Gospel Story Finder

“Call me anonymous,” I scrawled on the inside of my notebook cover. It was geography, my most depressing class, not only because I’m not exactly a scholar in geography, but also because I was sitting behind two somebodies in our school, Beverly Allred and Jenny Banks.
Beverly, who had been voted “Miss Dental Hygiene” just two days after she’d had her braces removed, was beautiful and self-confident. I suspected she would have won the honor even if her dad hadn’t been a dentist. Jenny, a cheerleader, was animated and vivacious. The two were good friends who giggled and spoke secrets and excluded me. Even when they looked toward the back of the room or out the rear door into the hall, they never looked at me. They always looked around me as if I were merely a fixture in the room.
What makes a person anonymous? I didn’t know. I just knew with a gnawing ache that nobody at Jackson knew or cared that I was around except maybe Lucy Price and Jim Wilcox, the only other Mormons. But they were older than I and not in any of my classes.
I knew even before I asked her what my married sister Janet would say, but I asked her anyway.
“Why am I so anonymous at school? Nobody even noticed when I was out with the flu.”
“You’re only anonymous because you think you are,” Janet answered. “Honestly, Martha, you walk around with such a scowl on your face that people are afraid of you.”
“When you’re a dud, why smile,” I said.
“You are not a dud!” she said getting exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Just smile, for goodness sake!”
Other members of my family had been hinting the same thing for the last year. Mom had put a quote on the bulletin board in the kitchen for my benefit. It read: “A smile is a light in the window that says the heart is at home.” Jeff, my brother, didn’t hint, he just called me “the Sphinx.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just try it.”
“Hallelujah!” Janet said. “Will you try it tomorrow?”
“Okay, maybe I will.” It surely couldn’t hurt me to try, I thought. Besides, I knew I had a nice smile. My teeth were straight, and Dad had told me once I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement.
I meant to try the experiment the next day, but it began with one of those rushed mornings when everything goes wrong. I had spent over two hours on the algebra assignment that I left on my desk. That meant I had to hurry and recopy it between classes. Luckily, I still had the rough draft in my notebook. I was so busy that I didn’t even remember I had teeth until I overheard Jenny and Beverly talking about that very subject.
“I have to get braces next week,” Jenny complained. “I wish I’d gotten them when you did so that I’d be finished with them now. Your teeth really look fantastic.”
“Thanks, I think they turned out pretty good,” Beverly said, obviously pleased. Then she turned slightly.
“Know who else has pretty teeth?”
Suddenly, I was listening intently. The blood rushed to my face. Me, I thought. I do! They were going to acknowledge my existence at last.
“Alice,” Beverly said.
“Alice?” We all turned to look at Alice who sat two rows from us.
“We’re just talking about how pretty your teeth are,” Jenny said when Alice gave them an inquiring look.
“Oh, thanks,” she said happily. I looked at Alice’s teeth as she smiled. They were pretty, but no prettier than mine. I should have been happy for her, but instead I was miserable for myself. Why hadn’t they complimented me instead of Alice?
“Did you have to wear braces?” Jenny asked.
“No, I was just lucky,” Alice answered.
I was lucky too, I wanted to say. Especially considering the fact that I sucked my thumb until I was eight. But, of course, I didn’t say it. It would have been a dumb thing to say—a “notice me” scream. Nor did I say, my dad thinks I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement because my teeth are so straight. There are some things you just don’t say. But, what I did was just as bad. When Beverly turned and happened to glance at me, I was grinning widely, a silly, empty, hopeful grin, so that the girls would see that yes, indeed, my teeth were pretty too. Beverly gave me a “you’re odd” look, shrugged her shoulders at Jenny, who giggled slightly, and the two girls turned to face the front of the room.
Again the blood rushed to my face when I realized how obviously I was shouting “notice me” with that toothy grin. What a fool I am, I thought. What a ridiculous fool, sitting here grinning, hoping that someone will notice that my teeth are nice. They noticed all right. They noticed that I was trying too hard. Well, so much for the smiling experiment. I’m never going to smile again!
For the next few months I scowled. Of course, that wasn’t unusual for me, and nobody noticed much of a change. I retired more deeply into my shell, and things got worse instead of better. By the time spring came, I was more lonely and miserable than I had ever been in my life. I had faded into the scenery. I was not a person, I was part of the hall, part of the woodwork, a nobody with no place at Jackson … until that day.
It was one of those surprising days when suddenly it’s spring. Just the day before it had snowed, and now the sun was shining so brightly into the windows that even I felt the rush of warmth into the normally cold, unfeeling halls. I had gone to the office and was walking down the front hall when it happened.
“Hi!” Nancy Patrick in my home economics class said it first.
“Hi,” I answered. Then a boy in geography said it. And then Margaret, a girl in my gym class smiled broadly at me. “Hi,” I responded. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was everyone so friendly? Was it a special day at school?
“Hi,” said a boy I didn’t even know.
“Hi,” I said in almost a whisper. Then I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said more loudly. It must be “Hi day” or something like that, I thought. Funny, I hadn’t heard anything about a special day. When two more people smiled at me, I studied the situation, and then I studied myself. Suddenly, I knew. The sun was so bright at the far end of the hall that it had created a glare that was causing me to squint and pull my mouth into a grimace. No, I wasn’t smiling. I only looked as if I was smiling. People thought I was friendly. Was that really all it took? No, that couldn’t be all. It couldn’t be that easy. Or could it? I carefully changed my grimace into a smile, a real smile.
“Hi,” said Jackie Rollins. She’d never spoken to me before.
“Hi,” I said with mounting enthusiasm. Then I saw them. Beverly and Jenny had just turned the corner. My smile faded and I felt the enthusiasm slipping out of me. I stopped it before it got away completely. No, just for once, I would not let them defeat me. Just for once, I would let them know I existed and smile at them. But, what if they didn’t smile back? What if they ignored me? Well, that would be their problem. As they approached, I mustered up all my courage.
“Hi!” I said, smiling broadly. The boldness of that hi surprised me as well as the girls. It wasn’t a nobody hi. It was a somebody hi.
“Hi,” Beverly said uncertainly.
“Hi,” Jenny said with more vigor. “See you in geog!” After they had passed me, I was still smiling, inside and out. I did it! I thought. It works! I’m a somebody, a real person! An important person!
I walked into my science class with the broad, brave smile still on my face. Bill, the tall redhead who sat next to me and who had only spoken to me twice all year (once to borrow a pencil), wrinkled his freckled nose and grinned at me. “Hey! You have teeth.”
“What’s wrong with a person smiling?” I asked defensively.
“Nothing. Believe me, nothing. It’s just that I thought maybe Mormons weren’t allowed to smile or something.” I stared at him. Had he really said what I thought he had just said?
“Hey, turn off the icy stare. I’m just kidding.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, coming to my senses. “But how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’m a Mormon.”
“When you’re different, word just gets around. Everybody knows.”
Still in shock, I opened my notebook and saw the words “Call me anonymous.” I scratched them out. Underneath I drew a window, and inside I drew a smile, a big, toothy smile. Then I wrote “Call me friendly!”

Elder Johnson’s grandfather, Joseph William ‘Billy’ Johnson, living in Ghana, was introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon in 1964. He immediately began preaching the gospel and starting congregations, independent of the Church of Jesus Christ. Within a short period of time, Johnson’s followers in Ghana reached over 500 individuals meeting in 10 separate congregations. Johnson pleaded with Church leaders in Salt Lake to send missionaries. President David O. McKay (1873–1970) told him they would not send missionaries yet, but that Johnson should wait patiently for the right time.

In 1977, four different denominations tried to persuade Johnson to have his congregations become part of their churches and offered him money to do so. Johnson declined their offers. The next year, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) made the announcement that extended the priesthood to all worthy male members of the Church regardless of race or color. Johnson was overjoyed when he heard the news and prayed that the time for waiting was over.

President Kimball called missionaries Rendell N. Mabey and Rachel Mabey and sent them to Ghana. In December of 1978, just a few months after the announcement, Elder Mabey baptized Brother Johnson in the ocean near Cape Coast, Ghana. He was ordained as a priest and called as the first branch president in Ghana. He later became the first district president.

The Mabey’s served in Ghana and Nigeria until October 1979. Billy Johnson served the Church faithfully until his death in 2012. The branches that they helped organize together formed the nucleus of the early Church in West Africa. Currently there are 465,000 members of the Church in West Africa with 141 stakes and many districts. There are 21 missions with 3 new missions opening in July. The Accra Ghana and Abu Nigeria temples are currently operating and there are three temples under construction and five other temples announced in West Africa.

Every quorum activity should have a designated purpose, and that purpose should be gospel oriented. For example, may I relate a story of an Aaronic Priesthood youth in Korea who happened to come from a rather affluent family. One day one of his father’s business associates called the father and inquired if he were having financial difficulties, offering help if it were needed.
The father responded that things were going well.
The man asked, “Are you sure?”
The father replied, “Things are fine. Why do you ask?”
The friend then indicated he had seen the young man on a street corner selling newspapers. The father couldn’t believe it. He told his friend that his son received an adequate allowance and asked if there might have been a mistake of identity. The friend responded there was no mistake; he had personally visited with the boy.
That evening when his son came home from school, the father asked him if he had been selling newspapers on the street corner. The reply was yes. The father asked, “Why? Isn’t your allowance sufficient?”
His son responded that it was adequate, but he had a friend at school who was very poor and who was going to have to drop out of school if he didn’t get some financial assistance. As it turned out, this young Aaronic Priesthood holder was using his allowance money to buy newspapers. Then he and some of his classmates were selling the newspapers to raise money to help keep his friend in school.
A short time before this, he had asked his mother to pack larger lunches for him. She did so, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He confessed to his father he had been sharing his lunch with this same friend, who otherwise would have gone hungry.
The father was obviously touched by his son’s thoughtfulness but asked the reason for such action. The boy replied, “We studied the lesson of the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago. I wanted to know the real meaning of this lesson by being a good Samaritan, not just learning about one.” (See “Profiting for Others,” New Era, June 1979, p. 50.)

During the day I thought I would go out and see the sights of Salt Lake City. It being summer time, the June apples were getting ripe, and I saw some apples which looked good to me. I could not ask for them; and if I should take an apple without asking for it, then it would be stealing as much as if I should take a dollar in money. But I saw a nice red apple lying under the fence, so I stooped down and took it and started off down the sidewalk. I had only taken a few steps when a man said, “Here, stop!” I thought he was speaking Norwegian for “stop” means the same in Norwegian. So, of course, I stopped.

But he went behind the house. I started off again, but I guess he saw me start. He looked round the house and shouted “stop” again. I was frightened for I knew I had taken an apple without asking for it. I imagined he went to get a switch to give me a licking, and I thought about what I would have gotten if I had been in Norway. But lo and behold, instead of that he had filled the crown of his hat with good, nice, red apples. I came back to the gate, and he handed me another apple and then another till I had my hands full. He told me something in English which I couldn’t understand. But he made signs to show me what he meant—to put them in my pockets, for I had large pockets in my coat. And he gave the whole hat full of apples to me.

It made such an impression on me that I never have forgotten. I had taken one, and instead of a licking he gave me a whole hatful. I have told you before I was rather bitter, but I am frank to say with this and the welcome to the festival the night before, the bitter feeling had all left me. It preached a better sermon than anything I could think of. A good act speaks louder than words.

I went back to the old tithing yard where I met my parents and brother and sisters. Of course I was so happy that I had some apples to give them. They wondered how I had got them. They knew I had no money to buy them with, and so they said, “You have been out stealing.” I said, “A man out in the city gave them to me.” They said there must be better people here in Utah than there were in Norway. I began to think so too.

Colonel Thomas L. Kane, a nonmember of the Church, spoke to the Historical Society of Philadelphia, as recorded in the memoirs of John R. Young. He told them that during his travels a few years before, he had passed through a very unusual city named Nauvoo, a community established on the banks of the Mississippi. He explained that after traveling up the river for some time, he left the steamer and began to travel on land because of the rapids in the river.
While on the road, he had seen only unimproved country where idlers and outlaws had settled. Then he saw Nauvoo. Quoting him:
“I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun. Its bright new dwellings [were] set in cool green gardens ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill, which was crowned by a noble marble edifice, whose high tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles, and beyond it, in the backgrounds, there rolled off a fair country chequered by the careful lines of fruitful husbandry. The unmistakable marks of industry, enterprise and educated wealth everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty. … No one met me there. I looked and saw no one. I could hear no one move, though the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz and the water ripples break against the shallow beach. I walked through the solitary streets. The town lay as in a dream, under some deadening spell of loneliness, from which I almost feared to wake it, for plainly it had not slept long. There was no grass growing up in the paved ways, rains had not entirely washed away the prints of dusty footsteps, yet I went about unchecked. I went into empty workshops, rope walks and smithies. The spinner’s wheel was idle, the carpenter had gone from his work bench and shavings, his unfinished sash and casings, fresh bark was in the tanner’s vat, and fresh chopped light wood stood piled against the baker’s oven. The blacksmith’s shop was cold; but his coal heap and ladling pool and crooked water horn were all there, as if he had just gone for a holiday. …
“Fields upon fields of heavy headed yellow grain lay rotting. … No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest.” (Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer 1847, Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1920, pp. 31–33.)
Colonel Kane could not understand why such a beautiful city had been abandoned. He was unaware that the Saints had been driven from their city by the mobs. His curiosity caused him to search for the people who had left the city. When he found them, he observed that even though they were suffering and dying from hunger and exposure, they were peaceful and wholesome. Why had such a harmless people been so persecuted?

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen as the Mormon representative.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker anyway, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Saviour’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amidst the chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realised it didn’t matter who laughed at me as long as I was doing what was right.

Two of my good friends were my older brothers, Mike and Bill. They never minded having me tag along when they went to play basketball, baseball, or football, and if their friends didn’t want me to play, Mike and Bill wouldn’t play either. Playing sports with my brothers and their friends was hard because I was younger than they were, but it paid off in the long run. I always had to work harder to compete with them, but that extra effort made me a better athlete. By the time I was in high school, I was ahead of most guys my age, and that edge later helped me earn an athletic scholarship that paid my way through college.

In a recent letter to the editor, I read:
“One is continually hearing about the ‘Terrible Teenagers’ with their obnoxious dress and deplorable actions. How refreshing it was to have a most thrilling experience with—yes, four teenagers.
“One evening I was hosting a special guest from New York City. We were on our beautiful Temple Square, admiring the Seagull Monument. As we turned to go, four teenagers approached us. I immediately felt the [in]security of my gentleman guest, when one of the group stepped forward and said, ‘Lady, we would like to present you with this rose to make you happy, and hope that you will have a nice evening.’
“There clutched in his hand was a beautiful, long-stemmed American Beauty red rose, with a spray of fern, artistically wrapped in cellophane.
“‘We bought this rose to give to someone, and when we saw you, we thought you were the one.’
“As they turned to leave, I quickly got their names, expressing my most profound appreciation and admiration for their thoughtfulness and kindness to me, which was so unusual, and how I was quite overwhelmed to think that four teenagers would have the desire for such a gracious act, and that no one would appreciate it more than I would, a little grandmother, as I gave each one a big hug.” (Irene E. Staples, Deseret News, 22 Sept. 1985, p. A-19.)

How blessed we are to be led by a living prophet! Growing up during the Great Depression, President Thomas S. Monson learned how to serve others. Often his mother asked him to deliver food to needy neighbors, and she would give homeless men odd jobs in exchange for home-cooked meals. Later as a young bishop, he was taught by President J. Reuben Clark, “Be kind to the widow and look after the poor” (see Thomas S. Monson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1986, 79; or Ensign, May 1986, 62). President Monson looked after 84 widows and cared for them until they passed away. Through the years, his service to members and neighbors throughout the world has become the hallmark of his ministry. We are grateful to have his example. Thank you, President Monson.

It all started with one girl who somewhat timidly started investigating the Church while in high school. When her friend started asking questions, she invited her to go to church with her. That girl then told another friend about the Church, and soon three girls were separately meeting with the missionaries. Touched by the Spirit at the baptism of one of those girls, two more friends started investigating the Church. You could call it the ripple effect, but to Tiffani Phillips, Catlin Nord, Sara Waddell, Christina Hatton, and Kristin Breinholt, the brief period between March 3 and June 4, 2007, remains nothing short of miraculous as all five of them joined the Church, one after the other.
They point to Tiffani as the one who first started formally investigating the Church. During her junior year of high school, she started dating an LDS boy. She began attending church with his family and eventually started meeting with the missionaries in his home. Gradually, she made some changes in her lifestyle. Her friends noticed, but they thought it would pass. But to Tiffani, it was no fad; her testimony had begun.
Though some friends were openly critical of Tiffani’s investigation of the Church, Catlin was genuinely curious. When Catlin started asking questions, Tiffani simply invited her to come to church and see for herself. Catlin left the meetings that first Sunday with a copy of the Book of Mormon and an appointment to meet with the sister missionaries. Catlin’s testimony grew steadily, and soon she wanted to be baptized. On March 3, 2007, Catlin was the first of the five to be baptized and confirmed.
Meanwhile, their other friends were increasingly troubled about this “Mormon thing,” as they called it, that had so drastically changed Catlin and Tiffani’s lives. What they at first tried to ignore had become a source of sometimes bitter criticism.
Enter Sara, another friend. About the same time that Tiffani and Catlin were investigating the Church, three of Sara’s friends from high school were preparing to leave on missions. Sara couldn’t understand what was so important that these young men would put aside a normal life to become full-time missionaries for the Church. She thought she might find some answers if she read the Book of Mormon, so she asked Catlin for a copy. Once she started reading, Sara couldn’t put it down. She went to church with Catlin and there met the sister missionaries. One month after Catlin joined the Church, Sara followed her friend’s example.
The two holdouts, Christina and Kristin, could not believe what was happening to their friends. First it was Tiffani (who had not yet been baptized, though they assumed it was inevitable), then Catlin, and now Sara. But Christina and Kristin decided they weren’t going to let religion come between them and their best friends, so they supported their friend Sara by attending her baptismal service.
Both Christina and Kristin were totally caught off guard by the Spirit they felt as they watched Sara’s baptism and, later, her confirmation. Kristin was so surprised by the powerful new emotion that she later asked Sara what it was. After learning that it was the Holy Ghost bearing witness to the truthfulness of the ordinances of baptism and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Kristin knew she wanted to start taking the discussions from the sister missionaries.
Christina also experienced something completely unexpected at Sara’s baptism. Even though she had told Sara that she wanted to take the missionary lessons, she had started to doubt her decision. When she came to Sara’s baptism, Christina was still undecided. But when she met one of the sister missionaries who had taught Sara, her Christlike love erased all of Christina’s doubts. Suddenly she knew she wanted to join the Church. So Christina returned home to California, took all the discussions, and was baptized a month later, with her friend Sara in attendance at the service.
Meanwhile, after investigating the Church for more than a year and a half, Tiffani was ready to be baptized. Nine days after Sara’s baptism, Tiffani’s baptismal service was held.
That same day, Kristin took the first discussion from the sister missionaries who had taught Sara. Less than two months later, with the loving support of her friends, her bishop, and her Relief Society president, Kristin was baptized. The circle was complete.
So in the span of three short months during the spring of 2007, five elect young women were baptized into the Church. As Catlin noted, “It was the gospel that tested our friendship, but it was also the gospel that saved our friendship.”
The five friends are often asked to speak at youth conferences and firesides. As Kristin explains, “We share our stories to glorify the truth of this Church and to tell how, in the midst of the bumpy years of high school, we found ourselves strengthened and assured to choose the right.”
Here is a brief testimony from each of them:
Tiffani Phillips: “I have been blessed beyond words with amazing people in my life. My family is so important to me, and the plan of salvation is a gift that I will cherish for eternity. The overwhelming feelings I had when I first went to church are undeniable and a constant confirmation that this is the true Church. I have an enduring connection to my best friends that continues to grow because of our love for the gospel. Their beauty on the inside still takes my breath away. A few years ago, I never thought my life would have taken this path. I am eternally grateful I found the Lord and felt the Spirit that first Sunday in sacrament meeting.”
Catlin Nord: “The truthfulness of this Church sometimes testifies to you far before all of the knowledge is found. I knew this Church was true before I read the Book of Mormon cover to cover, and before I took every missionary discussion. The power of the Spirit in the first discussion, and the sweet thought that I can return to live with my Father in Heaven someday was enough to spark my love for His Church. The Spirit has guided, comforted, and helped me in countless situations. I am so grateful for my Father in Heaven and His Son, my Savior. I will be eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for placing these four beautiful girls in my life. Without a doubt, this gospel has changed our lives and the lives of those around us.”
Sara Waddell: “I don’t know what it was that made me do it, but I am so grateful I had the courage to ask for a Book of Mormon and to go to church. I felt the Spirit the moment I set foot in my first sacrament meeting. The plan of salvation gave me the most comfort I have ever felt. I thought I was happy before, but what I feel now is indescribable!
“I am a firm believer in missionary work and being an example! We should not hesitate to share our testimonies with others. Missionary work is so important, and it can be so simple. The simplest acts can change a person’s life, as I have seen them change my life and the lives of so many others.”
Christina Hatton: “I know that these four amazing girls were placed in my life for a reason. Because of their example, I found truths I never thought existed. I wouldn’t have been able to overcome the things I did if I hadn’t learned about the Atonement, about the love Heavenly Father has for me, and that even as alone as I had felt my entire life, He had been there. He had never left my side.
“Understanding and applying the Atonement to my life was hard. I didn’t think I deserved it. That was my biggest struggle, but I overcame it through prayer. I turned to Heavenly Father and I never looked back. I gave Heavenly Father my whole heart.”
Kristin Breinholt: “Through every experience and every situation I have been placed in, my knowledge of the truth of this gospel has grown. My relationship with my Father in Heaven has grown, and my understanding of the Atonement has grown. One thing I love so much about belonging to this Church is that you can learn so much. When the Lord is ready and knows you are prepared, He is willing to teach you. (See D&C 14:5.)
“The Spirit is contagious. My friends and I are proof of that. The Spirit is undeniable, and as you share it with others, you open the door for them to witness the truth and happiness of this gospel. I am so thankful that my friend Sara invited me to her baptism and confirmation. I will never forget the Spirit I felt there.”

“I had a little radish patch, and my first job was raising and selling radishes. Most people turned me down, but one kind lady always bought my radishes, though I’m sure she didn’t always need them. When I was about ten years old, I started mowing lawns. We had no power mowers back then, and many of the men in the neighborhood were in the War. So I went from door to door, and for twenty-five cents or a little more depending on how big the yard was, I mowed lawns. It seems as if I always had a business of some sort.

I watched through the window as lightning flashes illuminated the valley below me. I had to drive home soon, but as the storm raged outside, driving was the last thing I wanted to do.
Finally I left, knowing that the weather would not improve and that I needed to get home. The short walk from my friend’s door to my car left my clothes and hair dripping. Lightning was still flashing several times a minute, and thunder droned ominously in the background.
I began the familiar drive home. A few moments later, I realized I had missed the road to the main highway. I was alone in unfamiliar territory, with only the glare of my headlights to light the way.
I reached for my cell phone, only to find its battery had died. Thunder boomed so loudly my car actually shook, and a bolt of lightning struck the hilltop to my right. Then I noticed a set of headlights coming straight at me.
I swerved back into my lane seconds before the other car zoomed past. My entire body was shaking, and tears poured down my cheeks as heavily as the rain poured down my windshield. I just wanted to be home, but I had no idea how to get there.
Without thinking about it, I started to sing the words from one of my favorite Primary songs: “Heavenly Father, are you really there?” My shaking and tears subsided, even though the storm did not. I prayed to find a familiar road and to be protected as I drove. I started to sing again, and as I sang, I knew the Lord would lead me home.
What was normally a 20-minute drive took 45 minutes that night, but I made it. When I locked my door behind me, safe at last, I sank to my knees. The shaking was back, and I sobbed a prayer of gratitude. I might have been driving in dangerous weather on an isolated road, but I hadn’t been alone.

When I asked about their father’s sense of humor, one of the children offered this comment, “Dad has very poor handwriting and he readily admits it. He sometimes asks his office secretary to tell him what he has written on his calendar, because he can’t read it himself. President Lee called Dad’s handwriting, ‘unreformed Egyptian.’ One time when he was on the stand with President Kimball at a meeting, a message was delivered to Dad reporting that one of the Church school buildings in South America had burned. Father wrote a note to President Kimball, telling him about it. President Kimball looked at it for a long time, then sent a note back, ‘Do you mean burned or buried?’”

During this time I started going to church. I cried at my first sacrament meeting—I felt the Spirit so strongly! As I listened to the testimonies of others at that first fast and testimony meeting, I remember wondering if I would ever have my own testimony. Young Women was my favorite meeting. I loved being with other girls who shared my values and some of my interests and learning about how I was a daughter of God. I felt so much love at church.
That night, I asked Heavenly Father in prayer if joining the Church was the right path for me. My mind was filled with one word: John. I had never read much in the Bible, but I knew I’d find my answer in the book of John. I found John 14:6: “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” Christ was meant to be the way for me too.

On my mission, my companion and I taught a family with several children. During one of our planning times, we prayed and discussed what lesson we should teach the children next, and we both agreed to teach about prayer.
When we came to their house, the grandmother and the kids were so excited. We began the lesson with a prayer. The children were quiet and ready to listen. We explained to them how and why to pray. To end our lesson, we asked them, “Who wants to give a closing prayer?” All of them wanted to pray! So we made a schedule for them to give the prayers each time we came to give a lesson. We also invited them to pray when we were not around.
After that lesson, I thought, “Why do little children find it easy to pray while our older investigators have a hard time praying?” I found an answer in the Bible Dictionary: “As soon as we learn the true relationship in which we stand toward God (namely, God is our Father, and we are His children), then at once prayer becomes natural and instinctive on our part (Matt. 7:7–11). Many of the so-called difficulties about prayer arise from forgetting this relationship” (“Prayer”; see also Guide to the Scriptures, “Prayer,” scriptures.lds.org).
From that time on, I tried to help people understand their true relationship with our Father in Heaven. Our Father in Heaven wants to talk to His children, just as our earthly parents want to talk with us. He loves us, He wants to talk to us, and He wants us to talk to Him.

Lark was feeling rather sad. “I’m so plain and ordinary,” he said. “I have only dull-looking feathers. They’re too brown to be really gray, and too gray to be really brown. And the speckled edges make me look like some disease has left me disfigured and spotted. Even the yellow on my breast isn’t pretty and bright. It looks like dirty egg yolk. Why couldn’t I have had bright, colorful feathers like the parrot or even the bluebird?”
Bird King overheard Lark’s complaints and asked, “What’s troubling you?”
Lark answered sadly, “I’m so plain and ordinary-looking. And I’m not big and strong, or small and cute. There’s nothing special about me.”
“Oh, I see,” responded the king of the birds. “Would you like to go visiting with me today and see what we find?” The young lark quickly agreed, and off they flew.
They saw a giant eagle soaring in the distance. “Oh, I wish I could have strong, powerful wings like Eagle,” said Lark.
Bird King replied, “Let’s go visit Eagle’s nest over on the cliff.” So they tipped their wings and soared through the clear morning air.
After flying so far and high, Lark began to get tired. When they finally reached Eagle’s nest, Lark was all worn out. As he rested, he looked around the nest. Is this all there is to Eagle’s home? he wondered. These big sticks and branches don’t look very comfortable. And it’s lonely up here with no neighbors to chat with.
Bird King asked Lark, “How would you like being an eagle and living here on the cliff?”
Lark answered thoughtfully, “Although the view is lovely, and it’s perfect for him, I’m glad that I don’t have to live so far away from my friends.”
Bird King smiled to himself as they flew away. They hadn’t gone far when they came to the tree where the mountain bluebird nested. Bluebird was just flying home after a nice dust bath. Oh, Lark thought, Bluebird is beautiful! Blue is my favorite color. How I wish I could be a bluebird.
The King greeted the little bird with a cheery “Good morning. My, your feathers look lovely today.”
“Thank you,” Bluebird replied nervously, his eyes darting back and forth in every direction. “I do have pretty feathers, but all my enemies can see my bright color. It is dangerous being blue. I must constantly be on guard to protect myself and my family.”
Oh, Lark thought, I didn’t realize that being colorful would be such a problem. Maybe, my brownish-gray feathers are better because they are safer.
Bird King and Lark bid Bluebird farewell and flew on. As they approached Lark’s neighborhood, they saw Magpie and his cousin Crow.
Oh, how I wish my feathers were beautiful like the crow’s, Lark thought. He looks so shiny and black. And Magpie’s white feathers complement her black ones perfectly! They both looked elegant to Lark.
Bird King asked Crow and Magpie how they were getting along.
“Everybody thinks we live the rich life because of our fine feathers,” Magpie squawked. “But believe me, it’s terrible trying to get enough to eat these days. No one wants to provide for us, so we are forced to forage even in garbage dumps for our very existence.”
Crow broke in, “Gone are the days of wealth and luxurious life when poets wrote of our beauty. Nobody likes us anymore. We are outcasts everywhere, doomed to a life of misery and woe.” Crow complained on and on.
Lark could see why no one would want to even be around these birds with their negative attitudes. “I guess I don’t want to be a crow or a magpie,” he said to Bird King.
Bird King had a bigger smile as the two of them flew on to Lark’s little home. Lark’s neighbors came out to welcome him back with their cheerful chirps and twitters.
“I’m glad to be home where I’m safe and the trees are familiar and I feel like I belong. I have friends to chat with here, and food to eat. Being a plain, ordinary lark isn’t so bad, after all,” Lark admitted.
“There’s one more thing before I leave,” Bird King said. “You have a song no one else can sing. Others may be stronger or bigger, or more colorful, or even smarter, but you have a call that no other bird has. Did you ever stop to think that they may be wishing to be like you?”
As wise Bird King flew away, Lark sat on the branch of his favorite tree, singing his special song, “La-da-dee-dee-dee-da,” as happy as a lark.

Today, let me share a discovery that happened because of a sample group of rabbits.
In the 1970s, researchers set up an experiment to examine the effects of diet on heart health. Over several months, they fed a control group of rabbits a high-fat diet and monitored their blood pressure, heart rate, and cholesterol.
As expected, many of the rabbits showed a buildup of fatty deposits on the inside of their arteries. Yet this was not all! Researchers had discovered something that made little sense. Although all of the rabbits had a buildup, one group surprisingly had as much as 60 percent less than the others. It appeared as though they were looking at two different groups of rabbits.
To scientists, results like this can cause lost sleep. How could this be? The rabbits were all the same breed from New Zealand, from a virtually identical gene pool. They each received equal amounts of the same food.
What could this mean?
Did the results invalidate the study? Were there flaws in the experiment design?
The scientists struggled to understand this unexpected outcome!
Eventually, they turned their attention to the research staff. Was it possible that researchers had done something to influence the results? As they pursued this, they discovered that every rabbit with fewer fatty deposits had been under the care of one researcher. She fed the rabbits the same food as everyone else. But, as one scientist reported, “she was an unusually kind and caring individual.” When she fed the rabbits, “she talked to them, cuddled and petted them. … ‘She couldn’t help it. It’s just how she was.’”
She did more than simply give the rabbits food. She gave them love!
At first glance, it seemed unlikely that this could be the reason for the dramatic difference, but the research team could see no other possibility.
So they repeated the experiment—this time tightly controlling for every other variable. When they analyzed the results, the same thing happened! The rabbits under the care of the loving researcher had significantly higher health outcomes.
The scientists published the results of this study in the prestigious journal Science.
Years later the findings of this experiment still seem influential in the medical community. In recent years, Dr. Kelli Harding published a book titled The Rabbit Effect that takes its name from the experiment. Her conclusion: “Take a rabbit with an unhealthy lifestyle. Talk to it. Hold it. Give it affection. … The relationship made a difference. … Ultimately,” she concludes, “what affects our health in the most meaningful ways has as much to do with how we treat one another, how we live, and how we think about what it means to be human.”

Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.
Lining both sides of the trail were faithful, obedient, covenant-keeping men. Their priesthood power—the power God uses to bless all His children—lifted, strengthened, and supported us. They were a reminder that we are never alone. We can have this power with us always as we keep our covenants.

We had just finished dinner at my grandparents’ cabin, and I was outside playing with my five little brothers when my dad walked out and called to me.
Of course when your dad calls you like that, you’re afraid you may be in trouble. So I trudged over and mumbled, “Yeah, Dad?”
Surprisingly, he said, “How would you like to go on a motorcycle ride with me?” I’m sure my eyes must have widened to the size of golf balls as I quickly responded, “Yes, of course I want to go.”
Soon my dad was leading the way as we each drove a motorcycle down a path that winds through the majestic forest surrounding our cabin and then climbs to the top of a hill. As we rode, I was so excited that I could barely keep the throttle on low. Once or twice my dad had to tell me to slow down.
My mind wandered as we rode. I was curious why I had been given this special treat and my brothers hadn’t. When we reached the top of the mountain, Dad said, “This looks like a nice place to stop and rest.” So we parked our motorcycles and sat down on some rocks overlooking the forest. We were both quiet for a moment, enjoying the beauty around us. As I glanced over at my dad, I noticed his thoughtful stare and knew something was coming.
He and I had never really talked a lot. I guess it was just too hard for him to express himself to anyone but my mom. Then he interrupted my thoughts and said, “Kjersten, your mother and I have been talking, and we have decided you are now mature enough to know some of the details concerning our marriage and family.” I could tell by the words he used and by the way he said them that he had been planning this talk for a while.
His voice was soft as he began. “Your mother and I first met at the fire station where I was a student firefighter, and she worked in the office. We began dating, and I realized she was different from the other young women I had dated before. I was a carefree young man who had been brought up in another church. But I hadn’t really paid too much attention to religion.
“I had very few values or goals at that time,” he continued, “and I really didn’t care.” He leaned forward and intently confided in me. “Kjersten, your mother set the most shining example of righteous living I had ever seen.” As he said this, a warm feeling swept over me.
My dad told me details concerning their marriage, my birth, and our family that I had never before heard. He told me the story of his conversion to the Church and how because they were first married civilly, they had to wait a year before they could be sealed in the temple. He also shared with me some of the adventures he and Mom went through in that first year of marriage. For the first time, pieces to a few little puzzles fell into place. I finally understood why my parents’ marriage and sealing dates are different and why they say that the first year of their marriage was the hardest they ever had.
As he related these things to me, his eyes would sometimes flicker with sadness and other times crinkle with laughter. I don’t remember exactly how much I understood back then, but I distinctly remember the feelings of surprise, confusion, and love that alternately came over me.
This experience really made an impact on me. I realized what a miracle families are, and it gave me a greater understanding of God’s plan. I also gained a greater faith in the gospel and an appreciation for the effects it can have on people’s lives. We discussed many things on that mountain, but there is one thing I will not forget. I have never felt so much gratitude and thankfulness in my heart as I did when my father told me of his strong love for God, the gospel, my mother, and our family. I realized the numerous ways the gospel had touched his life, as well as mine.
My father and I became very close that day. For the first time, I saw him as a real person with feelings and emotions and not just some ruling body who had to give me permission to have fun. I also think my dad learned more about me too. I will never forget that special talk with my dad and the feelings of love and understanding we shared.

Advent calendars are also an important part of the Christmas celebration at the Edwards’ house. Each family member makes one, usually on a family night late in November. Friends are often invited over to help.
“It’s an old tradition in our family,” explained Jeraldine Edwards, mother of the 12 children. “When my husband was a graduate student at Harvard and we were poor, we saw the advent calendars in the store. We had three little children then and couldn’t afford to buy a calendar. So we got construction paper, cut out the windows for the calendar, and let the children cut out the little pictures to paste behind them. As the children grew older, they wanted to make their own, and so it grew to be a tradition.”