Gospel Story Finder

Jeremy didn’t like walking to school by himself. He looked down the sidewalk to see if Russell was outside. Russell was in the driveway, tinkering with his bike, so Jeremy quickly crossed the street.
Russell saw Jeremy and rode across the street on his bike. “Hey, Squirt, what’s the password?”
“Leave me alone, Russell,” said Jeremy, walking on.
Russell rode right behind him, the wheel of his bike nipping at Jeremy’s heels. When Jeremy stumbled and dropped his books, Russell rode away, laughing.
I’d like to punch him good, thought Jeremy as he picked up his books.
That afternoon when Jeremy got home from school, he saw new people moving into the house across the street. Jeremy sat on his front steps and watched. Maybe they have a big boy I can walk to school with, he thought.
But all that they had was a scrawny little girl. Her name was Olivia. Jeremy’s mother made him walk to school with her.
Olivia jumped over cracks in the sidewalk. “My Grandma Fenton says that it’s bad luck to step on cracks,” said Olivia. Then, “Did you know that a queen termite can lay a thousand eggs a day?”
“No,” said Jeremy. Why couldn’t she have been a boy? he wondered.
“I like to use my brain. See, I have big feet. That means that I’m smart. Grandma Fenton says so.”
When they reached Russell’s house, he was tinkering with his bike, as usual. He jumped onto it and rode it in front of them. “Hey, who’s the new kid?”
“Olivia Fenton,” said Olivia. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Ho, ho, O Liver!” Russell mocked, blocking the sidewalk.
“Hey! You can’t do that!” yelled Olivia.
“Says who?”
“Says me, Olivia Fenton. I’m a citizen. I have rights!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
It took quite a while to get around Russell. Olivia was still screaming about her rights. Russell was laughing and calling her “O Liver.” Finally Olivia and Jeremy got away.
“Is he always like that?” Olivia asked.
“Every single day.”
“He’s a bully. I don’t like bullies,” said Olivia.
The next morning Olivia was wearing a knitted cap with a red pom-pom on top. “Grandma Fenton made this cap for me,” said Olivia.
“It looks like trouble to me,” said Jeremy.
Russell was polishing his bike. When he saw Olivia’s cap, he started laughing and pointing. He snatched the cap off her head and put it on.
“Give me that!” screamed Olivia.
She grabbed the cap.
They both pulled. Suddenly Olivia was holding the cap, and Russell was holding the pom-pom. He tied the pom-pom to his handlebars and rode away.
“You can’t do that! Come back!” Olivia screeched.
But Russell just rode away, laughing.
“That does it!” sputtered Olivia. “I’m going to figure out a way to make Russell stop bothering us.”
“The only way to stop Russell is to beat him up. A pip-squeak like you doesn’t have a chance.”
“There has to be another way. Grandma Fenton always says that there’s more than one way to catch a skunk in a pumpkin patch.”
At recess that morning Jeremy saw Olivia hanging upside down from the bars. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m letting the blood run to my head.” She hopped down. “I’ve thought of a plan. Tomorrow we are going to ride our bikes to school.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Olivia replied.
“I don’t understand,” said Jeremy, “but I hope it works.”
The next morning Jeremy rode his bike across the street to meet Olivia. Olivia was walking her bike.
“Aren’t you going to ride?”
“No,” said Olivia. “My bike’s broken.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“You’ll see,” said Olivia.
Jeremy rode slowly so that Olivia could keep up with him.
Russell was waiting for them. “Hey, O Liver, why aren’t you riding your bike?” he yelled.
“It’s broken,” said Olivia.
“Let me look at it,” said Russell.
“Well …”
“Come on. I can fix it!” Russell said eagerly.
“OK, but be careful. Don’t make it worse.” Olivia handed over her bike.
Russell took it into his garage and got out his tools. He wiggled and adjusted and tightened. He looked very happy. “There. It’s fixed!”
Olivia got on her bike and rode down the driveway. “It is fixed—and you did it, Russell!”
Russell grinned. “I’d better ride along with you just to make sure it’s all right,” he said.
When they got to school, Olivia told everyone how Russell had fixed her bicycle. After that, Russell became the official bike repairman of Cherry Street. He was always busy working on someone’s bike. And every morning he rode to school with Jeremy and Olivia.
“How did you know that he could fix it?” Jeremy asked Olivia later.
“I just loosened a few nuts,” said Olivia. “Since he was always working on his bike, I figured that he would be able to fix it.”
“Pretty clever,” said Jeremy.
Olivia grinned. “Grandma Fenton says that you can catch more files with honey than with vinegar.”

My grandma came to our house in Wyoming once. We live in a valley in the mountains. Sometimes deer and elk nibble at our trees. Grandma didn’t come to see the animals. She came to make lefse. She and Mom bought lots of red potatoes. I helped wash them. Then they mixed the potatoes with other things to make the lefse dough. The dough is like the quilt, because it is made up of many different pieces. The different pieces taste much better mixed together.
Grandma’s lefse has more potatoes than anything else. Our family is made mostly of potatoes. I mean that like the ingredients of lefse are mostly alike (potatoes), the members (ingredients) of our family are a lot alike—but not exactly. For instance, I like to make snow angels, but even though Grandma used to do that, now she usually stays inside on cold, snowy days. And we all go to church on Sundays, but Grandma goes to a different one.
Grandma and Mom made round balls out of the lefse dough. Then they flattened the balls into thin circles bigger than our dinner plates. The circles looked like tortillas, only tortillas are made of corn, not potatoes. I tried to make a “lefse tortilla,” but my circle looked like a squashed white tomato. Grandma started giggling when she saw it. I giggled too. Then Grandma fixed my lefse.
She and Mom cooked the lefse on our griddle until it made little brown spots on the dough. Using a long stick that looks like a sword, they picked up each lefse circle and turned it over. I tried to turn mine over, but it slid off the stick onto the stove. Grandma helped me put it back on the griddle. When the lefse was all cooked, we put butter and brown sugar on one side and rolled them up. It tastes really good! I like lefse.

This story happened in Zimbabwe.
The sun was shining, and Lynn ran outside to play. The other children in the village were playing kickball. They had made their own ball by crunching up papers and wrapping them tightly with plastic bags.
Lynn hurried to join them. But then something made her stop.
Sitting under a nearby tree was a girl named Awesome. Some other children pointed at her and laughed. But Awesome didn’t laugh. Instead, she covered her face with her hands. Big tears rolled down her cheeks.
Soon the others joined the kickball game and left Awesome alone.
Lynn looked at the children having fun. Then she looked at Awesome. She wanted to do what Jesus Christ would do.
“Are you OK?” Lynn asked. She smiled at Awesome.
Awesome wiped her tears and nodded.
Lynn picked up two small sticks and handed one to Awesome. “Want to draw with me?”
“Sure.” Awesome took the stick and drew a circle in the dirt.
“That looks like a sun,” said Lynn. “The sun always makes me happy.” The girls giggled as they drew more pictures. Lynn liked Awesome.
Then Lynn had an idea. “Would you like to come to church with me tomorrow? We’ll sing songs and learn about Jesus Christ. It’s really fun.”
“OK,” said Awesome. “Let me ask my mother.”
As Awesome ran to find her mother, Lynn felt a little nervous. She knew some people in their area had bad feelings about the Church.
But soon Awesome came running back. “My mother said yes!” She gave Lynn a big hug. “I told her you are my best friend ever!”
The next morning, Lynn and Awesome went to church. It was a long walk. Lynn taught Awesome some Primary songs as they walked.
On the way, they saw other children walking with their families to church. Some of them were the ones who had been mean to Awesome.
“Are they coming to church too?” asked Awesome nervously.
“Don’t worry,” Lynn said. “It will be OK.” Lynn said a little prayer in her heart that the others would be nice to her new friend.
When they walked into Primary, the other children smiled at Lynn. But when they saw Awesome, some of their smiles faded. They seemed a bit worried and nervous too.
Sister Moyo read a scripture. “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in Heaven.”* She looked up. “We can share our light by showing love to others. Can anyone share how you helped someone feel loved?”
No one spoke. Some of the children shuffled their feet under their chairs.
At last, one of the boys said, “Uh, Awesome, we were not very kind to you. We are sorry we made you cry. Can you forgive us?”
Lynn looked at Awesome. What would she say?
Awesome nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “I forgive you.”
Sister Moyo smiled. “That was brave and kind of both of you. I know you’ve made the Savior very happy.”
The next day, Lynn and Awesome sat under the tree and sang songs they learned in Primary. Soon the other children heard them singing and joined them. Music filled the air they all sang.
Lynn felt like sun was shining in her heart. She was grateful she had shared Jesus Christ’s love with her friend.
Awesome kept going to church with Lynn. Later, she was baptized!
Illustrations by Katie Rewse

I was born Christian and did prayers and attended church every week. However, I could not imagine the love of God and Jesus’s great sacrifice until I came across one incident. This was on January 11, 2006, when I was 22 years old. All our families were gathering to commemorate the first death anniversary of my grandfather. So I was busy arranging things necessary for the families who would be attending the event. I had no sleep for almost three days. Still, I was assigned to bring the priest from another town to solemnize the event with a gospel message and prayer. Despite my tiredness, I had agreed to bring him.
In the snowy cold winter season, I got ready after showering early in the morning. I started driving but felt drowsy. I saw one town at a distance and thought that I could make it there and have tea. However, my eyes were so heavy that unconsciously I closed my eyes. Within a fraction of seconds, my high-speed car hit a tree beside the road. My snoozy eyes could see the car colliding with the tree. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and found that I had had a major accident. I immediately stopped the running, smoky car engine. I found that the front glass was smashed and had fallen into pieces on me. But not even a single fragment of it pierced my body. I was thankful to God for that. Later, I discovered blood flowing from my mouth. I cupped my hands to get it and threw it out the window. But I realized it was not going to stop so I kept a big cloth in my mouth to overcome the blood loss. My legs were stuck underneath. While I was trying to get them free, my right leg got dislocated at femur (thigh bone) joint. So, I could not move. As it had happened early in the morning, and I could hardly find people to help. After a little while, I found someone and asked for help, but he was scared and ran away. Later, two people came and helped me get out of the car.
The car was totally crushed at the front side. It became completely useless. Eventually, people started surrounding me. Everyone was amazed at what had happened and wondering that I was still alive! I took someone’s mobile as mine was lost during mishap and phoned my father to explain the situation and urged him to take me to the hospital. My father was very much grieved when he saw me lying on the road. However, so great was God’s comfort upon me that I was able to recover very fast and started walking again in just one-and-a-half months.
That day, I was reminded of God’s gentle love when I heard the words from Psalms 119:50:
“This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me.”
He truly protected me. Whenever I recall that situation, I would try to speculate how Heavenly Father must have been suffering while His beloved Son was crucified on the cross! How great was the pain Jesus bore for all of us to prepare a path so that we could all return back to our heavenly home! My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for Him and Heavenly Father and Their unconditional love. My soul rejoices whenever I think of the truth that JESUS IS RISEN and that His divine role is successfully accomplished.

The metal cover on the door’s mail slot clattered as the mail was pushed through and landed on the floor of our apartment. One of the high points of our day had arrived, and my companion and I collided as we made haste to see what the mailman had brought. Not even Santa could compete with the excitement he inspired.
Four white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and my companion, having mastered the morning dash and beaten me to the door, scooped them up. “Let’s see,” she said slowly, holding them just out of my reach. “One for me. One for me. One for me, and, oh, one for you.”
One for me. Why did I insist on racing to the door for this kind of treatment? The handwriting on the envelope was familiar, and I knew it was from home. I tore it open as I walked to my bed and pulled out a card with a picture on the front of two tired sister missionaries soaking their feet. I opened it up and settled back on my bed to read. “Hang in there,” it said. “We love you! Mom and Dad.”
“Well, so much for news from home,” I thought and glanced over at my companion who was still on her first letter (a three-pager) and smiling slightly as she read. The other two letters waited patiently on her lap.
“I guess I’ll go finish making breakfast,” I said and walked toward the small kitchen. My companion nodded her head in acknowledgment that I had spoken and continued reading without a pause.
I had been in Finland four months. I pulled out a pan to mix our purro (porridge) in and sighed heavily. Because the mission was short on missionaries who had been in the field for very long, the president had had no choice but to make senior companions of fairly new missionaries. And I was one of them.
I remembered back a few weeks ago to the excitement I had felt at the prospect of leaving my first city to go on to a new area as a senior companion. I remembered even more clearly the sick feeling I had experienced as my new companion and I knocked on our first door, and I realized that neither of us understood the language very well; and I was in charge.
That’s what my parents’ card was in response to. I’d written home expressing, mildly, of course, the way I was feeling, and the card was their message of encouragement. No thought-provoking words of wisdom, no sage advice to ponder, not even a quotation from Richard L. Evans. How was I supposed to reach lofty new heights on the words “hang in there”?
I wondered if any other missionaries had parents who were so economical with words. I turned on the stove and began slowly stirring the purro.
The purro began to boil thickly, and its slow bubbling called my attention back to what I was doing. I turned off the stove and called to my companion.
Those four short months in Finland quickly turned into 16, and I found myself on my way home. As I look back now, I remember only vaguely the fear and inadequacy I felt in that new city as a new senior companion (although my journal could tell tales!). What I do remember is the fact that my companion and I hung in there.
We probably weren’t the most successful companionship to ever pack scriptures, pamphlets, filmstrips and a projector onto our bikes to hit the tracting trail, but we did hit it.
And in that city during some of the hardest times of my mission, I learned what it meant to pray, to really pray, and consequently to receive answers to prayers. I learned that we weren’t out there alone and that we could do what we had been called to do.
I hadn’t needed to receive a long discourse from my parents on the at merits of overcoming discouragement and pushing ahead. The card they sent was enough because it served as a reminder to me that sometimes half the battle is just enduring to the end.

In 2008, we had a miscarriage, a baby boy whom we named Daniel (after my husband David’s grandfather). It was one of the most painful experience both physically and emotionally as I had to still give birth to his lifeless body. Through all the crying and the screaming, many thoughts went through my mind of why this happened and what did I do wrong this time. After all, I had already given birth to 2 beautiful baby girls. The recovery was difficult mostly emotionally and mentally, and then physically. After 2 girls, we were praying for a boy but why did Heavenly Father take him back?

President Thomas S. Monson has taught and I quote: “The world can be a challenging and difficult place in which to live. … As you and I go to the holy houses of God, as we remember the covenants we make within, we will be more able to bear every trial and to overcome each temptation. In this sacred sanctuary we will find peace.”

I remember attending the temple quite often with my husband after my recovery. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father in that celestial room to send us another son. If he could only send us another son. My heart will be healed. The very next year, in August 2009, we were blessed with a baby boy, Tetupuariki. As I held him for the first time and looked into his eyes, I was overwhelmed with a very strong feeling that he was Daniel and that Heavenly Father sent him back as a message of his LOVE for us. That he is mindful of our pleas if our hearts desires are righteous.

The temple is that sanctuary of peace. We learn, we listen, we renew our covenants, we contemplate on life’s challenges and how to overcome them but most of all, we find Peace. The moment I walk up those steps, a feeling of calmness overwhelms me and the spirit assures me that Heavenly Father’s presence is there.

Recently I finished serving as the Mission President in Toronto Canada, I resolved I was going to follow Elder Scott's counsel and write down every impression I felt, however small it may be. Those impressions didn't always come when I was sitting at a table with pen in hand. Sometimes they came at the most inconvenient times. One night, I kept getting out of bed to record impressions that had come. Finally my wife said to me, "Why do you keep popping out of bed?" But I had learned a sad lesson from the past—if I waited until the morning I would usually forget the impression. There is an urgency about recording our impressions while we are still in the spirit.

Often, the primary contact inactive members have with the Church is through the home teachers who work under the direction of the bishop and the Melchizedek Priesthood quorum leaders. My interest in this important home-teaching duty began early in my life.
When I was a young man preparing to go on a mission, I had an outstanding bishop. His name was Marion G. Romney, now a member of the First Presidency. In giving my companion and me a home-teaching assignment, Bishop Romney emphasized the importance of being humble and prayerful and of preparing a challenging, spiritual message. He promised us great joy in the opportunities to be found in this home-teaching assignment. We were asked to visit five families, three of whom were inactive. This home-teaching assignment was so important to Bishop Romney that his enthusiasm and concern for it soon became our own. His careful instructions on how to accomplish it were impressive, and we followed carefully his inspired counsel. After a number of visits, all our families, including those who were inactive, became very friendly; and ultimately, all became active members of the Church.
Bishop Romney had made this home-teaching assignment significant for us. He encouraged us to prepare carefully and to be serious about the results of our visits. He helped us to develop the desire and the faith that make the difference. He taught us that dull, mechanical compliance to any assignment dooms it to failure. He brought us to the realization that the first essential factor in successful home teaching to inactives is the home teacher himself. The home teacher’s own preparation, dedication, attitudes, and initiative are crucial.

Growing up in the Church, Karina had dreamed of a temple marriage. But like many teens, she craved acceptance.
She wanted to be beautiful and popular like her older sister. She dreamed of standing out and being admired, but she was afraid of sticking out and being ridiculed. Wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps at the police academy only increased the pressure. Out of 2,000 students, there were only 70 women. She both enjoyed the attention and dreaded it.
In her desire to fit in, she made some poor choices. “The pull of the world was strong,” Karina says. “People around me drank and smoked. They pushed and I gave in. I enjoyed being part of a group that felt so carefree.”
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wasn’t thinking about where her choices would lead as she followed the crowd away from God (see Matthew 7:13–14).
One day a young man she liked said he respected her church’s beliefs.
Ashamed that she wasn’t living those beliefs better, Karina finally stopped to consider the path she was on (see Haggai 1:5–7). She realized that her decisions were leading her away from God, the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and her dream of an eternal family.
The only way to change her direction was to change the decisions she was making each day.1 But she wondered if she was already too far down the wrong path. Was it too late to change?
Karina decided to begin changing by praying and reading the scriptures daily. She started writing in her journal, which helped her recognize Heavenly Father’s help each day. She changed the topic if conversations turned bad.
Her most difficult decision was to choose no friends for a time rather than choosing friends with a negative influence. She began looking for friends with higher standards.
Over the months that followed, the adversary threw doubt and fear in her face at every decision. Sometimes she wondered if the effort to follow the Savior was worth it. Who she wanted to be seemed out of reach.
But as she watched how her parents and others with strong testimonies lived, she learned that there is something more powerful than doubt and fear—she learned that because of repentance, there is hope.
“I saw it was possible to live the right way,” she says. “We aren’t condemned by our mistakes. Heavenly Father has given us the chance to repent and change direction.”
Turning away from her old choices and trying to follow the Savior each day have taught her that Heavenly Father is patient. “He has given me one chance after another to change and become a better person,” she says. “He has helped me through difficult times.”

For something like seven months, I fell away from activity in the Church.
But then I began to carefully read the Liahona (Spanish) and discovered the counsel of the Brethren to be both powerful and convincing.
Based on my own experience, I invite everyone who is not fully active in the Church to read and study the messages in the magazine and in the scriptures. If they do this with humble hearts, their testimonies will become so strong they will have the desire to return to the Church.
Cristino RodríguezIsla PatrullaUruguay

Joseph knew that his salary arrangement with the lumber company would not serve his goals, so he headed for Salt Lake City before he was sixteen. Salt Lake merchants were not accustomed to teenagers expert at shorthand, typing, and office work, but Joseph soon made his way as an employee of the Consolidated Wagon and Machine Company at $25 a month. He was given the most unpleasant job in the company—collecting money owed the company by some of its customers—but his modest and charitable character made him a success, and he became secretary to the general manager of the company. Meanwhile, his shorthand improved rapidly, as his gruff but kindly boss started dictating to him the moment he entered the office. The friendly give-and-take between employer and employee was better than all the shorthand practice in the world. After six years of work in Salt Lake City, Joseph was called to the Swiss-German mission and departed in October 1911. Upon arriving in Zurich, Switzerland, he was overwhelmed at the task that faced him. “I was really quite concerned when I saw those big German sentences across the tops of the shops and so forth,” he recalls. “I wondered how I would ever learn that language.” But he absorbed German rapidly, thanks to “the gift of tongues”—along with much prayer, hard work, tracting, and studying. His companion taught him to speak a new sentence every day: first he learned to say, “Bitte lesen Sie dieses” (Please read this) as he handed tracts to German families. “I had more investigators come out to meetings before I could learn the language than afterwards, I think,” he reflected.

Recently, I had the blessing of meeting Patriarch James R. Boone and his wife Ruth in Jacksonville, Florida. Their odyssey to happiness has come through their faithfulness to the redeeming principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ and in being the parents of thirteen children. Four children—David, Elaine, Melinda, and Martha—presently attend this University and may be in this audience. Brother and Sister Boone’s happiness was not complete with only thirteen children, so they adopted another one—Sammy, now age three, making fourteen. In their Christmas letter of this year, they said of Sammy, number fourteen, “He is very special, this boy.” I was at a conference meeting when Sister Boone was released as president of the stake Relief Society after having served faithfully and well for twelve years. In this family, among the children in one generation, there have been eleven full-time missionaries, and nine of the boys have earned Eagle Scouts, which may be a national record. Patriarch and Sister Boone have great joy and rejoicing in their posterity, who at this point number an even fifty. Time, I am sure, will do much to increase the measure of their joy and rejoicing.

Last January an earthquake in the central mountain region of Colombia left the city of Armenia devastated. Concerned stake presidents called the Area Presidency in Quito to find out what the needs of the members living in Armenia were. The district president confirmed that many Church members had lost their homes and had found shelter in the four undamaged chapels but urgently needed food and clothing. The Relief Society and priesthood leaders swung into action, and donations from members throughout Colombia poured into a designated chapel in each city. Seven-year-old Neidi had come with her parents to the chapel in the city of Cali and watched as Bishop Villareal received donations from members.
“Bishop, how can I help the children in Armenia?”
“Neidi, your parents have already helped.”
She went to the other end of the chapel and observed that little clothing and no shoes for children were being packed. Neidi came back to the bishop with her shoes in her hand. “Now I know how I can help. Please give these shoes to another little girl in Armenia who has lost hers.” Her bare feet made no sound as she slipped away.

She was busy doing her wifely chores at the second floor of their modest home when she heard knocks at the door. Quickly she opened the window to see who was knocking. Quickly she closed. What she saw scared her. Two Americans! What do they want, she thought. “Ask what the Markanos want,” she told her 12-year-old daughter. She heard them ask for her husband. Her husband was at that time at the town public market tending their small grocery store—their only source of livelihood. When she heard the Americans leaving, she half-opened the window and watched them walk away.
Maura T. Miranda is a frail-looking housewife, 43 years old, and married to a loving husband, Cesar Miranda. They have three daughters. They live a stones-throw away from the meeting house of the Biñan Branch. If you visit the Miranda family, one object you will not fail to notice is an oxygen tank. This medical equipment has saved the life of Maura several times. She has been afflicted with asthma for eight years. She had always been in poor health. She tires very easily and when asthma make its insidious attack she would have difficulty in breathing. She would gasp for air. When this happens, her husband would dutifully place a breathing tube to her nose and open the oxygen tank for the much needed life-sustaining oxygen. It has become a most valuable medical aid to her. Often, the attack would last from 3 days to one week. When this happens, her husband is forced to close their little grocery store so he could attend to her and their children. This naturally means a sizeable loss in income for a growing family. On Sundays when she passes by the Branch meeting house she would observe with growing interest a group of happy people. They are friendly, she thought. They always shake hands with each other as if they had only met for the first time. Why do they call each other “brothers and sisters,” she wondered. And yes—they sing beautiful hymns. She was touched. She was moved. They are different, she said to herself. And deep within her heart, the desire to know was born.
One day, her 12-year-old daughter Sterling arrived home with an “American” following her. “I am Elder Urari,” he introduced himself. Pointing at the meeting house, he said, “I live there with my companion. We would like to visit your family tomorrow. Puede ba?” He smiled. Maura Miranda smiled too and answered yes.
The next day Elder Urari arrived with a companion who introduced himself as Elder Canlas. The elders explained the purpose of their visit. They talked about a prophet named Joseph Smith, about the golden plates, about the appearance of two heavenly beings to Joseph, about the falling away and the restoration of the true Church in these latter-days. Her family did not understand. That was the first time they heard those things. But their interest was aroused. Before they left, the Elders gave them a Book of Mormon with the request to “read it and pray about it.”
The Elders continued to teach them. The Miranda family continued to read and pray and listened. All their doubts disappeared. They knew in their hearts they have found that which they have been seeking for—the true Church. They decided to be baptized but then something unexpected came up. A few days before their scheduled baptism, Maura Miranda became ill with flu accompanied by attack of her old tormentor—Asthma. Because of her illness she does not use cold water in taking a bathe for the past eight years. But great was her faith and strong was her desire to be baptized. She prayed and left everything to the Lord. When Elder R. Jensen who took over from Elder Urari, was saying the baptismal prayers, Maura Miranda felt something. It was a warm feeling going all through her body. She knew the Lord answered her prayer. All would be well.
Maura Miranda and her family are now members of the Church. They were baptized February 12, 1977. They are happy. The once frail-looking and sickly housewife is now healthy and full of life. She presently serve as Visiting Teacher in the Relief Society of the Biñan Branch. Her husband serves as the Second Counselor in the Branch Presidency.
Today, if you visit the Miranda home, you will still see the oxygen tank in one corner. It is no longer in use. “Since I joined the Church my asthma never bothered me anymore,” she declared. “When I get sick I turn to my husband. He has the Priesthood. I get a blessing. That’s all I need. I no longer need an oxygen tank.”

Jane’s mother was a wonderful gardener. She could grow beautiful flowers even in a patch of rocky soil. “No matter how tired I get, working in the garden or just looking at a meadow of Maine wildflowers always perks me up,” she had once told Jane.
After Mama got sick, Jane picked flowers for her each day, filling her bedroom with forget-me-nots, daisies, lady’s slippers, and wildflowers of all the colors of the rainbow.
But then autumn came, and there were no more flowers.
“The frost killed the last flowers,” Jane whispered one day as she brought a handful of bright orange and red maple leaves to cheer her mother.
Mama took her hand. “When spring comes, Jane, remember to look at the flowers for me.”
Jane thought that the long Maine winter would never end. The house seemed so cold without Mama. Little Rose and Isaac had been sent away to Aunt Ellen’s. Father was grave and silent.
One day her father said, “Aunt Ellen has found a cousin of your mother’s who can come and keep house for us this spring. If she does, then Rose and Isaac can come home.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kate. Cousin Kate.”
Cousin Kate didn’t look much older than a girl. She was plump and wore her dark red hair in braids piled on top of her head. Rose and Isaac came home. They missed Mama, and so did Jane. But Cousin Kate cuddled Rose and Isaac and made them laugh. Even Papa smiled a little at her funny ways. But Jane still could not laugh.
Finally the beauty of spring touched the world. Mama’s daffodils came up; then the forsythia bushes burst out in bright yellow. There were new leaf buds on the trees. One night Jane caught the sweet scent of lilacs from the bush under her window.
But Jane only wanted to scream and yell at the flowers. How could they be here when Mama was gone?
One morning Kate said, “Jane, we must set about spring cleaning.”
Kate and Jane began a whirlwind of turning over mattresses and shaking out rugs. After the whole house had been cleaned, Kate said, “We haven’t touched your mother’s dresses. Come and help me go through them.”
Reluctantly Jane followed Cousin Kate into her parents’ room. Mama’s dresses still hung in the closet.
“We’ll put some of these dresses aside for you, Jane. Then you’ll have something of hers to wear when you’re grown.”
Kate began to sort through Mama’s dresses. Jane sat on the floor, holding a familiar red wool dress her mother had worn often to church. She felt the tears run down her cheeks and turned toward the window so that Kate wouldn’t see them.
Outside, Papa was just visible near the barn, and Rose and Isaac were playing near the garden. Kate had worked hard in the garden, and it was blooming with the promise of all kinds of flowers and vegetables.
Jane looked down at the dress in her hands. She didn’t want to give it—or any of them—away. They would help her remember Mama during the long, cold winters when there were no flowers. Suddenly she had an idea. “Remember to look at the flowers,” Mama had said. Jane turned to her cousin and said softly, “Kate, could I have one of my mother’s dresses now, before I’m grown?”
Kate stopped and looked at Jane. “These dresses bring her back, do they?”
Jane nodded. “I want to make something to remember her by. I could make a quilt, but I’m not very good at quilting.”
“Did your mama teach you how to make rugs? She made some beautiful ones herself, with appliqué and embroidery.”
“Oh yes! Mama did teach me! I remember she said that if you knew how to make a rug, you could make any house into a home.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Kate, nodding her head. “The red dress you have there would be perfect. Here’s a black wool one too.” She smiled at Jane.
She understands how I feel, thought Jane.
The rug would be made from wool, so it would last. Jane began to plan its design—it must have lots of flowers!
Jane worked on the rug each summer evening. It was big—almost four feet wide and six feet long—perfect for in front of a fireplace or in the kitchen.
She filled the center of the rug with pictures of everything around her that summer: trees, their old cow, birds sitting on their nests in the apple orchard, her father riding his horse to town. She even put in their house, with its two large windows downstairs, four windows upstairs, and two big chimneys. She embroidered a beautiful starflower, and a dozen lovely hearts. In the very center she copied her mother’s favorite vase filled with a bright bouquet.
“You don’t have any more room in the center,” Kate laughed one evening. “Now what will you do for the borders?”
“Vines and more flowers,” Jane said.
“That’s quite a project for an eleven-year-old,” her father observed. “I don’t recall ever seeing anything like it in the whole of Maine.”
“Oh, Papa!”
“Well, in Wiscasset, anyway. It’s sure to win a prize at the Harvest Fair,” he said.
“Jane has put a lot of love and memories into the rug, and it shows,” Cousin Kate agreed.
Jane cut out over one hundred flowers to appliqué around the border. She used her mother’s brightest clothes. She embroidered curving leaves, vines, and flowers trailing up and down the sides of the rug. Each night when she went to bed, she had to shake her hand because her fingers were so tired and sore from holding the needle. But each morning she looked around her more eagerly, wanting to capture the beauty her mother had taught her to see.
Finally it was done. Cousin Kate helped her press it with a warm iron the night before the Harvest Fair.
They took the wagon to the center of Wiscasset to the big churchyard. Quilts and rugs and samplers of all kinds were already displayed.
Jane hesitated.
“Come,” said Cousin Kate, taking her arm. “Let’s enter it.”
“What have we here?” Mrs. Kingsbury asked.
“A rug made by Jane Gove, age eleven,” said Kate proudly, while Jane stood shyly to one side.
In the morning sunlight the bright cloth and the colored threads shone and sparkled on the black wool.
“Why it’s almost like being in a garden! You’re Mary Gove’s oldest, aren’t you? Your mother would be proud!” Mrs. Kingsbury exclaimed.
As they walked around the churchyard, looking at jams and jellies and animals and pumpkins, it was almost like being a family again. Cousin Kate couldn’t ever take Mama’s place, but Jane was glad that she had come to live with them. It was good to see Isaac and Rose laughing again. And Papa seemed to walk with a lighter step. But we haven’t forgotten Mama. She is still in our hearts.
After supper, the winners were announced. After seeing the display of needlework, Jane didn’t really think her rug would win. But suddenly she heard her name!
“For the 1845 Wiscasset Harvest Fair, first prize for needlework, the winner is Miss Jane Gove. This young lady is only eleven years old, but she has created one of the most extraordinary pieces of needlework our judges have ever seen!”
Although Jane grew up and made other rugs for her own family, she always kept this special rug. It stayed in her family for a long time, and finally someone decided that it should be seen by other people as well. It is now recognized as a masterpiece of American folk art and is displayed in the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, California.
As long as she lived, Jane kept the joyful memory of her mother in her heart. And she never forgot to smile each spring when the flowers came back to the gardens and meadows.

It wasn’t easy, but Jon Kirkham, who plays the part of Hyrum Smith in the presentation, says that sometimes the things that require the most sacrifice also become the most valuable.

“I’m so busy with school and everything that lately things have just been nuts. Last week I came home from my job and discovered neither of the cars were home, so I had to ride my bike to the church. It’s about half an hour by bike, but once I got there I didn’t care how tired I was. It’s just incredible being there with everyone and learning about the Prophet and the Church,” says Jon.

As my missionary companion, Elder Platt, and I were walking through a market in the streets of Taichung, Taiwan, we stopped at a main intersection and waited at the red light. Just after stopping, I heard a familiar sound behind us. As several scooters pulled up beside us, I turned to see who we could talk to. At that moment, a distinct impression filled my heart and my mind. No voice was spoken, no words were uttered, but I felt impressed that I needed to talk to the man on the scooter just a few steps to my left.
I moved with a sense of urgency to speak with the man. It felt as if someone was actually pushing me from behind and moving my feet for me. I opened my mouth and asked the man, “Are you having a good day today?” He looked at me and responded that he was having a bad day. At that instant the stoplight turned from red to green, and my heart fell. I was afraid the man would drive away. I had said nothing to him of the Restoration of the true and living Church of Jesus Christ, of the Prophet Joseph Smith, or of the Book of Mormon. I had not even told him the name of the Church.
The people around us began to drive off, but the man did not. He suggested that we move to the side of the road to talk more. I was shocked, but I gratefully complied with his suggestion. At the side of the road, Elder Platt and I shared with him the name of the Church and much more.
A few weeks later, that man, Su Meng-Wei, and his two sons and two daughters were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From that experience, I learned that as we faithfully strive to do the Lord’s work in His way and on His timetable, we are sometimes privileged to witness miracles. The prophet Moroni declared that “God has not ceased to be a God of miracles. Behold, are not the things that God hath wrought marvelous in our eyes?” (Mormon 9:15–16). Miracles can come with the touching of hearts and the changing of lives.
Preach My Gospel contains this promise to missionaries and members of the Church: “The Lord is preparing people to receive you and the restored gospel. He will lead you to them or He will lead them to you. … Such people will recognize that you are the Lord’s servants. They will be willing to act on your message.”1 It was no accident that Elder Platt and I were at that specific stoplight at that exact time.
Heavenly Father knows and loves each of us individually. In no coincidental way, He provides a way for all of us to come to a knowledge of the restored gospel. The Lord was mindful of the challenges and difficulties in Su Meng-Wei’s life. He knew that Su Meng-Wei had recently become unemployed. He knew that contentious words had been spoken in the Su house that morning.
The gospel has brought more peace to the Su family and has strengthened their family relationships. It has helped them find greater happiness and direction in life. They have found the power to face life’s challenges with hope and without fear.
We may not see it at first, but those who have been prepared will recognize that we are the Lord’s servants. They will notice something different about us. They will see goodness and will want to know more about it. As they feel the Holy Ghost, they will be willing to act on our message. Just as this message has touched the hearts and changed the lives of the Su family in Taiwan, so it can and will touch the hearts and change the lives of those we know, wherever in the world we may be.

One day Michelle and I visited a ward while we were on vacation, and we chose to attend a youth Sunday School class that was being taught by two young men who both had mission calls.

One of the young men described to the younger youth in the class the process he had just gone through to apply for his mission by visiting with his bishop and stake president. He described the results of his Christ-centered repentance in this way: “I felt lighter; I felt like myself again.”

Repentance truly is “a joyful choice”22 that is made possible by our Master, Redeemer, Exemplar, Teacher, and Savior.

The importance of this process as a foundation for developing a Christ-centered life was impressed upon me many times when, as a stake president, I interviewed returning missionaries. One interview in particular left an indelible impression on me as a young man shared an experience that had changed his life. This elder had spent two years serving a mission in Mexico. Like many others, his gospel foundation had been somewhat shaky before he entered the missionary training center. But as the interview progressed, I could tell that significant changes had occurred within him.

After a few weeks in the field, this elder had become concerned that he was telling people the Book of Mormon was true and Joseph Smith was a prophet when he didn’t know for himself. How could he assure others when he did not have his own assurance? In discussing the problem with him, his companion challenged him to follow the counsel he was giving investigators: read the Book of Mormon and pray with a sincere heart, with real intent, even if he could only desire to believe.

A month went by and my friend’s feelings did not change. He read parts of the Book of Mormon and prayed daily that he would know the truthfulness of the message, but nothing happened. Two or three more weeks passed. He was obedient in his scripture study, prayers, tracting, and teaching, but he still lacked conviction.

As this missionary and his companion were tracting, they made an appointment to teach a family the next evening. When they arrived home that night, the elder, who, at his companion’s request, had agreed to teach the Joseph Smith story to the new investigators, began reading the Book of Mormon again. He read and prayed and then read some more. He was determined to have an answer before teaching the family. Through most of the night he repeated the pattern of reading and praying. As morning came he was disappointed; no swelling motions, no particular enlightenment or feeling had been received.

He dutifully followed his companion during the day but worried about the evening appointment. When the hour came, they knocked on the door. The husband answered and ushered them into a small home. Sitting on the dirt floor were nine children, and the father joined the mother behind them. Soon it was time for the struggling elder to teach his part of the lesson. He began by describing rather methodically young Joseph’s confusion regarding which church to join and his subsequent prayer on a beautiful spring day in 1820 in a secluded wooded area near his father’s farm.

As the elder reached the point in the story where the Father introduced the Son, saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (JS—H 1:17), a warm feeling began to envelop him, starting in the deep recesses of his soul. Within moments, it had filled his entire being, and he began to cry. He dropped his head in embarrassment. Why was he crying? What were these feelings? He had never felt them before. The feelings were sweet and penetrated his very being. As thoughts rushed through his mind, he realized he knew that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph, that the Book of Mormon was true, and that the gospel had been restored. Regaining control of his emotions, he looked up at the father and mother. Tears were streaming down their faces! They were feeling the same powerful influence of the Spirit he was feeling. He looked at the children. They, too, had tears in their eyes. The Spirit had borne witness to them of the truthfulness of his words. He continued the story and finished with a humble witness that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph.

As this elder concluded telling me his story, he said, “President, I never had a problem teaching people after that. I knew the gospel was true, for I knew the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph Smith. I knew why I was in the mission field.”

As I listened, the Holy Spirit bore witness of the extraordinary missionary the young elder had become. I thought of how efficient Heavenly Father is. The father, the mother, the nine children, and the young missionary were all converted that evening. Twelve were converted that night, whereas only one would have been converted the night before. Moreover, the test required for a witness had been completed. The missionary had been obedient to his companion and to his mission president. He had exerted his desire to believe, and he had acted on that belief. And he now had a more sure hope through the witness of the Spirit!

Today is the 47th anniversary day of my baptism in 1962. One small high school boy was introduced to the Church by his classmate. I did not know much about the gospel and church when I was baptized but I developed the testimony and faith in Jesus Christ and became to like the Gospel. I have been blessed in so many ways except for my physical height. It was not a problem at all because still I was able to marry a beautiful woman who is taller than me and now my wife. I love this gospel because it always gives me hope and helps me get the positive thinking and attitude. I always try to serve “with an eye single to the glory of God.” I like this scripture, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” And I testify that this is a true word of God.