Gospel Story Finder

As we’ve tried to implement our plan, we are learning that inviting the influence of the Holy Ghost into our family discussions will take practice and time. But we refuse to get discouraged or give up. Just the other night, our 10-year-old daughter, prompted by a verse from the Book of Mormon we were reading as a family, asked in sweet sincerity, “How do you learn by the Holy Ghost?” I smiled. I knew we were getting somewhere!

The role of bishop holds special significance for Elder Stevenson. “When I was 12, my father was called as bishop,” he recalls. “The ward had many widows, and Dad would often take me along when he ministered to them. He would have me take care of the garbage cans, clean up something in the house, or get my friends to join me in raking leaves or shoveling snow. When we left, I always felt good inside. Visiting the widows helped me realize that part of what bishops do is minister to people one on one. The bishops of the Church are my heroes.”

The other story I should like to tell is about another prodigal son in similar circumstances who also became involved with companions who persuaded him to leave home and family for the so-called freedom from the shackles of what they call “the establishment.” He too went the whole route—alcohol, tobacco, drugs, immorality.

The difference is between the endings of these stories. Something deep within kept the boy in touch with his family. Something stirred his memory of the teachings learned in his youth, and as his family strained to the breaking point to reach out and express their love on those occasions when he made contact with them, he eventually reluctantly consented to attend a family reunion, which was being held during one of his trips home. Unshaven, unkempt, long hair and all, he went.

Although disapproving, the family extended their welcome and their love. The boy felt their deep affection and knew that this was better than the superficial expressions of friendship from his other associates. He later accompanied his family to church and there met a sweet, young girl who showed an interest in him. Soon he was bathed, shaved, properly groomed, and living as he should.

It is honoring one’s parents and conforming to the standards of decency of a well-ordered and God-fearing society that will keep one from wandering into some of the forbidden paths. Generally speaking, we behave in accordance with the way we look and speak. If we want to be a part of a clean, refined group or organization, then we must accept their rules and standards.

A woman I’ll call Megan shared a poignant experience she had shortly after her husband announced his desire for a divorce. Recalling one Sunday when she was sitting in sacrament meeting, Megan said, “I hadn’t anticipated how awkward and painful it would be to sit there in church, pretending that everything was OK when inside my heart was breaking and my stomach was churning. The thoughts in my mind seemed to be on a continual loop of pleadings with the Lord: ‘What am I going to do? How can I be a single parent and provide the kind of life I want for my kids?’”

On that occasion Megan’s answer came in the closing hymn—“How Firm a Foundation.”11 As she heard the lyrics “As thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be,” her heart felt peace. To succor means to “run to support; … to help or relieve when in difficulty, want or distress; to assist and deliver from suffering.”12 Megan realized that even in her circumstances, she could turn to Christ and He would come to her aid. When we go through excruciating trials, even to the point of feeling abandoned by God, Christ will empathize with and succor us because He has experienced that very feeling.

My most recent Wake-Up Call came in 2004 when I had, what I thought was a strained muscle near my clavicle. After I went through the various tests and felt good about everything, the doctor entered the room. He was very direct. His exact words were: "The results are positive; you have multiple myeloma; there is no cure, and you're going to die in 3-5 years." I was speechless and didn't dare look at my wife. I thought to myself: "That's not your call." However, after going through radiation, chemotherapy, and finally a complete stem cell transplant at the Huntsman Cancer Center my eyes have again been opened and I realize how short mortality is, how fragile it is, and how easy it is to forget who is in charge. There is a "time appointed for us" in mortality. We can't afford to waste time. We must strive to understand the Atonement and live worthy so that Our Savior can say: "Father, "spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life."[23]

I felt that I had an understanding of the Atonement after serving as a missionary and a mission president, and after memorizing several scriptures about the Atonement. However, as I went through those harsh days during the stem cell transplant procedure with my temperature approaching 104, and the mucous lining of my mouth, throat, stomach, and intestine being destroyed from the chemo injections, I gained a deeper appreciation and understanding of the spiritual, physical, and emotional sides of the Atonement. The pain was unbearable. I pleaded with the Lord during those long painful days and I received, what I believe, is extended time. How long is that time? It really doesn't matter!

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

I had been preparing to be a Buddhist nun. But everything changed in December 1985, when I was converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ and was baptized a member of the Church.
I began working as a delivery driver for a catering company. Such a routine job may sound boring, but I enjoyed the opportunity it gave me to share the gospel and make new friends.
Strangely, it seemed that almost every customer had something to say about religion at one time or another. But I never told them I was a Latter-day Saint unless they asked about my church. Once in a while I made arrangements to visit with customers after work to tell them more about the Church.
Most of my customers were at home when I made my deliveries. But if no one was there, I left a note with the deliveries. One customer who was never home when I called was Mrs. Ueki. She began to respond to my notes, and I looked forward to receiving her heartwarming message every day. Although I had never seen her, I gave her the nickname of “Ducky.” She responded by nicknaming me “Rooster.”
About this time, I was preparing for my mission call to Hokkaido, Japan. In the middle of March, I wrote Ducky to tell her I was going out of town, but I didn’t tell her why. I didn’t want her to feel I had become her friend just to baptize her. I sincerely wished to continue our friendship.
But after many humble prayers, I finally decided to write Ducky and tell her I was a Latter-day Saint. I wanted her to know why I had joined the Church and why I was going to Hokkaido for eighteen months. The next day, I left her the letter along with two missionary brochures, The Purpose of Life and The Testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Two weeks after I arrived at Asahikawa, Hokkaido, I received a letter from Ducky. As soon as I opened it, I recognized the beautiful, familiar handwriting: “Dear Rooster, How have you been? How is life treating you? Are the people there nice to you? I hope you are not having any trouble. Do you eat well? I am concerned about your well being.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Following her opening greetings there was a space of a few lines, and then she began a new letter. This time she addressed me, surprisingly, as “Sister Iwasaki.”
“You left me the brochures on your last delivery. I had always told my friends that I was looking for the true church. After I finished your letter, I browsed through the brochures, and my heart became full. I asked myself, ‘Is this what I have been searching for?’
“I also wanted to know why you chose this church, so on the same day, I called the Osaka Mission Home in Hirakata. We set a date for my first appointment with the missionaries on April 9, which was followed by more visits on April 12 and 16 and on May 2.”
I was elated!
We corresponded with each other for six months, and I could sense her testimony growing over that time. On November 13, when I walked into the chapel, a member told me that there was a package for me. On the package was written “For Your Birthday.” It was from Ducky. Inside was a letter in which she wrote:
“Dear Rooster, I’m sorry I haven’t written to you earlier. Last Friday, my oldest son, Junya, who is eight years old, finished the last missionary discussion. Yesterday he was interviewed for baptism. Guess when the date of our baptismal service is? We could have set it earlier, but we planned it for November 27. Do you know why? Because it’s your birthday!”
That was the best birthday ever—knowing that Ducky and Junya were being baptized. My friends back home attended the baptismal service in my behalf.
I thank God for using me as his tool to help lead Sister Ueki and her family to the gospel.

On Sunday I noticed that the building his church met in was clean and beautiful. I felt something different there. I was met by a person who shook my hand and even put his arm around me, telling me he was happy to see me. I felt good, even though I was a bit shy and nervous. This brother took me to a class for investigators.
After the lesson two young women introduced themselves as full-time missionaries. They asked if they could visit me at my home. I quickly told them I was busy and started giving them excuses. But they still asked me to tell them when I was available, and I responded that I was available early Monday morning. I said they could come but only if they wanted to come at 4:00 A.M.
To my surprise, they looked at each other and said, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” Then I insisted that it was hard to reach my family’s house, that it was located in the middle of a fishpond, that we had a lot of dogs. I told them they would have a hard time getting there. But they said again, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” After I left, I forgot all about our appointment because I didn’t believe they would be coming.
Early Monday morning I was surprised to hear the dogs barking and a voice calling, “Brother Solomon! Brother Solomon!” I looked out the window, and I started to feel differently about the missionaries. I felt a confirmation that they were true servants of God. I invited them in and listened to their message. After a while I told them to come every day with a lesson, which they did. They taught me until I was prepared for baptism.

That evening I also felt I was walking with my eternal companion, and as you know we did get married. But it wasn't easy. After we were engaged, we faced some very strong opposition from my family and also the fiery darts of doubt and fear. It is not hard to understand why. I knew I was supposed to go back to Harvard; but that meant moving to Boston, and Sue was really afraid of living in Boston. I knew a few people there, but Sue knew not a soul. She had never lived in a place bigger than Provo, and the prospect of living and working in the Boston area filled her with fear. I, too, had doubts if this was all going to work.
My family thought I was rushing things and not thinking straight about all that we would face. Sue had graduated from BYU, but I still had three years of undergraduate work left and probably more years of graduate school. I had only been home from my mission for a few months, and Sue and I had only known each other for a few weeks. We had no money, no place to live in Boston, and no jobs there.
It was a hard time. There are two scriptures—one from Doctrine and Covenants, section 78, and one from Hebrews, chapter 10—that capture our experience very well. I am going to read them together as though they were one. They have been a great inspiration to us ever since.
As I sat here this afternoon and thought about reading these scriptures to you, I received a very clear impression from the Lord that I should tell you that this passage I am going to read to you is for you. This is the word of the Lord for you.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you;
And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.[38]
Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward.
For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.[39]
Sue and I faced fiery darts, but our grip on the iron rod was firm and the shield of faith quenched the fear and the doubt. We knew what we felt. We had faith in Christ, and we moved forward. We were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on June 14, 1971, and shortly thereafter set off for Boston. I told Sue that we would move back to the West in three years. Thirty-four years and seven children later I made good on my promise; we moved to Rexburg in 2005.

Jason Smyth, a member of the Londonderry Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, never dreamed of becoming a star athlete. In fact, the Northern Ireland teen always considered himself an average sportsman, perhaps even more so because he suffers from Stargardt’s disease, a hereditary condition that has destroyed all but his peripheral vision.
However, at 16, Jason’s hidden talent emerged and a PE teacher encouraged him to attend a sprinting training day. Eighteen months later Jason qualified for the Junior Commonwealth Games in Australia. The competition would be a turning point in his life.
“It was there I began to understand and realize what this was all about. For training so little and to qualify already, I just kind of thought I would like to make a career out of this,” says Jason.
Now, three years later, Jason has made quite the career. He has won the 100m and 200m races at both the 2006 Paralympic Games in Holland and the 2005 European Paralympic Championships in Finland, setting record times for both races in each competition. He also holds the Junior Irish record times for the 60m (6.91 seconds) and the 100m (10.61 seconds) races.
Despite such success, as a 19-year-old, Jason heeded the prophet’s counsel and applied to serve a mission. But, because of his visual impairment, his application was denied. Jason graciously accepted the decision and also accepted a new challenge: to find other ways to serve.
Jason’s success as a sprinter has opened less conventional forms of missionary work.
“I now have an opportunity to be a missionary in a different way—through sprinting,” says Jason.
He has found that rather than knocking on doors, he can bring the Church out of obscurity by sprinting past finish lines and setting new records, all the while setting a good example.
Already, Jason’s success has created a buzz as others find out about the Mormon sprinter who doesn’t train on Sundays and also abstains from tea, coffee, alcohol, and drugs.
His success has made him the subject of several media-related publications—including Ireland’s biggest newspaper. Many mention his Mormon lifestyle.
“When they get to know me, they know the way I live my life is different,” Jason says.
Jason competes in both outdoor and indoor competitions, so he trains virtually all year. His practices usually last up to two hours and are twice a day.
Then there’s the travel. In the last three years, Jason has visited countries such as China, Finland, Portugal, Sweden, Holland, and Hungary. Last spring he spent time training at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
With increased success, doors continue to open for Jason. Last year he received an Irish Sport Grant, which enabled him to employ a full-time coach and secure sponsorships.
With each success, Jason has to give more time and energy. He understands what is expected of him. “It is my career,” he says.
Though training and racing keep him busy, Jason makes sure that his free time is reserved for his family, which Jason says is the root of his success.
“My family had a big part to play in the start. They encouraged me to keep up sprinting and see how I do. They take me to training and watch me race,” he says.
In addition, Jason also finds strength in the Church.
Although the Church is relatively small in Northern Ireland, Jason has inherited Irish pioneer heritage. His grandparents were baptized in Ireland in 1957, and his parents have remained strong in their membership.
Jason continues to build on this heritage. Even though he was the only member in his school, he graduated from seminary through independent study. He also finds time to serve as a branch missionary.
He credits his strong testimony of the gospel to his family, especially his parents.
“My parents taught us by example the way to live our lives,” he says.
Jason also mentioned that attending Church activities and socializing with friends who lived the same principles are another source of strength for him. “People at my branch are very supportive of me,” Jason says. “They like seeing me do well.”
As for his future, Jason’s long-term goal is to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012. But for now, Jason just wants to secure a second consecutive championship at the 2008 Paralympics in Beijing and to qualify for the Under-23 Championships in Hungary this July.
Jason says that one of his greatest achievements so far is making a life out of something he enjoys. He has learned to be self-sufficient and feels he has matured through his experiences.
“Being able to travel the world and getting paid to run—for me, nothing is better,” he says.
For Jason, the experience has been a powerful lesson that with a lot of hard work and dedication, anyone can achieve their dreams. “You just have to work hard if you really want it—and enjoy it as well,” he says.
For more on serving despite challenges, read “Determined to Serve,” New Era, Mar. 2007, p. 48.

Kathy looked out her bedroom window at the deep snow piled high against the barn and the fences. Her father had shoveled a narrow path from the house to the barn, and she could see him now struggling to open the heavy barn door against the wind so he could get inside to feed the animals.
Kathy sighed as she thought, Why couldn’t this big snowstorm have waited a few days, or why didn’t I see the picture of the beautiful shawl a few weeks earlier?
She wanted the shawl for a Christmas present for Grandmother, who was a dear companion to Kathy. Grandmother was always so gentle and kind and full of laughter that she made life fun. But lately, Grandmother couldn’t seem to keep warm. She would say, “Is there a door open somewhere?” or “I feel cold across my shoulders.”
Early in the fall Kathy decided to knit Grandmother a lap robe for Christmas. With Mother’s help, she had already gotten a good start on it. Then, as she was looking through the mail-order catalog one day, she saw the shawl. It was white and lacy and edged with long fringe. It was the most beautiful one she had ever seen.
That’s what I’m going to give Grandmother for Christmas, thought Kathy. It’s much prettier than the lap robe I’m making, and she can wear the shawl to parties or to church or just around the house.
Quickly Kathy checked the price and then counted the money she had tucked away in her top dresser drawer. But she didn’t have quite enough!
What can I do? thought Kathy. Christmas is only a month away. Then Kathy remembered that Mrs. Taylor owed her some money for babysitting.
Happily, Kathy picked up the catalog and slipped into the kitchen to see what Mother thought about this gift for Grandmother.
“It’s a lovely idea,” said Mother. “However, I think Grandmother would be just as happy with a lap robe that you made yourself. But if you decide on the shawl, have your order ready tomorrow and I’ll stop at the post office when I’m in town.”
Before going to bed that night Kathy spread the unfinished lap robe on her bed and placed the picture of the shawl beside it. As she looked at them both, she thought. The lap robe is pretty and it wouldn’t take me too long to finish it, but the shawl is beautiful. Grandmother would love it. I must get her the shawl.
So Kathy folded the unfinished lap robe and tucked it into her knitting bag. The next day she filled out an order for the shawl, and her mother mailed it when she went to town.
Now, it was just four days before Christmas and, although the postmistress had called to say the shawl had arrived, Kathy couldn’t pick it up because the drifting snows had closed the only road into town.
Tears filled Kathy’s eyes as she watched her father push through the storm on his way toward the house. I won’t be able to pick up the shawl until after Christmas the way the snow is piling up now, she thought unhappily.
Just then, Mother opened the bedroom door. “Kathy, I know you’re terribly disappointed about the shawl, but how much do you have left to do on the lap robe?”
“I could never finish the lap robe by Christmas, Mother,” answered Kathy, trying hard to hold back the tears. “Oh why won’t it stop snowing!” she fumed.
“Darling, we can’t do anything about the snow,” said Mother patiently, “but we can do something about the lap robe. Let’s see how much you have left to do.”
Kathy got out her knitting bag and laid the unfinished lap robe and the loose knitted squares on the bed. “Mother,” she sighed, “I just can’t finish it. I don’t even have all the squares done. Christmas is just four days away and we have so many other things to do.”
“I think we have time,” said Mother.
“Time for what?” asked nine-year-old Becky, poking her head through the doorway.
“To finish Grandmother’s lap robe before Christmas,” answered Mother.
“I can help,” offered Becky. “I could knit a square for you. The coin purse I knitted last summer looked good, didn’t it, Mother? And I could do your share of the dishes so you’d have more time to knit.”
“Oh, Becky,” exclaimed Kathy, “you’re a dear! Thank you.”
“How many more squares do you need?” asked Mother.
“I’ll need ten more,” Kathy counted, “besides this half-finished one. Then the squares need to be sewn onto the others, and an edge crocheted. We might as well forget it!”
“Well, let’s see,” said Mother, ignoring Kathy’s last remark. “I could finish sewing the squares together. Becky could finish the square you’ve started and then help you with the new squares.”
So as soon as Grandmother went to bed that night, out came the yarn and needles.
Kathy knit.
Becky knit.
Mother sewed.
Clickety-clickety-clickety went the knitting needles.
Daddy said, “What’s going on? I never saw such busy fingers. I guess if I’m going to belong to this family I’ll have to get me some knitting needles too!”
Becky, Mother, and Kathy just smiled and kept on working and as each square was finished it disappeared into Mother’s bedroom to be added to the other squares.
The next evening all the squares were finished. While Kathy crocheted on the edge of the lap robe, Mother sewed the last square onto the other end, and Becky stood watch at the door so Grandmother wouldn’t suddenly pop in to see what was going on.
The next day Kathy crocheted every spare moment she had. She excused herself quickly from the table before anyone else was through with lunch. Grandmother commented, “My goodness, Kathy, you’ve been in such a hurry all day that you’ve barely taken time to eat.”
“Just finishing up a few odds and ends, Grandmother,” said Kathy with a smile. “There’s lots to do at the last minute.”
“Maybe I could help,” volunteered Grandmother.
“Thank you, Grandmother, but with Mother and Becky’s help I’m just about finished,” Kathy said, patting Grandmother’s cheek.
As Kathy left the room to go back to her crocheting, Becky winked at Mother and hurried to her room.
Just as the big hall clock struck five, Kathy’s bedroom door opened. “Almost through?” questioned Mother.
“Almost,” Kathy responded.
The next thing Kathy heard was, “Time for dinner. Are you going to make it?” said Daddy, popping his head into the room.
“Yes, I only have three inches to go.”
“Come and eat,” Dad said. “You’ll need some strength to finish those three inches.”
After dinner Kathy hurried back to her room. Soon the lacy edge was finished, the yarn cut and tied, and the lap robe spread smoothly on her bed.
Why it’s really pretty, thought Kathy in amazement. It looks like Grandmother’s flower garden. It’s almost as beautiful as the shawl!
Just then Mother and Becky came into Kathy’s room.
“It’s lovely!” exclaimed Mother.
“Gorgeous!” added Becky.
“And finished!” said Kathy.
“Hurry and get it wrapped,” said Becky. “It’s almost time for our Christmas Eve program and we need you to play for our carols.”
Once again Kathy looked out her bedroom window. During the day, fresh snow had fallen. It was a soft, sparkling snow that seemed to reflect the light of a thousand stars that twinkled in the faraway heavens.
Kathy thought for a moment of helpful little Becky who hated to do dishes, yet had done her own share and Kathy’s too for four days. She thought of Mother and Daddy—all so loving, so understanding, so helpful. Then, brimming with love and happiness, Kathy picked up Grandmother’s gift, wrapped it in bright Christmas paper, and hurried into the living room to join the family.

These two women did exactly that, and I want to share their stories with you as a way of inspiring you to reach a little higher.
I imagine you've all read or heard at least a little about the woman on the left. This is Helen Keller. Helen was deaf and blind but became a great humanitarian around the world, traveling and giving speeches about everything from her history to human rights. When Helen was just a toddler, she contracted a raging fever. The doctors of the time diagnosed this as "acute congestion of the stomach and brain" but, whatever it was, it robbed this previously healthy child of both her sight and her hearing. Her parents were heartbroken at what had happened to their darling baby girl. Incredibly, though, no one could take Helen's determination and will away from her, and, by the time she was eleven years old, she could position her hand with her middle finger on a person's nose, her forefinger on their lips, and her thumb on their throat and thereby understand what they were saying, all without hearing any sound from their throat or seeing any movement from their mouths.[7]
Helen went on to attend and graduate from Radcliffe University, the top women's university of her day. Referring to her preparation to attend Radcliffe, one of her tutors commented that "her ambition and her confidence in her own power to master whatever she has once undertaken are two of her most marked traits of mind."[8] This same tutor, on learning she had passed the rigorous entrance exams, called her accomplishment "a triumph of ambition stimulated by obstacles."[9]
And Helen herself said, just prior to her graduation, "There is nothing good or right which we cannot accomplish if we have the will to strive."[10] Helen Keller obviously possessed that will, that "absolute sense of mission", required to overcome her obstacles and achieve excellence.
But she didn't accomplish these things alone. The other woman in the picture, on the right, is her teacher, Anne Sullivan. And Annie's story and achievements are every bit as remarkable as Helen's. Annie was the daughter of two penniless Irish immigrants. Annie and her younger brother, Jimmie, both suffered with disabilities: Annie was half blind from an eye disease, and Jimmie walked with a crutch because of a tubercular hip. When Annie was ten, her mother died, leaving her alcoholic and abusive father to care for the two children. Within a year, the two children were sent to the poorhouse in their small Massachusetts town. Living in the Tewksbury Poorhouse was a nightmare. There were rumors around town that the only thing the children had to play with there were the rats.
Annie and Jimmie clung tightly to each other. They were all they had in the world. Annie refused to allow them to be separated, as was the practice, so they were given a small bed to sleep in back in a dark corner next to what the residents called "the deadhouse," the place where the bodies of those who died were kept while awaiting burial. This frightened the two children horribly but, as long as they were together, they would be alright. However, tragedy struck within about a year and Jimmie died one night from complications of a high fever. By the time Annie awoke, his body was gone, taken to "the deadhouse," and she was alone.
Somehow, Annie survived the next few years by herself. Then one day, by sheer persistence and determination, she was able to convince a visiting authority that he should help her escape her awful fate and go to school. She succeeded and, within a year, found herself recovering from two eye surgeries and beginning school at the Perkins School for the Blind. At first, her schooling was even worse than life at the poorhouse. The students, and even the teachers, laughed at this 14-year-old who couldn't even spell her own name. She recorded that she was actually "homesick" for Tewksbury!
But again, her persistence and determination paid off, and, a few years later, she graduated as the top student in her class. But her degree was certainly not the end of her pursuit of excellence. When she was 20 years old, a professor from Perkins asked if she would go and teach a poor handicapped child named Helen Keller. When Annie heard of Helen's circumstances, she was positive she could not be of any use to her. She had no experience teaching a deaf or blind student, and certainly not one who was both! Fortunately for both of them, though, Annie needed the money so desperately that she took the job.
A short while after moving in with the Kellers, she wrote a letter to Mrs. Hopkins, back at the Perkins School. In it, she summarized her feelings at that point about helping Helen.
"Something within me tells me that I shall succeed beyond my dreams . . . I know that [Helen] has remarkable powers, and I believe that I shall be able to develop and mold them. I cannot tell how I know these things. I had no idea a short time ago how to go to work; I was feeling about in the dark, but somehow I know now, and I know that I know."[11]
It wasn't long before Annie was able to break through Helen's dark, silent world, through a teaching method solely of her own creation. Twenty years later, after earning a college degree with honors, Helen spoke to a fascinated audience, saying, "The doors of the bright world are flung open before me and a light shines upon me, the light kindled by the thought that there is something for me to do beyond the threshold."[12]
Both Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan had so many doors closed to them but their desires to excel opened those doors and allowed them to step over and beyond those thresholds. Each of them was able to accomplish far more than anyone would have ever thought possible. Each of them literally changed the world.

She studied elementary education at Brigham Young University and minored in Spanish. During a class trip to Mexico, she met Jorge Dennis, and the two began corresponding.
When he moved to Salt Lake City a year later to study English, they began dating. Within a few months, they were engaged. They married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 4, 1980. They have four children and nine grandchildren. They live in Bountiful, Utah.

When my wife and I were serving in the Europe East Area Presidency living in Moscow, Russia during the COVID-19 period, we had more time to ourselves than before. Not knowing what more could happen during this crazy time, we made sure we had some extra food in our home that would last us for several months. Part of this modest storage was chocolate, and especially these Merci boxes with small sticks of many different flavors. They were often on sale in the supermarket close to our home, so we stocked up!
At the end of each day, that usually would be filled with Zoom meetings, we would play a few games of Skip-Bo and eat some of the chocolate. We quickly learned that we needed to bridle our passions and restrict ourselves to just a few sticks of chocolate instead of eating the whole box.

While the Saints with Brigham were leaving Sugar Creek, forty-three-year-old Louisa Pratt remained in Nauvoo, preparing to leave the city with her four young daughters. Three years earlier, the Lord had called her husband, Addison, on a mission to the Pacific Islands. Since then, unreliable mail service between Nauvoo and Tubuai, the island in French Polynesia where Addison was serving, had made it hard to stay in contact with him. Most of his letters were several months old when they arrived, and some were older than a year.

Addison’s latest letter made it clear that he would not be home in time to go west with her. The Twelve had instructed him to remain in the Pacific Islands until they called him home or sent missionaries to replace him. At one point, Brigham had hoped to send more missionaries to the islands after the Saints received the endowment, but the exodus from Nauvoo had postponed that plan.9

Louisa was willing to make the journey without her husband, but thinking about it made her nervous. She hated to leave Nauvoo and the temple and did not relish the idea of traveling by wagon over the Rocky Mountains. She also wanted to see her aging parents in Canada—possibly for the last time—before going west.

If she sold her ox team, she could get enough money to visit her parents and book passage for her family on a ship bound for the California coast, thus avoiding overland travel altogether.

Louisa had almost made up her mind to go to Canada, but something did not feel right. She decided to write to Brigham Young about her concerns with overland travel and her desire to see her parents.

“If you say the ox team expedition is the best way for salvation, then I shall engage in it heart and hand,” she wrote, “and I believe I can stand it as long without grumbling as any other woman.”10

A short time later, a messenger arrived with Brigham’s response. “Come on. The ox team salvation is the safest way,” he told her. “Brother Pratt will meet us in the wilderness where we locate, and he will be sorely disappointed if his family is not with us.”

Louisa considered the counsel, steeled her heart against the difficult trail ahead, and decided to follow the main body of the Saints, come life or death.11

When I was a mission president in South Africa in 2005, I felt a very strong prompting by the Spirit to move our Norwegian missionary, Elder Joseph Henriksen, all the way across the mission—in between normal transfer dates—to replace a missionary who needed to have surgery. I had just interviewed Elder Henriksen in Queenstown, a two-hour flight plus a two-hour drive away from Cape Town, and on the flight home the Spirit kept telling me that he was the one who needed to move into the Strand Branch and replace the elder needing surgery.
As soon as we returned to the mission home, I called Elder Henriksen and asked him to pack his bags. . . . We picked him up [the next day] and talked to him about his new area, where they hadn’t had a baptism for 18 months. I explained to Elder Henriksen that he was the one the Lord had selected to be there and to make a difference in that branch. We introduced him to his new companion, who drove him another hour to Strand, a beautiful beach area on the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 miles south of Cape Town.
The first week in his new area, Elder Henriksen was thumbing through the area book and found a referral that hadn’t been contacted in the seaside town of Hermanus, another hour south of Strand, but in their assigned area. There was a small branch in Hermanus with about twenty active members, but he and his companion were the closest missionaries. Not wanting to waste time, but feeling prompted to contact the referral, he and his companion looked up the addresses of all the members in Hermanus so they could visit them as well as contacting the referral. Then they set aside a day to visit Hermanus.
When that day came, Elder Henriksen and his companion taught a first lesson in the home they were referred to, then began visiting the members. They knocked on the door of a member lady who expressed great surprise at seeing elders at her door. “I didn’t think we had missionaries in Hermanus anymore!” she exclaimed. Then she told them it was the greatest day of her life. She had just received in the mail a 300-year history of her ancestors. She was excited to be able to do temple work for hundreds of family members who had gone on before. Then she told them that her only problem was that she couldn’t understand any of it because it was written in Norwegian.
Elder Henriksen looked at her, smiled and said, “I’m Norwegian!” What a tender mercy for the Lord to inspire a mission president to suddenly transfer the only Norwegian missionary on the African continent to the area where this dear sister lived and needed a Norwegian translator. While he served there, he was able to visit her once a week and complete the translation. This experience strengthened the faith of everyone involved.

6 a.m. is not a time that many youth see on a Saturday morning, but in October 2023 Merthyr Tydfil Stake President, Simon Hayes, felt to invite the rising generation to hike Pen-y-Fan in the Brecon Beacons, the highest point in the stake, to start stake conference weekend. The aim was to be at the top to see the sunrise and give a prayer of dedication to the work in the area. When the invitation was given, the Stake Presidency expected maybe a handful of youth to take them up on the offer, but to their surprise over 70 young people arrived – in the dark – at the car park at the bottom of the mountain. The view was hampered by the Welsh weather: mist and drizzle blurred the sunrise. But it didn’t dampen the spirits of the youth. After the dedicatory prayer, the youth and their leaders descended for a breakfast and testimony meeting at the stake centre. The youth spoke of the feeling of the Spirit that came as they spent time in nature and fellowshipped with friends.

By the time my companion and I started teaching Corina Aguilar, she had already expressed a desire to come to church. After learning about the Restoration of the gospel and reading and praying about the Book of Mormon, she felt that the Church was true. There was just one thing holding her back: her husband, Manuel.
Corina would not attend church by herself—she was determined that her entire family learn about the gospel together. However, Manuel was busy working long hours, and when he came home, the last thing he wanted to do was listen to a couple of missionaries.
Corina began praying that Manuel would have a desire to meet with us, but weeks passed with no change in his attitude. Then, one day at the end of a lesson, Corina asked us about fasting. We were late for another appointment, so we briefly explained that when we fast, we go without food or drink for two consecutive meals. During that time we pray to Heavenly Father for help and guidance for ourselves or for others. With a promise that we would teach her more during our next visit, we hurriedly left.
A few days later we visited Corina again. During the lesson she surprised us when she said sadly, “I don’t think I can fast.” She explained that since our last visit, she had been fasting. She would go through the day without breakfast or lunch and would then eat dinner. Following that meal, she would start again, not eating anything until the next day’s dinner. This pattern continued for three days. “I tried really hard,” she told us, “but it was so difficult.”
Amazed at her faith, we quickly explained that normally a person fasts for only one day. Then, curious to know the motive for such sacrifice, we asked, “Corina, can we ask what you were fasting for?”
“For my husband,” she responded.
We were impressed by her desire to follow the commandments of the Lord and seek blessings for her family. Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Often when we fast, our righteous prayers and petitions have greater power.”1 So it was with Corina. The next week Manuel agreed to meet with us. Although skeptical, after learning about the plan of salvation, he too began to pray and even kept a copy of the Book of Mormon in his truck to read during his break at work. Eventually Corina, Manuel, and their three children began attending church together.

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”

Teresa’s sixth birthday was just about over, and as darkness settled slowly over the elm grove and the weedy fencerows, all the insect fiddlers began to tune up for their nightly concert. Teresa listened to their raspy music as she stood by the window of her bedroom, her long blond hair braided neatly to keep it from becoming tangled while she slept.
Being six was a wonderful thing, for tomorrow she would start school, and soon she would know all the town children. But for a moment Teresa wished that she could reach out and hold this day forever in her arms.
Sighing deeply, she turned toward her bed. Her bare feet made no sound as she walked across the worn carpet. But the corn-shuck mattress was very noisy when she slid between the snowy white sheets and made a nest for herself.
The thought of going to school was exciting. There she would learn to read the words to all the songs in the world. Then, when she grew up, she would sing in four languages, like Grandmother Hildah, whose picture rested on the mantel above the fireplace.
Teresa had never seen Grandmother Hildah because Papa and Mama had left Germany, where her grandmother had lived, before Teresa was born. But Mama had a phonograph record of Grandmother’s lilting voice, and some day, Mama said, Teresa would sing like that.
All summer long Teresa had practiced. On sunny days, after the eggs were gathered, she loved to squat like a small brown toad, half-hidden in the elderberry thicket, and listen to the trills of the meadowlarks or the mockingbirds. Then she sang the notes as best she could, adding words as they came to her mind.
In the evenings, while she drove the cow up the long, shady lane and past the row of trumpet vines, Teresa would listen as the crickets and the katydids sawed on their fiddles. Then she would join in their tune.
Once when she heard Teresa singing, Mama said to Papa, “Our daughter sings like Grandmother Hildah already.”
Papa had arched his dark eyebrows. “So!” he said. “In which of the four languages did our daughter sing today?”
Teresa had squealed with laughter and hugged Papa, for she knew that he was teasing.
Now, as she lay snuggled in her warm bed, sleep was slow in coming for Teresa. Outside, the insects were filling the night with their music, almost as if they were afraid dawn might catch them with their songs unfinished.
Morning came rosy pink. Teresa could hardly eat her breakfast or stand still long enough for Mama to comb her hair. Her fingers were all thumbs as she tried to button the new birthday dress that Aunt Gertrude had sent all the way from Pennsylvania.
Papa took Teresa to school on his way to his blacksmith shop, and he introduced her to the teacher, Miss Marcy. When the bell rang, Miss Marcy introduced Teresa to the class. “Most of you know each other already,” she said. “This is Teresa Gruenwahl, children. Her parents came from Germany; let’s make her feel welcome.”
The eyes that stared at Teresa did not make her feel welcome, and she wished that she had not come. And at recess the other children drew off into whispery knots or pushed her away when she tried to join their games. They called her a stupid foreigner and made ugly verses about her living on a farm. Then they pointed their fingers at her, shrieked with laughter, and ran away.
Worse still, the words in the primer just looked like bits of noodles chopped up and scattered out to dry. But she loved singing time, especially when the class sang about the creatures great and small. Teresa could sing louder and higher than any of the other children, and that made her feel better.
The days passed. Fall flowers turned to seed, the odor of ripening apples perfumed the air, and the insect chorus grew more shrill.
One morning on her way to school Teresa caught sight of a cicada clinging to the bark of an elm tree. She had seen cicadas before but never so close. This one’s brown skin was splitting down the back, and its new green one was showing.
As Teresa stopped and watched, the split grew wider and wider. Soon, to her amazement, out popped a “new” cicada, all green and moist and shimmery in the sun. Slowly raising each leg, the cicada stepped daintily away from its old skin and sat down to dry. Teresa was enchanted. Here it was, as green as life. And there was its old, hollow, brown skin still clinging to the tree.
She loved the new cicada, but she didn’t have time to wait for its first song. So she shook out her handkerchief, plucked the insect from the tree, and wrapped it up carefully. Just as carefully she tucked the handkerchief into her pocket and hurried on.
She was late. The cicada’s metamorphosis had taken too much time. Softly she opened the schoolroom door and tiptoed to her seat.
“Teresa, you may stay in during recess,” said Miss Marcy, frowning.
It was nearly recess time when Teresa first heard the sound. It was like the buzzing of a fly trying to free itself from a spider’s web. Then the sound began to spiral upward from her pocket to fill the silence in the room. Zzzeee uh zzzeee uh. The Cicada! Teresa had forgotten about it. It was beginning its first song, and IT WAS LOUD!
All the eyes in the room turned toward her as the song rose higher and higher. Miss Marcy looked up from the story she was reading aloud, laid her book facedown on her desk, and rose slowly to her feet.
There was only one thing to do, so Teresa did it. Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she clutched frantically at her handkerchief in an effort to muffle the vibrant voice. The sound stopped abruptly. Teresa had squeezed too hard. She could feel the handkerchief become damp in her fist, and she felt sick.
Teresa didn’t know how Miss Marcy knew where the song had come from, but as she looked up, the teacher’s eyes were kind.
Slowly, Teresa drew forth the crumpled, green-stained handkerchief and placed it on her desk.
“It was the cicada,” she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “It was singing too loudly, and I had to make it be quiet. I didn’t mean to …”
At that moment the recess bell rang, but nobody stirred.
“Oh, you poor child,” Miss Marcy murmured, gathering Teresa into her arms. “We must give the cicada a proper burial.” She led the way out into the hall and down the steps into the schoolyard. The children quietly followed as she crossed the yard to where a large elm tree stood.
“Can anyone find a strong stick?” she asked. “We need to dig a grave for the cicada.”
One of the boys found a sturdy twig. He solemnly bent down and scooped out a hole. Teresa placed the shroud-wrapped insect into the hole and covered it up.
“I think we should all sing a song,” Miss Marcy said. She took a pitch pipe from her pocket and blew a single note.
Glancing at Teresa with shy, sympathetic eyes, the children began to sing. “All things bright and beautiful / All creatures great and small, / All things wise and wonderful, / The Lord God made them all.”
And to Teresa the song was sweeter than ever before.