Gospel Story Finder

One of my teachers in middle school encouraged me to take an advanced-level class, even though I found it intimidating. She helped me to have higher expectations for myself and to be willing and excited to try new things. This prepared me to take harder classes in the future and to participate in internship programs. Looking back, I feel that what I learned from the experience helped me to become who I am today and to make important decisions. While the academic material I learned was important, I consider the principles I learned to have greatly impacted my life. This continues to bless me in my education, employment, Church callings, and extracurricular activities.
Katherine C., Washington D.C., USA

One day, Mom and I were looking for shoes that I could wear to church. We had looked in several stores, but I hadn’t found any that I really wanted. As we turned to leave a store, I noticed an elderly woman with a cane. Pain showed on her face when she bent over to try to get a pair of shoes from the bottom shelf.
I rushed over to her and smiled at her and asked if I could help. She stood up gratefully and smiled back at me. I got several pairs of shoes for her and waited patiently while she looked over each pair. When she was finished, she thanked me sincerely for helping her.
I hadn’t seen Mom come over to us, but the lady did. She asked Mom, “Is this your daughter?” She told Mom what I had done and expressed her gratitude. I felt warm and happy inside. Later, Mom told me that she could picture Jesus’ eyes filling with compassion when He saw the elderly woman. She said that I was trying to be like Jesus.
Even though neither the elderly woman nor I found shoes in that store, I found out that caring for one another is much more important.

Blindness can’t stop 12-year-old Rhett Jones from doing just about anything else his fellow deacons do. On Sundays you’ll find him in the Riverdale Second Ward, Ogden Utah Riverdale Stake, passing the sacrament and collecting fast offerings with the rest of his quorum.
In the summer you’ll find him at Scout camp, where he earned seven merit badges last year. His target shooting was incredible. He was able to hit a tin can target 23 of 25 times by having a leader ring a bell in the area of the target, then shooting toward the sound.
Rhett realizes it is especially important to set an example for his younger brother Josh, who is also blind.

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

Summer arrived, full of sunshine and long days. It was never dark, not even at midnight. I was happy and felt like myself again. But as the days rapidly shortened in September, my depression returned and suicidal thoughts infiltrated my mind. I was frightened. At first I tried what I had tried the previous year: praying more, exercising more, and trying harder at everything. But the suicidal urges grew stronger and more severe. I struggled for two months and finally realized that I couldn’t survive another winter on my own. I realized that Heavenly Father has blessed us with modern medicine and doctors. To recover, I needed to be willing to open up about my depression and visit a doctor.
Asking for help was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I could hardly speak through my tears when I told my husband about my depression and that I needed help. I couldn’t say the word suicide out loud. My husband made an appointment with a psychiatrist for me.
My doctor prescribed medicine, which helped me get through the winter. Like many people, I struggled to find the right dosage and deal with the side effects. This brought additional stress to my marriage and my family, but my husband and my children supported me.

Luke looked forward to Christmas all year. He liked singing Christmas carols at church, going to the ward Christmas party, and decorating cookies to give to neighbors.
But this year Luke was having a hard time feeling merry. His dad had lost his job, so his parents couldn’t afford some of their usual family traditions. Dad didn’t put out all their decorations. Mom didn’t bake as many holiday treats. And the Christmas tree was really small this year.
During family home evening, Luke’s parents told him and his younger brothers, Cory and Ethan, that they had enough saved to buy them one Christmas present each. Luke knew he should be grateful, but mostly he was disappointed. This Christmas just wouldn’t feel the same.
Luke couldn’t figure out why, but Cory and Ethan were actually excited. They started guessing what their gifts might be.
“A baseball!”
“A video game!”
“A dog!”
Luke didn’t make any guesses. And when Ethan said, “An elephant!” Luke was the only one who didn’t laugh.
Mom noticed Luke’s frown. “Why don’t we play a game to help us get into the Christmas spirit?” she said.
His brothers cheered. Luke sighed. He was too old for silly games.
Mom took the baby Jesus from their nativity set. “Close your eyes,” she said.
Ethan and Cory covered their eyes and giggled. Luke put his face in a pillow.
A moment later Mom said they could open their eyes. “I hid the baby Jesus somewhere in the room,” she said. “Dad and I will help you find Him by saying you’re warm when you’re close to Him or cold when you’re far away.”
Cory and Ethan jumped up and began searching.
“Cory, you’re cold,” Mom said. “Ethan, you’re colder. Ice cold. Brrr, you’re freezing! Luke, your brothers need your help!”
Luke slowly stood up to help search.
“Luke’s cold, but he’s getting warmer,” Dad said. “Warmer. Hot. Hotter. He’s on fire!”
Luke found the baby Jesus figure tucked behind a book on the shelf. Cory and Ethan ran over to look. “Me next! Me next!” they shouted.
“OK,” Dad said. “But first, let’s talk about what we learned.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “the more we look for Jesus in our lives and do things to get nearer to Him, the warmer we feel inside and the happier we are.”
Dad nodded. “The things we do to grow closer to Jesus make us happy forever. That’s the real Christmas spirit.”
Warmth spread through Luke’s chest. He looked down at the little baby Jesus figure in his hand. Christmas wasn’t about presents or decorations or cookies. It was about celebrating the birth of the Savior of the world. As Luke thought about Jesus, the warmth inside him seemed to get bigger and bigger. And the smile on Luke’s face got bigger too.
“Let’s play again!” Cory said.
“Mom, can I hide baby Jesus this time?” Luke asked. “I’m in the Christmas spirit now.”

The clock radio woke him up at five-thirty. He jumped out of bed and turned off the alarm, then sat down to wait for the rest of his body to face up to the fact that it was morning.
He went into the bathroom and shaved. Before taking his shower, he weighed himself. One hundred and sixty pounds, he thought. I need to remember that.
He could hear his mother in the kitchen fixing breakfast. He knew his father would have been up for at least an hour already, seeing to the chores that needed doing on the family farm before they left for the airport.
After he was dressed, he packed his pajamas and shaving kit, then checked to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He read a few pages in the Book of Mormon. At one point he glanced up at the picture of MacKenzie on his bookcase. In the picture she wore a white blouse and seemed to be looking just over his shoulder. The picture was too big to pack. He reminded himself to ask her for a smaller picture.
I wonder if she’ll wake up in time to come see me off, he thought. She doesn’t like to get up this early. Of course nobody likes to get up this early except Dad.
A minute later his father knocked on his door.
“Come in.”
His father, still in his winter coat and a cap with strange looking ear flaps for the cold, poked his head into the room. “I see you made it up. Are you all ready?”
“Almost.”
“I wish we were taking you to the MTC.”
“The trip would’ve been too hard on Mom. And I know it’s hard for you to get away. I’ll be fine.” He stood up. “I guess I’m ready.”
“Your mom has breakfast all fixed. By the way, she got up early to make you blueberry muffins so you be sure and make a fuss about ’em.”
“Sure, Dad.”
They walked into the kitchen of the old farmhouse.
“Here’s your missionary son,” his dad proudly announced.
He hugged his mother. “Mom, everything smells great. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
“What trouble? It’s just a little breakfast.”
“Let’s have family prayer,” his father said.
“I think this morning we should kneel,” his mother said. Because of his mother’s arthritis they had long ago quit kneeling for family prayer.
“Heavenly Father doesn’t expect you to kneel,” he said.
“I know, but this is one morning when I think we should.”
“I’ll go get a cushion from the living room couch,” he said.
“You don’t have to go to so much trouble,” she said, but it was too late. He set the cushion on the kitchen floor and he and his dad helped her down.
His father offered the prayer. His voice nearly broke when he asked Heavenly Father to bless his son and keep him safe on his mission and to give him a closeness to the Spirit. And then, almost as an afterthought, he asked for a blessing on the food.
They helped his mother up, and then they all sat down at the table. The table looked like his mother had wanted to give him enough food to last him for two years.
“Mom, thanks for making blueberry muffins. You know how much I love them. And nobody can make them like you can.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to it. I just follow the recipe.” She passed him a plate. “You can either have bacon or sausage with your eggs.”
“Or have both if you want,” his dad added.
“I think I’ll have a little bacon,” he said.
“Now you should start out with half a grapefruit. It has your vitamin C. That’s very important. Try to have an orange or grapefruit once a day if you can.”
He hated grapefruit, he always had, and he was nearly certain that he always would. But because this was his last day with them for two years, he dutifully ate his half a grapefruit.
Like a leaky tire that kept needing to be pumped up, the conversation kept drifting into silence—not because they didn’t have anything to say, but because they had too much to say. They knew that this day would bring a profound change in their lives. Because they could not talk easily about the big things, they settled for the small.
“Do you remember what I told you about your white shirts?” his mother asked.
“Don’t wash them in hot water.”
“That’s right. Do you want to take a little bottle of spot remover? You could use it for your suits.”
“I don’t think I’ll need it.”
“Well, you never know.”
“If I need it, I could buy it there.”
“Maybe so, but it’s better to be prepared. Let me show you what I’m talking about.” She went to the cupboard and got a small bottle of spot remover. “This is how you use it,” she said, going over the directions. “Can you remember that?”
“Are there directions on the label?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll just read them then if I need to use it.”
“Do you have room in your suitcase for it?”
“I really don’t think I’ll need it.”
“Well it can’t hurt to be prepared. Why don’t you just put it in?”
He looked at her and realized how much he loved her. “Sure, Mom, I’ll put it in my suitcase. I bet it’ll really be useful.”
They began to eat.
“I wonder if MacKenzie is up,” he said.
“She’ll be up. She wouldn’t miss this for the world,” his mother said.
“I know, but she worked late last night. I just hope she didn’t turn off her alarm. She does that sometimes you know. Like that time I was going to take her fishing. She was still asleep when I showed up to get her. The only one up was her father.”
“Fathers never sleep,” his dad said. And then he looked at the kitchen clock. “We’d better leave soon.”
“I’ll leave the dishes until afterwards,” his mother said.
A minute later they put his two suitcases in the trunk of the family car.
“Now do you have your plane ticket?” his mother asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you have your wallet?”
“Yes, it’s right here.”
“Do you have your temple recommend?”
“It’s in my wallet.”
“And you have the checks for housing and food and books for the MTC?”
“Yes.”
“Did you remember the bottle of spot remover?” his mother asked.
“Nope. I forgot. It’s on my bed. I’ll go get it.”
He ran in the house, grabbed the small bottle, and hurried back to the car. He packed the bottle in one of his suitcases.
They drove cautiously through the snow-packed roads to the airport. His father always liked to be on the safe side. The travel agent suggested they arrive at least half an hour before departure; they arrived forty-five minutes early.
After checking in they walked to the gate. Looking out the frost-stained windows at the plane which had spent the night there on the ground, he found it impossible to believe that something that heavy could ever get up in the air. This would be his first flight in an airplane.
They sat down to wait.
Do you remember what I told you about how to sew on buttons?” his mother asked.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Now you’re not going to use safety pins like you did that one time, are you?”
“No, Mom, I’ll sew them on just the way you showed me.”
“And have some hot cereal once in a while,” she added. “It’s very good for you.”
He hated hot cereal. “Sure, once in a while.”
The man who worked for the airline went to a microphone and announced they would now begin general boarding.
“You’d better get in line so you’ll get a good seat,” his father said.
“They told me my seat was assigned already.”
“Is it by a window?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well if it isn’t by a window maybe you can switch.”
He heard the sound of someone running. He looked around and saw MacKenzie. He wanted to run to her and throw his arms around her, but he decided he’d better not because he’d been set apart as a missionary on Sunday and his stake president told him that from now on it was arm’s length.
She came up to them. “Sorry,” she said. “I had trouble with my car.”
“What was the problem?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know. It wouldn’t start. I ended up having to use my dad’s pickup.”
“I’m glad you made it,” he said. The only thing he could do now was shake her hand, so that’s what he did. She, understanding his predicament, fought back a smile and said, “Well, Elder, I guess this is it. Your dream of serving a mission has now come true.”
He was still holding her hand. “You won’t forget to write, will you?”
“No chance of that happening.”
“Please send me a picture of you I can put in my wallet.” He paused. “I love you.”
“I know that. I love you too. Be a good missionary, okay?”
“Okay. Send lots of chocolate chip cookies.”
“A lot of people have already gotten on the plane,” his father said.
“I suppose it’s time then,” he said.
Just before he made it to the ticket agent, a small girl on the way to the plane brushed up against him with a wet sticky chocolate candy bar. A stain appeared on his suit.
“The spot remover will get that off,” his mother said triumphantly.
He gave the ticket to the man. His father leaned over and asked, “Could my son have a seat by the window? It’s his first flight.”
The man nodded his head and turned to him. “The plane’s not full. You can pretty much sit anywhere you want.”
He turned around to look at his mother and dad. There were so many things left unsaid, but he didn’t think he could say any of them now. They knew he loved them. That was the most important thing of all.
“Have a safe trip,” his father said as they hugged each other. “And write us.”
“I will. Thanks for everything, Dad.” He turned to his mother. “Thanks for the wonderful breakfast, Mom.”
She, with tears running down her face, could only nod her head.
“Son, it’s time you boarded,” the ticket agent said.
“MacKenzie, thanks for getting up so early to come see me off.”
She had tears in her eyes. He held her hand for just a second and then turned and walked quickly down the jetway to the plane.
His mission had begun.

I was applying to colleges in 2015, the year before the 2016 Olympics. I was trying to find a college team that would allow me, a disabled swimmer, to train with them in preparation for Rio. Immediately after submitting each application, I would email the head coach of the swim team and give them a short bio and explain that I wanted to train with them. Then I would receive an email back wishing me luck but saying they just did not have the ability to work with me.

My family and I started praying and fasting that I would find a team that would train me. Eventually, a friend told me to apply to Stanford University because the head coach of the women’s team was eager to work with Paralympians. I did apply, just as an excuse to talk to the coach and pick his brain. I was so surprised when I actually got in to Stanford. Just a few minutes after receiving an email telling me that I got in, the head coach emailed me and said he would like to work with me to train for the Rio Paralympics. It was a little miracle!

As the only Latter-day Saint student at my high school in Anglesey, North Wales, I knew that my peers found my religion a bit strange. But as time went by, most of them seemed to accept me and my religion.
By the time I was in my last couple of years at school, I noticed that some of my peers not only accepted but respected my lifestyle. This became even more evident during my advanced English classes.
Much of the literature we studied fueled discussions about religious and moral issues. One of the last books we read was Paradise Lost. It was my first exposure to John Milton’s work, and I was amazed by his insights. I was twice amazed, however, by the doubts and lack of scriptural knowledge my classmates showed. Often I found that I was the only student willing to venture an opinion in class. I bore testimony of the reality of the premortal existence, of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and of Their divine roles in our lives.
Our teacher, Mr. Brown, was rather a cynic, and he rarely let me have the last word. But I had no way of knowing how my ideas were being taken by the rest of the class, whose silence left me feeling a little lonely in my convictions.
Then one day Mr. Brown walked into our classroom wearing a glower that signaled he was having a bad day. He asked us to turn to Milton and opened the discussion with a question on yet another moral issue. I slowly raised my hand. Mr. Brown looked up, rolled his eyes, then sneered, “And what does our goody-goody Mormon girl have to say this time?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I couldn’t believe it. I felt tears coming as I lowered my head, bit my lip hard, and tried to gain some control over my emotions.
Suddenly all around me I heard chairs being scooted back and angry voices. I looked up. Several of the students were on their feet.
“Hey, you take that back,” yelled Andrew.
“That was unfair,” echoed David.
“You have no right to say that to her,” came another cry.
I started to tremble. I looked up at a couple of my classmates. Andrew leaned over and gave my shoulder a thump. I smiled gratefully, then turned to Mr. Brown. His face was alternating between beet red and sheet white. He raised his hand to try to bring order back to the room and said, “All right! All right! That’s enough!”
Gradually everyone sat down, and Mr. Brown turned to me. “Siân, my comment was out of line. I apologize.” My hands were shaking, but my heart sang with gratitude for my loyal classmates. Quietly I accepted his apology. The lesson continued, but I made no more comments that day.
As we exited the classroom, Mr. Brown pulled me aside and apologized once more. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said, “but I do want you to continue to comment in class. I think we’ve all learned a lot from you. Many of us wish we had the peace of mind you have.” He sounded unhappy, and my heart went out to him.
“If you really want to know what I know,” I suggested, “I’ll bring you a Book of Mormon tomorrow.”
Mr. Brown groaned. “Oh, brother. I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”
“You most certainly did,” I agreed with a smile.

My husband and I were traveling to his parents’ home after a camping trip. With little cell service, we decided to use our GPS. We turned it on and set it on the shortest route to their home.
With just an hour or so to go, the GPS directed us to turn left onto a dirt road off the main highway. Though we were a bit confused by the directions, we trusted in the GPS and continued along this route. Before long, we were navigating some muddy sections on the road due to the scattered rain showers. At each puddle we encountered, we considered turning around, but we pushed forward. We felt we’d gone too far to turn back.
We reached a puddle that was so large, we got stuck.
We were alone in the mountains (besides wild animals). We hadn’t seen more than a couple vehicles since we’d left the main highway.
One thing was certain: there was no way we could get our car out of the mud on our own. In that moment, I was terrified. And in hindsight, there were some important parallels about trust that I drew from this experience.
When we prayed to God for help after getting stuck, He brought peace to our hearts, and we trusted His prompting. Then we acted in faith. We walked a quarter of a mile to find a spot where we had cell service and could call our family. We told them what had happened and were able to give them a good idea of our location. Then we waited.
Near midnight, after being stuck for more than six hours, our family arrived to help. I felt an intense measure of relief and joy as we made gradual progress down the mountain toward their home, where dinner was waiting for us.

As the parents of four sons, my husband and I always seek ways to help our children feel the Spirit and gain a testimony. We had a breakthrough in understanding in an unusual way. I was standing in a store when the prompting came.
Our oldest son’s grades in his social studies class were declining. We had talked with him about it, encouraging him to study harder, but there was still no improvement. We had been praying for ideas to help him. One day in a bookstore, I had a strong impression to buy a book from a pile of books that were on sale.
The book was about how each of us has distinct learning styles. Many people are visual learners, meaning they learn best by what they see. These learners often love art and reading. Some learn best aurally. They process information most effectively when they hear it. These people often love music. Finally, some learners are kinesthetic learners. They learn best when there is motion or activity involved. These learners sometimes struggle in school when teachers insist on them sitting still. They learn best when they’re moving around.
There was the answer! Our son was obviously an aural learner—he loved music and talking! We discovered that he was often being pulled out of class for other activities during social studies and was then told by the teacher to go home and read the material. He was struggling because he wasn’t hearing the class discussion. Once we understood this, we encouraged him to read his assigned material aloud and then discuss it with us. His grades shot back up.
But our understanding of learning styles didn’t stop there. We realized as we studied this more and observed our children that the Holy Ghost often teaches our children in the ways they learn best. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that the Spirit talks to us in our language and in ways we can understand. The Holy Ghost adapts His language to be understood by all, even little children. “Our Heavenly Father is always available to us. He adapts to our level of understanding. ‘If He comes to a little child, He will adapt himself to the language and capacity of a little child’ (Joseph Smith, in History of the Church, 3:392).”1
Knowing that the Spirit adapts His communication for our understanding can encourage parents to create opportunities for their children to hear teachings from the Holy Ghost in ways they will understand best. “All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isaiah 54:13).
As I mentioned, our oldest son’s primary method of learning was aural. Both he and our third son love music, so in our home we often played beautiful music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir as well as classical music. They felt the Spirit deeply in this environment. We also had many lively discussions regarding the gospel, and this helped them learn truths that were reinforced by the Spirit as they heard them.

Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 (though those aren’t their real names)—attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in my native southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.

Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.

In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”

“See you in a couple of weeks, Jaylee,” Dad said as he stopped the car in front of Mom’s house. He gave Jaylee a hug. “Love you.”
Jaylee hugged him tight. “Love you too, Dad. Bye.” She grabbed her duffel bag and walked slowly up the sidewalk. Then she turned and waved to Dad until his car disappeared around the corner.
Jaylee took her bag to her room and sat down on her bed. Her stepdad, Kyle, and her half-brother, Jesse, followed.
“How was your weekend?” Kyle asked.
“We went to a movie, and Dad helped me ride my bike,” Jaylee said.
Jesse ran over to Jaylee and put a toy car in her lap. “Jay-Jay, play cars!” he demanded.
“OK.” Jaylee didn’t really feel like playing, but she let him pull her by the hand to the toy box. She knew Jesse missed her when she was at her dad’s.
Soon Mom came home from visiting teaching. “Jaylee!” she said, hugging her. Jaylee hugged back but didn’t smile.
“Feeling sad again?” Mom asked.
Jaylee nodded. She couldn’t explain the heaviness that filled her whenever she came home from Dad’s. “I’m happy to see you guys,” she said, rolling a car over to Jesse. “I just … I don’t know. It’s hard too.”
Mom squeezed Jaylee’s hand. “I know you sometimes feel very sad about the divorce. One reason might be that you have two homes you want to be in and two sets of people you want to be with. It makes sense that you feel homesick for your dad.” She patted Jaylee’s hair. “You know, Kyle and I have been talking and praying about how to help you feel better, and we had an idea. Come with me.”
They walked down the hall to Mom’s room, and Mom pulled a small box out of her closet. Inside the box, Jaylee found a gold heart on a chain.
“It’s so pretty!” Jaylee said.
“The heart opens,” Mom said. She helped Jaylee open the heart so she could see two tiny pictures inside.
“It’s Dad on one side and me on the other,” Jaylee said.
“Yes,” Mom said. “You can wear the necklace whenever you feel lonely for him.”
“I get it,” Jaylee exclaimed. “It’s like he’s in my heart!”
“And you are in his heart too,” Mom said, fastening the locket around Jaylee’s neck.
That night as Jaylee knelt to pray, she held the locket open in one hand. She thanked Heavenly Father for her mom and her dad. Then she thought about her stepdad and stepmom; her cute brother, Jesse; her stepbrother, Spencer; and her baby half-sister, Vanessa. She thanked Heavenly Father for them too. As she prayed, her heart began to feel lighter.
After she finished her prayer, Jaylee carefully put the necklace back in its box. Then she smiled as she ran to hug Mom and Kyle good night.

Even though they have at least four years before they will be old enough to serve, Brett Roper, 14, and Ben Holdaway, 15, are determined to serve missions when they turn 19. Both of these young men look at the missionary board often. They especially like seeing pictures of their older brothers on the board.
Ben Holdaway likes to think about where he might be called to serve a mission. His brother Ryan served his mission in Jacksonville, Florida, and his brother Jacob* will soon serve in Montevideo, Uruguay. Both Ryan and Jacob feel the board helped them make their decision to serve a mission. As Jacob describes, “The missionary board helps you answer the question about serving a mission so much earlier than when you are a priest. It helps you answer it when you are a deacon.”

The dust chased the racing engine of the small import as it labored up the canyon road. It nearly succeeded in enveloping the car at the turn-around curve of each switchback only to be left behind as the gears changed and the complaining engine sped up. Near the top of the ridge the car turned sharply to the right, coasted up a slight incline to a small level opening overlooking the valley below, and stopped. The dust caught up with its now silent prey.
They sat in silence and watched the valley begin its transformation from day to early evening. After a few minutes, he opened the window, sniffed the last remains of the settling dust, and then opened his door to get out. “Well, here we are at Lover’s Leap. Ladies before gentlemen!” he said, as he opened the door for her.
They walked a short distance up the ridge to a large boulder. It was level enough near its base to serve as a chair for her as they attempted to find from this viewpoint the location of their homes among the orchards, fields, and tiny towns that made up their valley.
From that lookout the valley ran for fifteen miles to the north and twenty-five miles to the south. Its boundaries were fixed by the mountains that surrounded it on all sides.
“Brad, does it seem good to be home again?” she asked.
“You know, I think a large part of me is still back there giving discussions. It was, let me see, just twenty-six hours ago that I left my mission president and his wife at the airport. The plane flew home in about the time it took to figure out how to open the salad dressing lid on my supper. When the plane landed, I was in a different world. There was my mom and dad, brothers and sisters, my dog Smart, and you.”
“Listed in the order of their importance?” she teased.
“No, of course not. I’d rate Smart above my brothers and sisters. But what I want to know is, where on that ride did I change from Elder Roberts, missionary, to Brad Roberts, college dropout? Should I have asked the stewardess to help me drop my former identity out of the plane?”
“No. I think that if you ask for anything unusual on a plane now, they just fly you to Cuba.”
“This morning I woke up at six. I was racing for the shower to ace out my companion and just got to the door when I realized there was nobody to beat. I was home.”
“So you decided to get back to a civilized way of life and went back to sleep?” she asked.
“No, I went fishing.”
“And how did you do?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Brad Roberts, do you mean you were skunked?”
“Zero fish. It’s the full moon.”
She laughed. “That’s what my dad says when he doesn’t catch any fish—or else the river is too high or too low or under-stocked.”
“My old fishing hole, the one I kept secret from my brothers, the one you have to walk down the railroad tracks for a half mile and then into a bunch of trees to get to—I went there this morning.”
“By the way, how is it that you took me there once? Weren’t you afraid I’d tell everybody?”
“You are so bad at giving directions I knew that anybody you’d tell would wind up somewhere in the middle of a corn field in Nebraska.”
“Well!” she said, faking insult.
“So I tromp through the trees and what do I see across the river? A trailer camp with maybe a hundred campers and trailers. There’s no fish there now. All those guys from California or Montana or some place have taken my fish and gone. You know, I used to get my limit in an hour all the time there.”
“Has anything else changed, Brad?” The question, as she had intended it, should have evoked a discussion of the new motel, or the new stretch of interstate highway, or the addition to the ward chapel, or the way his brothers had grown in two years. But a certain edge in her voice betrayed her.
He caught the uncontrollable change in direction. “Whatever happened to Cathy Miller?”
“Isn’t she still waiting for Brad Roberts to get back from his mission?” she replied.
“All this time? Good grief, she waited all this time?”
“The happiest two years of his life,” she teased.
“What was it like for you?” he asked.
“The easiest thing in the world. I just called up all my old boyfriends and told them I was available.”
“Really? I knew you went and joined the Peach Fuzz Festival just for publicity; you know, for those guys who may not have been blessed to have been born in our fair town but could still read the paper.”
“It was the Strawberry Festival.”
“Cathy, what was it really like?”
She thought a while before answering. “After you left, I imagined I could wrap my life in Saran Wrap and let it sit for two years until you came back. But it’s a sterile existence to try to stop living and watch the clock tick. I couldn’t do it, Brad. I’ve had a busy life since you’ve been gone. But I always had a little comfortable room in my mind where memories of you hung like pictures from the walls. I often visited that room and remembered how good it was when we were together. That’s the way it was, Brad. You didn’t want me to tell you that I cried myself to sleep every night, did you?”
“No, Cathy. I never wanted that.”
They had walked back to the car. The sun had dropped down behind the mountain across the valley from them.
He reached through the window, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a small package. “Cathy, I’ve got something that I want you to have.”
She opened it up. An engagement ring lay mounted on a velvet cushion.
“It’s beautiful, Brad.” She spoke quietly, her voice nearly cracking.
“I bought it two years ago before I left.” In case she might not realize, he added, “Cathy, it’s an engagement ring.”
“I know, Brad.”
“Will you marry me?”
She touched his hand lightly. “Brad, could we sit down for this?”
The cold silence beat its fury on them as he helped her into the car and walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“Brad, why did you do this?”
“Because I want to marry you.”
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“We’ve talked about this before, Cathy. We agreed we would get married if you were still here when I got back.”
“And so now you feel obligated to me for waiting for you?”
His words leaped out. “Have you decided to go into law, for crying out loud! Why have we been writing all this time? Why did you go to summer school while I’ve been gone? So that you could work while I finished school. Why have you spent so much time with my parents while I’ve been gone?”
“You do feel obligated to me for the last two years, don’t you?”
“You’re twisting my words! You do remember that you said you would marry me, don’t you?”
“That was two years ago, Brad! Maybe you can say that it seems like you just left yesterday, but I can’t say that. It seems to me like you left ten years ago!”
He was confused and off balance. “I love you, Cathy,” he said softly.
“Why, Brad, you don’t even know me now; how could you love me?” Her words seemed to hit him. “Do you know who you love? You love a girl that doesn’t even exist anymore—a girl with my name but two years younger than me. You go ask her to marry you. But she won’t. Because she loves someone with your name but two years younger than you. You wouldn’t stand a chance with that girl.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“That I can’t accept your ring. At least not now.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Not really.”
She touched his arm. “You don’t owe me a thing, Brad. Most of all, you don’t owe me a proposal of marriage as a payment for waiting for you. I am not going to hold that club over your head. When I kneel across the altar in the temple, I’ve got to be certain that it’s the right guy for me and I want him to be convinced too.”
She handed him the jewelry box containing the ring.
“Am I still in the running?” he asked quietly.
“You are if I am, Brad. But with no pressure because of what we’ve talked about or written in the past. And not because our parents wish it. And not because of what it was like two years ago. You can’t save cotton candy.”
“You can’t what?”
“I was just remembering something that happened to me when I was a little girl. My father took me to a carnival and bought me some cotton candy. It was pink and looked like the clouds at sunset. I just thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When we got home, it was time for bed. I decided to save it so that every day I could have it and look at its beauty. I put it in a little box and put the cover on. The next morning when I woke up, I rushed to look at my beautiful treasure. There was just a lump of sugar and a sticky cardboard funnel. I cried because I thought someone had destroyed it. When I told my mother that I had wanted it to last forever, she said, ‘You can’t save cotton candy. If you want cotton candy forever, you have to make a little every day.’”
They took a long silent look at their valley. The several small towns could be seen as small clusters of light around the darkness defining the lake.
“Cathy?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yes, Brad.”
“What is it?”
“I’m hungry.”
A hint of a smile swept across his face. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed.”
“Watch it, fella! That’s no way to talk to Miss Strawberry Festival.”
“Let’s go to the taco place we went to before I left.”
“We can’t. They tore it down last year.”
The car backed slowly down to the road, stopped, and then in low gear crept down the dusty road.

A young man tumbles from his sled into a snowdrift. Friends run to offer help. Waving his snow-covered arms and legs, he laughs, “No, no, I like the snow!” He is part of an enthusiastic group of young people in Rexburg, Idaho, who meet together for outdoor activities—snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, horseback riding, ice fishing, scuba diving, and water skiing.
But this is no ordinary group. Most of its members suffer from profound physical handicaps—spina bifida, cerebral palsy, deafness, and blindness. They are part of the Ricks Outdoor Cooperative Handicapped Association—a program pioneered in 1984 by Brother Steve Anderson.
Steve knows firsthand about meeting the challenges of physical handicaps. Steve himself is a victim of severe cerebral palsy. After earning a master’s degree in educational psychology, he found it impossible to convince an employer to hire him. Finally, he approached two of his former professors from Ricks College, a Church-owned college in Rexburg, Idaho. They agreed to supervise him in developing an activities program for handicapped students at Ricks and handicapped people from the Upper Snake River Valley in Idaho.
Through the program, people confined to wheelchairs now take part in a bowling league, using a ramp made especially for them. Those with limited use of their legs can ski with “sit-and-ski” sleds. “Handicaps do not stifle a desire for recreation,” says Steve. “We are helping people overcome a built-in reluctance to participate.”
Accompanying the handicapped people on camping trips, river runs, and skiing trips are Ricks College students volunteering as aides. “Both the able-bodied and the handicapped give and receive service, spirit meeting spirit,” says Steve.
Steve loves the Hopi Indian story of a great bird who fell from the heavens, too weak to fly. As time passed, the bird gathered strength, stretched his wings, and one day began to fly. It flew with such beauty and grace that even stones wept with joy.
Steve considers it a miracle that he and his friends have been able to stretch their wings and begin to fly. “Our Father in Heaven has promised to make weak things strong,” says Steve. “In this promise lies our hope.”

There was an increase in use of social media as leaders and members shared messages of events, activities, and inspirational messages to the community. Stake Light the World Facebook groups were used to encourage more to share how they were lighting up the world. To help encourage all members to get involved in the Light the World initiative this year, Rebecca Ballard (special media specialist in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake) took on the task of posting one item per day on their stake social media featuring a member or missionary serving from the stake and sharing one of their favourite ways to serve.

I had an experience that illustrates this concept. While I was serving as Relief Society president in our ward, my husband was asked to serve as elders quorum group leader while the quorum president was gone for the summer. When we received word that the quorum president would not be returning, we discussed the possibility of my husband filling this position. We disregarded it, however, feeling that both of us filling such demanding and time-consuming jobs would be too hard on our three preschoolers.
But still I felt the inclination to pray about it. One night as I was praying the thought came clearly into my mind that if the Lord called my husband to this position, we were to recognize it as an indication to us that He felt it was possible for us to handle the assignment. If we would be wise in our planning, our children would not suffer. When my husband was called by the stake president and sustained to this position the next week, I saw the fulfillment of the promptings I had received. Prior to being called, my husband had also received witness from the Holy Ghost that this was the position he was to fill at this time.

At Girl Scouts, we had to go horseback riding for a patch. I thought I’d be able to go, but then my leader said it was on a Sunday. I really wanted the patch, which was called “Horse Lovers,” but I knew that going on Sunday was not the right thing to do. I told my mom, and she told the leader. The leader said that Sunday was the only time they could schedule it. I decided not to go, and it felt right.
Ava Elefante, age 9Leavenworth, Kansas

A convert to the Church once said, “As a father I believed in caning my children. The slightest infraction of a rule was answered with prompt physical punishment. Then the gospel came into our home. I saw my children in a new light. They were my children, yes, but they were also children of our Eternal Father. How could I abuse a child of God? I began to develop an entirely new point of view toward my children, and they reciprocated with a new attitude toward me.

“Do we have discipline in our home? Yes, but of an entirely different kind. We are no longer adversaries. There are still some penalties for wrongdoing, but such penalties are of a different nature and are accepted as properly deserved, and not resented with bitterness as they once were. Now there is respect for one another, and more than that, love. What a difference the gospel makes,” he concluded.

“Yes,” I added, “what a difference the gospel makes when it is accepted and lived.”