true.”
The lesson is on the plan of salvation. Elder Parada takes his ball-point pen apart. “Our bodies are like this pen’s outer shell,” he says, “and our spirit are like this inner part with the ink.” Using this simple visual aid, he explains death and resurrection. When the girl asks a question, Elder Parada answers with verses from his well-marked scriptures.
Then Elder Saavedra takes his turn teaching. Both missionaries seem completely at home here; neither is hampered by language or cultural distractions. The girl’s mother, who has been outside washing clothes, comes in and overhears part of the discussion. A rooster outside starts crowing, and a couple of chickens walk past the open door. A breeze blows lightly through the open window and rustles the curtain that serves as a door into the back room. The discussion proceeds smoothly. As the missionaries prepare to leave, the mother smiles and comes over to shake their hands. She says she might come to church with the novios tomorrow.
Elder Parada and Elder Saavedra say good-bye to the novios and walk back down the street. “It’s beautiful to see that pair of elders working together,” their mission president later comments. Elder Parada comes from an extremely humble background, the son of a field worker; his junior companion, Elder Saavedra, is the son of the Mexican consul to El Salvador. One worked for years in the fields to save money for his mission; the other left cars and stereos behind. Now they’re a team—humble, confident, articulate.
They cross a ravine on a swinging footbridge. Then, turning the corner, they start up the next street in another neighborhood of San Salvador.

Spencer’s family were also members of the Church. That made me nervous, because I had been taught my whole life that if I walked inside an LDS church, I would see fire and go straight to hell.
But Spencer and other Mormons were really nice to me, and I felt comfortable around them. So even though I was pretty scared of the Church, I went to church with them a few times and met a lot of other good people.
Their kindness helped soften my heart.
One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.
Still, things weren’t perfect after that. Most of my family was not happy that I joined the Church. My dad even offered me a brand-new pickup truck if I would just forget about it. But my brother Roger supported me. When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%. Whether I was serving a mission or not, he told me to always do my best.
When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%.
I tried to prepare the best I could by studying the scriptures, praying, and going to a mission prep class. While I was on my mission in North Carolina, I lost myself in the work and did my best to follow Roger’s advice to give it 110%.
Ten years later, I lost my dad to cancer. Even though he and I had hard times, I love him so much. As I leaned down to hug him and say “I love you” one last time, he said something I will never forget. He told me he was proud of me and that he was glad I served a mission. Two years later, Spencer got to baptize me for my father in the temple.
My family may not have approved of my joining the Church, but because of their unfailing love and the example of my friends and their families, I was able to serve a mission, be married in the temple, and help my dad after he passed on. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

One day after having a good time cracking jokes at the expense of one of my closest friends, I began to feel guilty. It had seemed so harmless at the time. I tried to fight off my guilty feelings by telling myself, It was just a joke. She needs to lighten up. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was all it ever was with me—a joke.
I couldn’t help but think back to how I had been acting. It had taken me a while to notice, even though others had told me, “You used to be so nice to everyone.” A few had even said, “I remember when you used to never say anything rude about anyone.” At the time I hadn’t thought much of what they were telling me. I just thought it was their problem if they didn’t like it.
But I really had changed, and it all began with a few harmless jokes. I had always loved to make people laugh, so when people began to tell me how funny I was or ask me how I could come up with such funny things, I naturally loved it. I figured if they liked how funny I was then, they would love it when I really started cracking jokes.
For a while I was right. But soon I was going overboard and taking two of my best friends with me. People began to feel insecure when they were around me. They were always very uncomfortable. I was even told by a boy who had been one of my good friends the year before that it seemed like I was thriving on making people mad. I don’t see how people like my close friends could have stuck by me. I guess I was just one lucky girl.
I decided that maybe I should kneel down and pray about what I was doing. I now had a habit that seemed impossible to break. I prayed wholeheartedly, but when an answer didn’t come immediately I began to doubt the Lord would help me. I remembered that sometimes it just takes patience, so I decided to continue praying until I received an answer.
After a week of prayer both morning and night, I was nearly ready to give up. One day after I finished praying, I propped my head up against the headboard and reached for my scriptures. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was feeling miserable, and I couldn’t help thinking about the story in the scriptures that taught if you wasted your talents you would lose them (see Matt. 25:15–30).
All of a sudden an answer came to me. If I could get in the habit of doing bad deeds, I could definitely work on doing good deeds until soon I wouldn’t have to think about doing good. It would just come naturally. I knew it wouldn’t be easy at first, but it was definitely a skill I needed.
I prayed for Heavenly Father to be with me. I began to plan service projects, volunteer for charities, and do many other positive things. It’s been a year since I started. I’m not yet to the point where I would like to be, and it’s not always easy for me to control what I say. But I’m getting there.
Old habits do die hard. But now I’m working to develop a new, better habit that I hope will be around for a long time.

My experiences have encouraged others to speak up about offensive material. A friend confided that her daughter was embarrassed to wear her dance group’s costumes. Her daughter had even seen members of the audience avert their eyes during her group’s number. I suggested that my friend encourage her daughter to talk to the dance instructor. She did. We were both pleased when the instructor ordered costumes that enhanced rather than detracted from subsequent performances.

George Albert was very ill. The doctor had diagnosed typhoid fever, a terrible disease at that time, and ordered the boy to stay in bed for at least three weeks. His mother was told that George Albert should have only liquids and that she should brew him some coffee.
At this very young age, he demonstrated a great faith in his Heavenly Father and willingness to follow His commandments. George Albert wanted to get well, of course, but he didn’t want to disobey the Word of Wisdom. He asked his mother to bring him water instead of coffee and to send for their home teacher.
Brother Hawks came quickly in answer to Mrs. Smith’s request and gave George Albert a blessing, promising him that he would soon be well. And the very next morning when the boy awakened, the fever was gone and young George felt much better. Some years later in telling a group of children about this experience, he said, “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I am sure that he healed me.”

Similar stories could be repeated for nearly every branch in the German Democratic Republic. For example, in Leipzig, in the south central part of the republic, when members had to vacate the remodeled building where they had been meeting, the branch was given permission to remodel an old movie theater. The members worked on the project for many months. In 1968, as they were planning a beautiful dedication service, branch president Herbert Schreiter was informed by the city authorities that the building was to be condemned and could no longer be used. The only reason given was that the branch had not followed all the building requirements. Eventually, however, members were able to regain permission to use their newly remodeled chapel.

Several years ago we had four little girls in our home. One evening at dinner one of them said, “I wish we had a baby. A baby would be so much fun. Could we have one?”
We all wanted a baby, so I suggested, “Let’s ask our Heavenly Father if we can have a new little spirit come to our home. Let’s tell Him how we would love a baby and how glad we would be to take care of one.”
Everyone agreed that would be a good idea, and so in our family prayers and in our own secret prayers we prayed that we might have a baby to love in our home.
Seven years went by and sometimes we were a little discouraged, but we never gave up praying for a baby. Then one evening as we were eating dinner, we told our girls that at last our prayers were going to be answered and we would soon have a baby in our home.
We had no boys in our family and so we thought a baby boy would be especially nice. But when I came home from the hospital after the baby was born, I took a big piece of paper and wrote:
5 girls
on it and put it across the front of our house so everyone could see.
The night we brought our baby home we all sat around looking at her even though she was fast asleep. She was a miracle to us—we had waited and prayed seven years for her.

In the early spring mornings as the sun took a first peek over the mountains, Jan and I started walking together. As newly assigned visiting teaching partners, we were both young mothers with growing families and busy, demanding schedules.
Jan and her family were recent move-ins to our ward, and I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. Struggling, out of breath, up and down the inclines of a nearby mountain road, we walked and talked day after day.
In the beginning, our conversations were lighthearted chatter about our husbands and children, their interests, and the schools in the area. Little by little we opened our hearts to one another, processing spiritual ideas and delving into our experiences to find the kernels of truth. It seemed as we worked to get our bodies in shape, we began to get our souls in shape. I loved this wonderful exertion.
I learned two unforgettable lessons from my journey with Jan that continue to enlighten my mind and fill my soul with joy. The first is that whatever the circumstances in your life, if you are spiritually prepared, there is no need to fear (see D&C 38:30).
Long after we began our walks together, I discovered that years earlier Jan had made choices which took her step-by-step away from the Church and down a path she now regretted. About the time our lives intersected, she had determined to put her life in order. The longing in her heart was to prepare herself so that she could be sealed to her husband and children in the temple. Hers was a single-minded yearning, as Nephi phrased it, “[to] be reconciled unto Christ, and enter into the narrow gate, and walk in the strait path which leads to life, and continue in the path until the end of the day of probation” (2 Nephi 33:9).
You might expect that once Jan had determined as earnestly as Lamoni’s father in the Book of Mormon to “give away all [her] sins to know [the Lord]” (Alma 22:18), her journey would be smoothed. Such was not the case. She was faced with some of life’s most soul-wrenching trials. Jan was diagnosed with a brain tumor, her husband lost his job, then the family lost their home and their car.
Yet Jan’s faith in Jesus Christ grew steadier as her way grew harder. As we trudged along together on our morning walks, I learned so much from Jan about how her faith in the Lord and daily spiritual preparation helped her conquer fear. She seemed to understand perfectly what President Gordon B. Hinckley has taught: “We would be wise to kneel before our God in supplication. He will help us. He will bless us. He will comfort and sustain us” (Standing for Something [2000], 178).
Although she was in the midst of terrible trials, it was obvious to me that Jan knew our prophet’s words are true. She never stopped her personal spiritual preparation as she moved forward fearlessly a day at a time with a radiant sense of calmness in her life. Over the course of those early hours together, I literally watched “the morning [break], the shadows flee … [and] the dawning of a brighter day” (“The Morning Breaks,” Hymns, no. 1) as Jan’s repentance brought her a release from sins and then a deeply personal spiritual enlightenment.
I asked Jan how she had come to feel peace when her life was in such turmoil and things were collapsing all around her. I believe the words of a hymn capture best what she felt and subsequently shared with me about the power of the Atonement in her life:
The Lord is my light; the Lord is my strength.
I know in his might I’ll conquer at length.
My weakness in mercy he covers with pow’r,
And, walking by faith, I am blest ev’ry hour.
(“The Lord Is My Light,” Hymns, no. 89)
Because of her abiding faith, the Lord’s Atonement brought daily renewal to Jan. She submitted her will to the Lord one prayer, one scripture, and one act of service at a time.
Shortly before her death while she was in her 30s, I was among those gathered in the temple quietly rejoicing as she, her husband, and their children knelt at the altar and were sealed together for eternity.
The second unforgettable lesson that I learned from Jan is that when the sisters of Relief Society look “with an eye single to the glory of God” (D&C 4:5), they can experience rich spiritual insights and share deep spiritual strength together.
At the beginning of our walks, Jan and I weren’t walking at the same pace. As our hearts became “knit together in unity and in love” (Mosiah 18:21), we walked increasingly in step with one another both physically and spiritually. We buoyed each other up with our testimonies, bore one another’s burdens, strengthened and comforted one another as Relief Society sisters have always done.
Through my friendship with Jan I learned what a sacred kinship connects us as Relief Society sisters. Jan and I, like so many of you, grew from our assignment as visiting teaching partners into sisters and cherished friends. I testify that connections forged among covenant women in Relief Society can indeed enlighten, enliven, and enrich the journey of life because we can help each other learn how to put the Lord first in our hearts and in our lives. I know this because over 20 years ago, Jan helped me move closer to our Savior by the way she lived. She encouraged me to work beyond my own problems, to rejoice gratefully in the majesty of the Savior’s Atonement for my sins, to look forward with faith to what each new day brings, and to relish deep spiritual relationships available only through Relief Society.
I still walk in the mornings every chance I get. I still pause to study the beauties of this earth and to thank Heavenly Father for the mission of our Savior Jesus Christ. I often recall with deep gratitude the spirit Jan brought to our walks because of her great desire to feel the Savior’s redeeming love. Her love for the Lord flooded my heart then as fully as the rays of the rising sun continue to flood the land with light every morning.

It was fire drill day at a Logan, Utah, elementary school, and fire drill captain Joe Cook, a stalwart sixth-grade student leader, was determined to post a good time. He was pleased when, at the ringing of the alarm, students began to evacuate the building rapidly. “This will be record-setting time,” young Joe thought. “We’re going to go down in history.” Then just as fame seemed within his grasp, Joe heard the announcement: “Someone is still in the building. The building is not clear.”
As record-breaking time ebbed away, Joe Cook finally saw one lone first-grader emerge from the building. It was his little brother, Quentin! Joe had been denied his rightful place in Cache Valley history by his own flesh and blood!
Fuming, Joe barked, “What on earth were you doing?”
Quentin held up a pair of large, worn boots and said, “Joe, you know that [and he mentioned a friend’s name] sometimes has to wear hand-me-down shoes that are too big for him. When the fire drill rang, he took off running and ran right out of these. He didn’t want to ruin the drill, so he left them and ran outside barefoot. I went back to get his boots for him because I didn’t want his feet to be cold in the snow.”
Such a tender story reveals how committed Elder Quentin La Mar Cook has been from his youth onward to matters of the heart and to the principles taught by the Savior. “I have known Quentin all my life,” says childhood friend and future missionary companion Lee Burke, “and he has never done anything that would dishonor himself, his family, or his Church.” That the Lord knew the destiny of this young man was obvious to his beloved mother, Bernice, when her patriarchal blessing revealed that her sons “would bring honor” to the family and “be mighty in forwarding the work of the Lord.” So those sons have done, and so Elder Quentin L. Cook will continue to do in his call as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.

For William Wood the hike home across the foggy November English countryside was hard work—emotionally. The teenage butcher’s apprentice had just lost his job. And at a time when good jobs were hard to find! Inside he hurt—or maybe it was anger. Hadn’t he done a good job for Mr. Biaxall? Still, William was fired simply because he had become a Latter-day Saint. And as he trudged along he worried about his parents’ reaction to his changed circumstances.

Mr. Blaxall, whose family had shared their church pew with William on many Sundays, likewise tried to reconvert his young apprentice. Deep discussions, however, changed neither person. Finally, fearing loss of such important customers as the local parson, Mr. Blaxall gave William two choices: “Either quit Mormonism or find another job.”

“Sir,” answered the youth, “I will never give up my faith but will leave your service.”

Jobless, the disappointed new convert now had to explain his new situation to his parents, who had recently moved to Queensborough on the Isle of Sheppey in the mouth of the Thames River. His greatest desire now was to immigrate to Zion like many British converts had done, and along the way he tried to think of ways to earn enough money to reach Utah. While he waited for a ferry to take him across the mouth of the Thames, a verse from the Doctrine and Covenants suddenly burned itself into his mind, promising him that the Lord is bound when His children do what He says. William reflected upon that promise and decided then and there to place full trust in it. He “prayed to the Lord in my humble way, and told Him I would never recant, praying that I should succeed in obtaining employment and better wages to enable me to reach Zion.”

Minutes after his ferry docked at Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey, William was warmly welcomed by his parents to their new dwelling. But upon learning how he lost his job, they pleaded with him to quit Mormonism and to return to Mr. Blaxall’s employment. “My dear mother was broken-hearted,” William said. They fretted about his loss of wages and found no comfort in his religious optimism. “I told them I was in the hands of God and inasmuch as I had obeyed His commands I had faith that I would obtain employment.”

Putting faith to work, William job-hunted around the island with his father’s help. He discovered that the Sheerness docks were extremely busy due to the war then raging in the Crimea (across the Black Sea from Turkey) where British, French, and Turkish forces battled Russian troops. “Everything was in excitement,” he recalled. “Merchants were making lots of money. The English navy was seeking men by offering bounties, and nearly all the naval ports were full of business.”

A butcher named Fillmore, with a contract to supply meat to British military units, thought William too young and inexperienced to employ. But after watching the teenager demonstrate his meat-cutting skills, the butcher hired him. The wages? More than double the amount paid by Mr. Blaxall! “I believe to this day,” William wrote 60 years later, “that the increases of wages … was a blessing from the Lord because I would not recant Mormonism and in answer to my prayers and for a fixed determination to gather to the valleys of the mountains.”

Part of the tragedy you must avoid is to discover too late that you missed an opportunity to prepare for a future only God could see for you. The chance to learn another language is for me a painful example. My father was born in Mexico. He grew up speaking Spanish as his first language. I lived in his home for more than 20 years. Sadly, I never asked him to teach me a word of Spanish. But my Church assignments have caused me to have contacts in Mexico, Central America, Colombia, Venezuela, and Ecuador. It was no accident that I was born into a home with a Spanish-speaking father. My father was a great teacher. He was a chemist. He even kept a blackboard in our basement for his children. He was eager to teach me mathematics. He spent hours trying to help me solve problems for my physics classes. He pled with me to think more often about those things that then seemed so uninteresting and unimportant. Years later I was called by the Lord to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church and given responsibilities for computing and communications systems. What a blessing I might have had if I had followed with my father the counsel I am giving to you now. Your life is carefully watched over, as was mine. The Lord knows both what He will need you to do and what you will need to know to do it. You can with confidence expect that He has prepared opportunities for you to learn. You will not recognize those opportunities perfectly, as I did not. But when you put the spiritual things first in your life, you will be blessed to feel directed toward certain learning, and you will be motivated to work harder. You will recognize later that your power to serve was increased, and you will be grateful. Your service may not be in what the world would recognize as a lofty calling. But remember that when the real value of service becomes clear in the judgment of God, some people who worked in quiet anonymity will be the real heroes.

“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.

When Calvin started stuttering just asking for the salt and pepper, I knew something was wrong. Calvin had always had trouble talking. It was cute when he was two or three years old, and endearing when he was five or six. But by the time he was seven or eight and still stuttering, Mom took him to a speech clinic. After that the problem seemed to clear up, except for certain times when Calvin was upset about something.
Calvin is my older brother, and I can tell when he’s scared about something—partly because of the stuttering but also because of little things that he says or does.
He was worried about becoming a priest and blessing the sacrament. It isn’t that he didn’t want to bless the sacrament—he did. That was the whole problem. Calvin takes things like that very seriously. He didn’t want anybody, especially the deacons on the front bench, to have an excuse for giggling during that sacred ordinance, even if they were only making fun of the way that Calvin said the prayer.
Calvin is a reader, and I guess that’s where he got the idea of using marbles. Some Greek man by the name of Demosthenes used to recite aloud while climbing steep hills or put rocks in his mouth and then shout speeches over the roar of the ocean waves so that he could talk more clearly. I thought it was a silly thing to do when Calvin told me about it—he might swallow the rocks or something—but Calvin was desperate, I guess. He knew Mom would be angry if she ever caught him putting rocks in his mouth, so marbles were the closest substitute he could think of.
I collect marbles. I can’t do much with them, but I like to look at the different colors and what light can do when it shines through them. Calvin came downstairs to my room one day and stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me. My brother has a way of standing sometimes that tells me he has something on his mind, and he was standing that way then. A tall guy, maybe too skinny, with very short, very blond hair. Calvin likes to play ball in the summer and hair gets in his way. There was a funny look on his face while he watched me. I was sitting on my bed, and I had all my marbles spread out in front of me. They looked gorgeous.
“Jenny,” he said finally. I looked up and waited. “Would you sell me five or six of your marbles?” That’s when he turned red—a dead giveaway. My brother always turns red when he talks about something important to him. The speech therapist says that it’s part of the same pattern that makes Calvin stutter and that it would go away in time. So far that part hadn’t come true.
Then Calvin seemed to change his mind and said, “It’s not important.”
I scooped up a red marble and held it up to the light so that I could see the bubbles inside. “If it isn’t important,” I asked, “then why buy them?”
He didn’t say anything, and I knew that if he tried to talk, the words would come out in a long stream of stuttering. He looked at me though, and there was agony in that expression. Then he turned around and walked out of my room.
Later, of course, I gave some marbles to him. What else could I do? I washed six of them, dried them off, and put them in a box. Then I put the box on his bed. When he came to the supper table, I said, “There’s something for you on your bed, Calvin.”
He didn’t say anything then either, but I could see what was in his eyes.
I didn’t hear anything more about the marbles for a long time. Calvin is pretty cautious when he doesn’t want people to know about something. But his birthday was coming closer every day. And each Sunday when the sacrament was being prepared, I would find myself looking at my brother. He would be scrunched down in his seat, and I could imagine what he was thinking. Sometimes while the prayer was being said, I almost forgot to close my eyes. He’d listen so intently that it seemed he was listening hard enough for both of us.
The thing that I dreaded was when someone made a mistake in repeating the sacrament prayer. When it happened I looked at Calvin, and I could see him hurting inside, waiting for the time when he would have to kneel and say the prayer. He had such a strong feeling for that prayer that he wanted it to be perfect. It really mattered to him and I knew it!
One day I went downstairs and I could hear mumbling, so I began looking for the source. It was coming from the laundry room. I turned out the downstairs light, walked over to the laundry room door as quietly as I could, and opened it. Calvin was standing by the washing machine with my marbles in his mouth. He was saying something, though I couldn’t make out the words through all the marbles.
I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want Calvin to know that I had seen him, so I turned around and went out. Then I came back into the room a second time as noisily as I could, on the pretense of getting some soap. The mumbling sound stopped immediately. Calvin nodded and I went out again and up to my room. In a few minutes I heard him come upstairs.
Several weeks later it was Calvin’s birthday. The Sunday after, he was ordained a priest and assigned to give one of the sacrament prayers.
I can still remember sitting there, staring at him and seeing how the light hit his blond hair, making it shine. Boys aren’t supposed to be beautiful—or at least, you’re not supposed to admit that they are—but Calvin was beautiful. I was so scared for him that I thought my heart would stop beating. I was sure his agony was going to make me cry.
Suddenly he looked straight at me, and there was in his eyes an expression that made me know that he knew that he would be all right. Then he got down on his knees, the way the priests do, and started the prayer.
Nobody cries during the sacrament except the older ladies, but that Sunday I couldn’t help crying too. Calvin’s voice was soft, but it carried to the back of the chapel. I’ve never heard anybody else give the prayer the way he gave it that Sunday. He began, “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee . …” And he didn’t make a single mistake.
I sat and wept, because it was beautiful, and because I love my brother! And that night when I went upstairs I found the marbles back on my bed.
Someday I guess I’m going to be old, and there’s not much I can do about it. But even if I’m ninety, I’ll never get rid of those marbles, any more than I can get rid of the memory of that first time Calvin blessed the sacrament.

Another new missionary was so shy and bashful he could not look at me without blushing. I discovered he had been reared on a pig farm and was much more comfortable with pigs than with people. It was very difficult for him to talk to anyone, yet he had a burning desire to be a great missionary. Later, when we attended zone conference in the zone to which he was assigned, the missionary stood to bear his testimony: “President, I have discovered that becoming a missionary is like playing football.” He told of his leaving the farm to attend high school. As he registered for school, he noticed the football team practicing and decided he would like to play, but he didn’t have any football shoes or the money to buy any. Then he remembered that his cousin had been a football star at the school. He visited his cousin, asking whether he could borrow his shoes. His cousin gave him the shoes but warned, “Don’t you disgrace them.”

Our missionary got on the team. In the first game of the season, he found himself opposite a great, big, mean opponent. He took one look at that fearsome opponent, gulped, and said to himself, “‘I can’t knock him down! But my cousin could—and I’m wearing my cousin’s shoes.’ So I went ahead and knocked him down, and kept on knocking him down all through the game.”

What kind of a missionary do you think he became?

This story took place in Brazil.
Rebeca held her sister’s hand. They jumped off the couch and thumped onto the carpet. The two girls giggled.
“Higher!” Melissa said.
“Girls, don’t jump in the house. We don’t want to bother Miss Daisy so early in the day,” Mom called from the kitchen.
Rebeca and Melissa frowned and sat down. They had just moved into a new apartment. Miss Daisy was the neighbor who lived below them.
“Have you ever seen Miss Daisy?” Melissa asked Rebeca.
“No. But I’m scared of her. I heard she hates kids,” Rebeca said.
Melissa’s eyes opened wide. “But what about our French-toast tradition?”
Christmas Eve was in just a few days. Rebeca and Melissa’s favorite family tradition was making French toast as a treat for all their neighbors. This year would be special because it would be their first time making it in their new home.
“Maybe we should skip Miss Daisy’s door,” Rebeca said.
On Christmas Eve, the girls woke up excited to make French toast.
Rebeca helped Dad whip the eggs, milk, sugar, and cinnamon. Melissa dunked the bread into the egg mixture. Then they cooked the bread. Soon, their whole apartment smelled like cinnamon.
Finally, they put the French toast in bags and wrote their neighbors’ names on each one.
Rebeca closed the last bag. “Ready!” she said.
Dad counted the bags and checked all the names. “I don’t see one for Miss Daisy,” he said.
Rebeca and Melissa looked at each other.
“We didn’t want to give one to her,” Rebeca said. “She hates kids.”
Dad frowned. “Our tradition is to share with all the neighbors. Don’t you think we should make one for Miss Daisy?”
Rebeca and Melissa knew Dad was right. They filled one more bag and wrote “Miss Daisy” on it.
They took the bags to each neighbor. At last, they came to Miss Daisy’s door.
What if she didn’t like the treat? What if she yelled at them?
The girls took a deep breath. Then they knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Miss Daisy asked. She opened the door and looked down at them. She had short white hair. She didn’t look too scary.
For a moment, Rebeca and Melissa didn’t know what to say.
“We’re your upstairs neighbors,” Rebeca said.
Melissa held out the bag. “We brought French toast for you. Merry Christmas!”
“Oh, thank you! I love French toast.” Miss Daisy took the bag. “So you’re my new neighbors? I wanted to meet you, but I thought maybe you didn’t like old people like me.”
Rebeca and Melissa looked at each other with wide eyes. “We thought you didn’t like kids!” Rebeca said.
Miss Daisy laughed. “I love children! Come in. I’ll show you pictures of my grandkids.”
They all went into Miss Daisy’s apartment. There were flowers everywhere and lots of family pictures.
“Have a seat. I just made some passionfruit juice,” said Miss Daisy. She poured the juice into cups. “I think it will be perfect with this tasty French toast.”
The girls and their parents took the cups of juice. It was delicious!
They learned the names of Miss Daisy’s grandkids. They even listened to Christmas music with her.
Rebeca and Melissa had been wrong about Miss Daisy. She was nice. And funny too! Christmas French toast was a great tradition. This year, it had helped them make a new friend.
Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney

Hi! My name is Breana Johnson, and I am a Merrie Miss. I have been working on my Gospel in Action program. I had a hard time thinking up a goal for the family area. I wanted to do something different, but I also wanted to do something my whole family could learn from. Most important, I wanted it to be fun for my seven sisters and my mom and dad.
When my mother came home from a women’s conference in our stake, she told me about the different classes she had attended and the many things she had learned. I could tell without even asking that it had been fun, so I decided that for my family goal I would organize the Johnson Family Conference.
I wrote a note to everyone in the family who could read, asking them to prepare a five-minute class on “How Our Family Can Be Happier.” The note also told them that the conference would be the following Sunday at four o’clock and that the theme would be “The Secret Is Love.” My sisters got excited and asked me all about what we were going to do.
All week our house was buzzing like a beehive. Everyone was getting his or her class ready but keeping it a secret from everyone else. I decided to do my class on sharing with others.
I made a program for every member of my family by folding sheets of paper in half. On the front I wrote, “Johnson’s Conference.” Below that, in red letters, I wrote, “The Secret Is Love.” On the inside I wrote the program:
Opening prayer: Mariah
Opening Song: “As I Have Loved You”
4:10 Den—Mom’s lesson
4:15 Living room—Dad’s lesson
4:20 Laresa’s room—Laresa’s lesson
4:25 Talena’s room—Talena’s lesson
4:30 Nursery—Breana’s lesson
4:35 Family room—Anissa’s lesson
4:40 Mariah’s room—Mariah’s lesson
4:45 Dining room
Closing prayer: Mom
REFRESHMENTS IN THE KITCHEN!
When my littlest sisters discovered what was going on, they wanted to do a class, too, even though they couldn’t read. So I helped Kirsha and Meleah learn a flannel board story, which they gave in the family room after Anissa’s lesson.
When Sunday finally came, everyone was ready and excited. We started in the dining room, then traveled around the house to each class. It was fun to go into the different rooms and find posters and pictures waiting. And in each room we were given handouts with a scripture or a picture or a poem that would help us remember what had been taught there. By the time we finished, I had a whole bunch of cute things to hang on the bulletin board in my bedroom.
After all the lessons, we met back in the dining room and had a special family testimony meeting. Testimonies were borne by each person in our family. It was a very special time. I felt a lot of love for my family, and I could tell that the rest of my family felt the same way.
After the testimony meeting, we had a closing prayer. Then I served the fudge pudding cake I had made. We lingered at the table, talking and laughing. We were having such a great time that no one wanted our family conference to end.
Finally some of my sisters started to leave. But before they went, they all said that they wanted to have another Johnson Family Conference sometime. I felt very happy. Maybe I’ve even started a new Johnson family tradition!

Many years ago, I went to a meeting with other doctors in a little town in Mexico. One night, one of the doctors suddenly became very ill.
Many doctors were there. But we didn’t have the equipment we needed to help the man who was sick. The nearest hospital was more than 100 miles (160 km) away. It was night, and no planes could fly. We thought he might die. What could we do?
The sick doctor whispered and asked for a priesthood blessing. I put my hands on his head. I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that the sick doctor would get better. He would live and return safely to his home. I gave him this blessing in the name of the Lord.
The next morning, the doctor was much better. A few days later, he was able to go home. We thanked the Lord for this most remarkable blessing.
The lesson we learned was simple: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). We experienced this ourselves. We knew it was true.

1 Whoa! I’ll get sent down to the minors if you keep pounding my famous fast ball.
2 Dad, Sister Simon told us that Jesus blessed people who couldn’t walk, and they stood up and walked. You gave me a blessing after my accident. How come I wasn’t healed?
I don’t know why, Sweetheart. Heavenly Father could raise up everyone out of every wheelchair, but he has chosen not to. What I do know is that he loves you and will do what’s best for you.
3 But being healed, would be best for me. What could be wrong with running and jumping and being free of this chair?
I don’t know. But tell me—haven’t you gained anything from being in that chair?
4 Well, I guess my arms are stronger.
And so is your spirit. You’ve become a very brave young lady, and I’ve watched you develop great love and kindness for other people with problems. Would you really want to give up everything you’ve learned?
5 I guess not, but I really want to walk again.
You will, Cathlyn. Because of the resurrection, you’ll have a perfect body again someday, and you’ll also get to keep everything you’ve learned from being in this chair. I know it’s a long time to wait, but Heavenly Father will help you.
6 And in the meantime, I can already hit your famous fast ball.
True, but I’ve been working on a mystery curve.
I like solving mysteries.