Gospel Story Finder

Like many people I meet, my new friends at camp were not sure what to make of me at first. I was born with a genetic condition called achondroplasia (commonly known as dwarfism), and I stand only four feet, four inches (1.3 meters) tall with unusually short arms and legs. Once people get to know me, they find that I am just a regular girl and my height seems to make no more difference than my hair color. Soon my new friends and I were doing everything together.
One day at camp we all had the chance to take on the confidence course, a high ropes challenge. For this activity, each participant was strapped into a climber’s harness and had to climb halfway up a steep, notched telephone pole and then up a climbing wall featuring handholds placed randomly across its face. The whole time an instructor watched and waited on a platform high above the climber holding a safety rope attached to the climber’s harness.
For most participants, the course’s height and degree of difficulty made for an imposing obstacle. Still, most of my friends were determined to meet the challenge. In spite of my physical shortcomings, I try to do all I can to match the abilities of average-sized people, and so I decided to attempt the climb.
Before I knew it, I was suited up with climbing helmet and harness, standing at the base of the notched pole. As I began to climb, I heard encouragement from my friends below and from my instructor above. I soon discovered that no matter how hard I tried, my reach was insufficient for the spacing of the notches, which were designed for people with “normal wingspans.”
The instructor at the top watched as I struggled and, when he saw that I had stretched just as far as I was able, he pulled up on the rope a few extra inches allowing me to reach the next handhold. He then relaxed his tension, allowing me to do all of the work that I could.
After much effort I would try for the next handhold. Again I was just inches short of reaching. But because of a caring person at the top who wanted me to succeed, I was again lifted those few extra inches needed to reach the next level. It continued this way, with few exceptions, until I was at last at the top.
The instructor congratulated me, and I felt such appreciation, not only for the help he gave me but also for the fact that he let me do all that I could for myself. It was our success, not his or mine alone.
A few weeks after the camp, my family was asked to speak in sacrament meeting on the grace of God. As I studied for the talk, my mind went back to my experience on the confidence course. I was able to recognize how often in my life the Lord has acted much like that instructor, encouraging me to succeed, letting me do all I can do in the struggles of life before giving me just the amount of boost required for the task at hand.
The Apostle Paul tells us that all of us have shortcomings and that none of us have the reach needed to ascend back to our Father. “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). I am grateful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement, which is the means by which we can all ascend if we continue to put forth our best efforts. I know that He cares for me and will gently lift me while allowing me the freedom to grow. After all, “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do” (2 Nephi 25:23).

Qualicum Bay, British Columbia—
Jessica and Sandra Stüssi know all about family togetherness. They live across the street from the beach in a tiny town called Qualicum Bay, in British Columbia, where their parents own and operate a resort. With the waves lapping softly on the shore, the sun setting in a crimson burst, and the family sitting outside quietly enjoying ice cream cones together, it seems like heaven on earth.
But what about the days when Jessica and Sandra are helping their mom do the resort’s laundry? What about days when they seem to be moving in several directions at once to sports practices and school activities?
Of course the Stüssis aren’t perfect, but they know that keeping their home heavenly—even when they’re doing something that’s not particularly pleasant—is partly their responsibility. And they know that living the gospel will help them create love at home. Getting up at the crack of dawn every day with their mom (she’s the seminary teacher) is an important part of their success.
“Sometimes it’s hard to have your mom as a teacher because it’s hard to have lessons from her. But it’s good too because we sort of know what to expect and she knows what we need,” says Jessica. “Also, she’s wide awake when the rest of us aren’t.”
After seminary every morning, Jessica and Sandra head to a different secondary school than the other youth in their branch, making them the only Church members there.
“Going to our school can be sort of hard,” says Sandra. “Sometimes people ask me questions [about the Church] and I don’t always know how to answer them. I just try to take things one at a time.”
It’s a tough job, being the only Latter-day Saints in the whole school, but Jessica and Sandra both say that it forces them to stick to their standards—and to stick together.
“We have to back each other up,” says Sandra.
Soon Jessica will graduate and Sandra will be on her own. But their family ties will stay strong as Jessica travels to Switzerland to live with relatives for a year.
“None of the people on my mom’s side of the family are members, so hopefully I’ll be able to teach them and bring some of them into the gospel while I’m there,” she says.

Miriam Criscuolo from Italy found that, even after establishing a meaningful friendship with a neighbor, she still didn’t know how to talk about the gospel. “We spent a lot of time together, but the courage to speak to my new friend about the gospel, even though I knew it was my duty, escaped me,” she shares.

But when the gospel came up naturally, things started to happen. Miriam remembers, “It was my daughter who, when showing a Primary project, aroused the curiosity of my friend. ‘What’s Primary?’ she asked. From that question were born a hundred others. I learned that my friend had been looking for something for years. I told her that the peace of mind she was looking for would be found in our Church.

“She later joined the Church. She was an answer to my prayers about how to find a way to do missionary work and to show my children how it can be done.”

Some of her greatest contributions to her community began in 1976, when riots erupted in Soweto. It was a dangerous time to be out and about in the community, but Julia was concerned about the hatred expressed by the youth. “I knew what it was like to feel isolated because of your own confusion. So I started a project in Soweto to bring young people into doing things, trying to find a message in what they did.”

Her project was to involve the youth in organic gardening—a passion she had developed a decade earlier while using natural foods to help her daughter heal from a congenital heart defect. As most families did not have enough ground for even a tiny garden, she arranged to clean up a rodent-infested plot of land. “As others watched us struggle with the overgrowth of stubborn weeds,” Julia recalls, “they too became involved, and we moved from corner to corner of Soweto replacing the useless and the ugly with the beneficial and beautiful.”

Part of the beauty Julia planted was in the hearts of the young. “When I was planting with them, I would say, ‘Now look, boys and girls, as we see this soil down here, it is solid and hard; but if we push down a spade or a fork, we will crack it and come out with lumps. And then if we break those lumps and throw in a seed, the seed will grow.

“‘This message is my message to young people. They should have it in their hearts. Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits it can give. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there has been a blood stain, a beautiful flower must grow.’ Her efforts helped repair not only the physical damage but also the moral damage caused by the riots.

In the same year as these terrible riots, Julia began working with women’s groups. Feeling an urgent need for all races to unite in solving the present and future problems, she helped found Women for Peace, an organization devoted to protecting her people and helping her nation avoid civil war. She currently serves on the organization’s national executive committee. She has also repeatedly been elected the president of the National Council of African Women.

When I was a child, I knew that Heavenly Father answered my prayers. One evening my parents were visiting the temple and I was home. The weather was bad, and I worried they would not make it home. I was sick and could not sleep because I was coughing. Finally, I crawled out of bed and knelt down. I prayed that I could stop coughing and go to sleep, and that my parents would get home safely. I climbed back into bed and fell asleep. My parents made it home safely. This was a simple confirmation that Heavenly Father heard my prayer and answered it.

When I was younger, my ward had a talent show. My mom and I were performing clogging (a type of dance). I practiced a lot with my mom until it was perfect.
On the night of the talent show, when it was our turn to dance, I realized that I had stage fright. I did not want to perform, so I ran toward the Primary room.
My mom eventually found me sitting near the door, shaking. She saw that I was scared and asked if we should say a prayer. I agreed.
When we got to the stage, I was scared, but I knew God could help me. My mom and I then did our dance proudly. I know Jesus will help us when needed.

When Hurricane Irma came through my town in Georgia, it did some damage. We were out of school for two days, and we had no power. Then we started hearing about the destruction in Florida. So many homes were flooded and damaged by winds. Families lost many of their belongings. My family started making plans to go down with the Mormon Helping Hands teams for the weekend relief efforts. I was sad that I wasn’t old enough to go help.
Then a teacher at my elementary school heard that my siblings were going down to help. She offered to send school supplies. I was so excited when I heard about this because now I had a way to serve. I started collecting backpacks. With the help of my Primary friends, we collected and put together 63 backpacks. We filled them with school supplies to give to children impacted by the hurricane. I learned that you are never too young to serve. If you have a desire to help others, Heavenly Father will provide a way.

Not long after I was called to be the general Young Women president, I received a letter from a young woman from Nairobi, Kenya, in East Africa. Sylvia, who was fifteen at the time, told me her father had been killed in a road accident. She said:
“When he died, I felt a part of me had been killed also. All this has made me a different person. Someone I don’t like. It has affected my studies and my spiritual nature. My grades are dropping. I hate school. There are times I forget to pray. I am losing my trust in God. All the love, warmth, and security I used to feel is all gone from me.
“Sister Hales, please help me. I feel if I don’t do something or get some help, I am going to destroy myself.”
I felt an urgency in Sylvia’s plea for help, but I was thousands of miles away. Carefully I wrote a letter, hoping my words of faith would help her regain trust in our Heavenly Father. Then I suggested: “Read the scriptures each day. After reading the scriptures each day, please write and tell me if it helps the way you are feeling.”
Weeks later Sylvia said: “I had stopped reading the scriptures; and when I read them, it was like I couldn’t understand and I would put them away. You have given me that desire to … search more diligently the scriptures. I am discovering very precious, spiritual nourishment. Thank you for that suggestion.”
Sylvia received help when she felt desperate and alone, but she also found the scriptures could help her improve her life. She later said: “I have decided to work hard to be a better person. I have to overcome some of my bad traits and replace them with good ones and to withstand people who want to tear me down and tear down my faith, especially in school. I am the only LDS member in our school.”
As Sylvia’s commitment to read the scriptures continued, she realized that Heavenly Father would help guide her in making decisions.
Later she said: “I have become busy, but I have not forgotten my scriptures. I desire to have the faith like the Brother of Jared or Nephi which enabled them to know the Lord’s will for them. I am planning to meditate on ways to strengthen my faith. I turned sixteen.”
As months passed, Sylvia’s understanding of the scriptures grew deeper, and she expressed a desire to help others. She said: “I love going to church, and the most exciting part is when I get to help with the Primary children. I love hearing them sing and read and saying what they feel.”
As Sylvia started to help others, she started to better understand our Savior. She told of reading about Christ’s final ministry on the earth, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. She came to understand more clearly Christ’s mission on earth and his great love for us.
Sylvia continued to face challenges and peer pressure, but she had found a permanent source of help in the scriptures. When she got word that my mother had passed away, she wrote to encourage me and strengthen my faith.
The resource suggested for her three years ago, reading the scriptures, was much greater help than I could have given. Scripture reading did help her with her immediate crisis, but the scriptures have become a permanent resource to her—a resource that will always be with her. She has learned that our Heavenly Father will not fail her.

I was a senior in high school and had joined the cross-country team mainly to get in shape for track and field events that took place later in the year. As part of our training, every morning before school our coach would have us run to his home, which was four miles from the school, and then run back again.
Several times after having made the eight-mile run my coach asked me if I’d “found my second wind yet?”
I’d always ask, out of breath, “What’s a second wind?”
To which he would reply, “You’ll know it when you find it.”
After several weeks of arduous training we finally had our first cross-country meet. It was well over eight miles long, with no stops and only an orange cone indicating the halfway mark. Knowing how difficult the last four miles had been for me every morning, I began to doubt myself even before the race began. But out of respect for my coach and with my competitive spirit, I positioned myself at the starting line.
The gun went off and we were on our way, trying to pace ourselves so we would have enough energy to finish. As usual, I could feel the burn and fatigue starting to build up with every stride I was taking. Well into the race I wobbled around a corner looking up a hill that seemed to be Mount Everest, only to see the halfway sign marked by the orange cone. I was exhausted. By this time I was feeling the temptation to quit. But relying on competitive drive still left in me, I made it to the top, with a weak, staggering run.
Suddenly something happened that I can’t explain fully. As I reached the crest of the hill, the words of my coach came to my mind, “Hey, Marler, have you found your second wind yet?”
At that moment, the question and the answer, “You’ll know it when you find it,” all came to light. As the burn, aches, and pains flooded through my body, as I was gasping for every breath, my whole body suddenly felt as if I had never started the race. I felt as if I was at the starting line, waiting for the gun to go off. I knew for the first time what a second wind was. I was able to finish the race and assist our team in winning the overall competition.
After the race I found my coach, and seeing the expression on my face, he said, “You found your second wind, didn’t you, Marler?” I will never forget the moment or the feeling I had. I know that anyone else who has experienced a second wind during a race can relate and will know what I have experienced.

Working with youth can be difficult. How is your relationship with the young people of the Church?
Our youth in Russia seem to lack initiative, self-esteem, and confidence in social situations. We must develop all of these things in our youth and be able to reach their hearts. Going on picnics together, I felt a mutual understanding grow, and we became friends. The same thing happened when I began to invite youth from all the six St. Petersburg branches. Now our youth gladly come out to activities.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I staggered into the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I dragged myself down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion, “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, none of whom glanced up at me. And even if they had done so, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was still alive, and that was all I cared about.
In the meeting I received a list of patients to care for and instructions for the day. Several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, charting to do, medications to administer, bandages to change, tubing to check, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. I had no choice but to dig right in. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself.
In the midst of all the hubbub, a voice came over the intercom, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I requested that Mrs. Whitmer be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished sprucing her up than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my shift was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had sprinted to work that morning, I sprinted back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to sign off, the call light went on in room 4. “Oh boy,” I thought. “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall and groped my way through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.
I no longer live in Salt Lake, and I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Whitmer, but I’ll never forget her and her radiant testimony of Christ.

“For me, an eating disorder is as physical as it is mental. When I was in the middle of my eating disorder, food seemed to have lost its savor. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat, but I physically couldn’t get myself to eat. There was a constant lump in my throat that prevented me from indulging in anything.
“I felt alone and trapped, like nobody could possibly understand why I couldn’t eat an adequate amount of food—it was just me and my eating disorder. In the end, I realized that this was how I was coping with various things in my life. I felt the only thing I was able to control in my life was what I did (or in this case didn’t) put in my body.”

“I had a friend who must have been moved by the Spirit to talk to me. One day as we were chatting, she told me that she had noticed my peculiar eating habits—small bites, skipping meals, etc. Even though that conversation didn’t cause me at that moment to get the help I needed, it opened a door that allowed me to finally accept the fact that I had an eating disorder and needed to get help.
“I started exercising regularly and praying more intently, and I told my closest family members about my eating disorder. The exercise helped me clear my head, and the honest conversations I was having helped me address the underlying issues. It was a process, but I can finally say my favorite food is pizza again!”

Now, onto my third ‘mother’, in fact my mother-in-law, Christine. Jenny’s parents Christine and Bill were a wonderful kindly couple — what examples they were to Jenny and me as we started our own family (eventually including six children). There came a time after some house moves during our early years of our marriage, that Jenny’s parents relocated a few miles away from our home in Tunbridge Wells. Christine was an ever-present support to Jenny in those days, and she was always very welcome to our home. I mostly remember the happy banter she and I would have. When she passed away in 2000, in her mid 80s, it took me years to come to terms with her absence; one always seems more appreciative of loss in later years. To say I had a soft spot for Christine would understate it. She was my adopted mother, whether she knew it or not. I remember, once so shocked and agitated by Jenny’s and my joining the Church, Christine in subsequent years became a staunch defender, while remaining wedded to her Anglican faith. Close to her death she occasionally expressed doubts, but I tried to reassure her that her faith in Christ was not misplaced.

Rooma didn’t really want to study the scriptures. Vaitiare didn’t really want to go to seminary. And they didn’t have to. But when they chose to, their lives changed.
At the beginning of the school year, Vaitiare Pito wasn’t even a member of the Church. So how did a new member who had never been to seminary before help her team win the Faaa stake scripture mastery championship?
“I wasn’t worried about not having a lot of experience,” she says. “I learned many of those verses during the missionary lessons.”
Most of Vaitiare’s family joined the Church after her father died unexpectedly and the ward mission leader brought the missionaries to Vaitiare’s home. They talked about family unity and being together forever. “It really brought a change to our family,” she says.
However, it didn’t necessarily change the 17-year-old’s independent streak. “After I was baptized, everyone told me I should go to seminary,” she says. “I don’t like being told what to do, so it took me a while to go.”
Eventually she decided for herself to go and found she enjoyed it. She was assigned to be part of the same scripture mastery team as Rooma.
At first she didn’t make an effort to read the scripture assignments. But when she decided she would, she soon recognized a number of blessings.
“The scriptures have been a great help,” she says. “I have learned from the scriptures many things,” including the importance of prayer and that Heavenly Father will answer those prayers.
She also learned that when she decides to commit to something, like going to seminary or reading the scriptures, keeping the commitment is easier than if she does it because she has to or is “supposed” to.
Now that the school year is over, Vaitiare is grateful she chose to go to seminary and study the scriptures: “I know when we read the scriptures, we are blessed.”

Several years ago I was teaching a group of nursery leaders how to give a short gospel lesson to very young children. One of the leaders had her young son on her lap. I held a picture of the Savior in my hand and, demonstrating how to speak to young children, began talking about Jesus. The tiny boy slid off his mother’s lap, toddled over to me, looked intently at the picture, and touched the face. At that point in the dialogue, I asked the question, “Who is this?” With a smile on his face, the child responded, “Jesus.”
This child was not old enough to really even say his own name, but he recognized the image and knew the name of the Savior. As I watched this sweet response, I thought of the words of the Savior when He said, “Seek the face of the Lord always, that in patience ye may possess your souls, and ye shall have eternal life” (D&C 101:38).

Photograph courtesy of the author
My friend Laurie Wharemate Keung is Maori. I am of English descent. We have contrasting skin tones, eye color, hair color, and height. We couldn’t look more different. Yet one day while Laurie and I were serving children at a low-income school, a young Maori boy surprised us with a question.
“Are you two sisters?” he asked.
I chuckled, thinking his question was insincere. The boy, however, asked me again, “Are you two sisters?”
Realizing that he was sincere, I paused for a moment and wondered, “Could this boy not see the clear differences in our appearance and race?” Perhaps he did but thought it made no difference. He eagerly awaited my answer.
I told him we were not sisters, which disappointed him. But I added that we often felt like sisters as we served together. He seemed satisfied with that answer and ran off to his table.
This boy’s sincere question left an indelible mark on me. Why? Because his question spoke a truth to me—that family isn’t limited to genetics or appearance. My husband and I have been blessed to adopt two of our children. We love them, and love and service are an essential part of families.
After all, we are all children of our “one God and Father” (Ephesians 4:6).
I concluded that this boy must have been watching Laurie and me interacting. Maybe as he saw us helping or hugging each other, he assumed we were sisters. His question reminded me that children are always watching adults and forming opinions by what we say and do and how we treat each other. If this boy could assume we were sisters, then surely children across the world can assume we are all brothers and sisters if only we love and serve one another.
Our differences allowed Laurie and me to bring diverse strengths and perspectives to our charity work, making it more effective. Rather than let our differences divide us, we used them to do good and in turn form a close friendship. The young boy’s question can be a lesson for all of God’s children.

Beatrix did enjoy the family holidays in Scotland every summer. It was here that her creative ability grew. She loved to see the frogs leaping, rabbits hopping, and little wood mice playing. She would hide in the fields for hours at a time, sitting in tall weeds as she watched and dreamed. The simple cottages where the Scottish families lived appealed to Beatrix. She was amazed at the love and affection Scottish parents showed their children.
Farmers allowed Beatrix to feed their small animals. She gave bread to the ducks, corn to the chickens, lettuce and carrots to the rabbits. It was as though she suddenly lived in a magical world, and Beatrix was spellbound. She and little Bertram sketched everything in sight.

When I was eight, I was getting ready for school one day and I couldn’t find my shoes. My mom was out of town, so my dad and I looked and looked, but we couldn’t find them. My dad suggested that we say a prayer. A few minutes after our prayer, we found my shoes behind the kitchen door. My dad and I said another prayer to thank Heavenly Father for helping us find the shoes so I could get to school on time.Cameron Smith, age 11,Tempe, Arizona

The glacier glows from deep within, pulling scarce light from a gray day and turning it an eerie blue. Mostly, the glacier is dirty white. But from parts of the vertical face comes faint, cold blue fire. “Ice blue” is a real color.
At the glacier’s foot a shallow lake of ice melt is dotted with an occasional miniature iceberg. A stream of glacial water tumbles into the lake with a distant, dull rumble. It’s the only sound you hear until—
Splash! “Whoop!” Someone has just jumped into the lake. Or fallen. Or been pulled. Youth of the Juneau Alaska District are holding their annual games on the sandy shore. Relays rage back and forth across a shallow inlet. Put on hip boots, wade-run through thigh-high ice water, take off the boots and hand them to a teammate for the return trip. Splash! Someone else has tried to run too fast. Again, a sharp intake of breath and “whoop!”
Soon, a stout rope is drawn across the same inlet and the teams take sides, muscles straining, heels dug into the sand. Rhythmic chants of “pull … pull … pull” echo across the lake. Inch by inch the losing team is drawn toward the incredibly cold water.
Incredibly, too, some of the youth who didn’t get wet in the relay or tug-of-war give berserk yells and wade into the bone-chilling water for the sheer daring of it. Afterward, when everyone has dried off and is back at the chapel warming up, the kids explain. It’s not insanity, just enthusiasm.

I live in Oklahoma, where there are many missionary opportunities. One such experience happened recently with my friend and my English teacher. Our English teacher assigns different journal topics every Monday, and we can choose to read them aloud on Friday.
One week, my teacher chose the topic “If you could have someone famous or well-known raise you, who would it be?” My friend chose Brigham Young, and I chose Thomas S. Monson. We are the only Mormons in our grade, so nobody else knew who we were talking about. My friend read hers aloud, but I had no intention of reading mine. Then, I felt the Spirit prompt me that I needed to read mine.
After we both read our journal entries, our teacher started asking us questions about our Church. We talked about our beliefs for about 20 minutes. Normally I would have been nervous, but I felt the Spirit so strongly. My teacher seemed interested.
The next week, I gave my teacher a copy of the Book of Mormon. I put a copy of the Articles of Faith inside, along with a brief summary of the Book of Mormon. She said that she felt ignorant because most kids can say what they believe, but they only know because their parents told them. “But you know what you believe,” she said, “and you know why.”
I felt the Spirit confirm that because I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I had had a missionary experience that I would not have had otherwise.