Gospel Story Finder

La Verkin, Utah—One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.
“Julia’s Christmas,” from the Christian Olsen family record, Our Pioneer Heritage, 14 (1971): 199

In 1959 I received that invitation. I did not even know of this, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a dance I met a young lady who was raised in the gospel. I was attracted to her. She said to me, “You know, I could never consider marrying you unless it were in the temple.” I responded to that invitation and was taught the gospel. She is now my eternal companion. I will ever be grateful that was the invitation she extended to me, for it has transformed my life.

Paul’s wife, Julie, has also helped him see temple service in a deeper way. His assignment as an Area Seventy required his presences at many stake conferences, and when he would return home, Julie often asked, “How was the conference?” He would reply, “Great.”
When she asked, “How were your talks?” he would say, “I think they went well.” Julie, ever insightful, would passionately respond, “I’m sure it all went well; however, giving a great talk from the pulpit is not really the hard work.” Stunned, Paul would listen as she continued: “The real work is done when hearts are touched, and the work of the Lord is accomplished in the homes of members and within the Lord’s house.”

On 2 November 1995, after a year of faithful preparation, Antonio and Roseli Berrocal of the Franca stake in São Paulo, Brazil, traveled with their five children to be sealed in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. On the way a tragic and fatal accident took the life of Sister Berrocal and all the children. On the 22nd of that same month, Brother Antonio entered the temple alone to be sealed to his beloved family. For me, my interview with him was a great and unforgettable lesson in humility. In moving words he expressed his gratitude to Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, for the comfort he had felt in his moments of sadness and pain. He was grateful for the sacred ordinances that would be performed. Brother Antonio is a man who is meek and lowly in heart.

In Belfast, in quieter times, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was dismal, faded, and hard to bear, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most appalling thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The room was decorated with a few streamers and a dozen balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and orangeade. Fancy food is almost unknown to ghetto children, and we were afraid they would not eat anything unfamiliar. Besides, we couldn’t afford it. The 12 gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of clay.
The children arrived semiclean and in their best rags. Eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her toddler sister, who had refused to stay at home. That presented a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was dressing little plastic dolls in sturdy clothes for girls to play with. Several such dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it under the tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the paper.
“If you don’t mind, Missus,” he declared, “I’ll have this game of blow football for me and me mates.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs and grew decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“Ye’ve left food on your plate,” objected our blow football elf to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it, but,” she replied, “for I’ve never had this much food on me plate at once.”
“Give it here, then, for ’tis a shame to waste good food.”
He ate several children’s leavings and then conceded defeat. He could not prevent a few scraps from going to waste.
We gave him the blow football game. We gave the 12-year-old, would-be sophisticate the plastic beads.
We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old Raggedy Ann.
“It’s no use to me, Missus. I ain’t got a doll.”
So the Relief Society lost another plastic doll. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree.
“’Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction. “I felt right to home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Missus,” seconded another voice. “For whenever we’uns wanted something, one of you ladies was near.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more. The sophisticate, I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“Sure it’ll do,” she said, trying to rewrap it. The used cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“And would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?”
I produced them, wondering. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “’Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.

While serving as a mission leader in Japan some years ago, I attended a weekend conference in a rural city in one of the far corners of our mission. The district president had arranged for me to conduct an interview with a man who had joined the Church a year earlier and was seeking to receive a temple recommend. He hoped to receive his own endowment on or close to the one-year anniversary of his baptism.
During our conversation, this new member described how deeply grateful he was for the bounteous blessings he had received in the year since he was baptized. He enjoyed attending weekly sacrament and other meetings. He became deeply involved in the activities of his branch. To me, he exuded a covenant confidence resulting from understanding his gospel purpose, which was now an integral part of him. He was a converted disciple of Christ who had experienced a mighty change of heart (see Mosiah 5:2).
The rest of our conversation followed a hopeful pattern. We discussed the ordinances and covenants that would be part of his temple experience. He affirmatively answered each of the standard questions associated with receiving a temple recommend.
Following the interview, I recall commenting to the district president how grateful I was to meet such an outstanding man. I told him how impressed I was that the missionaries and members had found, and spiritually nurtured, someone of such caliber and promise.
I was stunned when the district president shared that when this man began receiving lessons from the missionaries and attending church over a year earlier, he was homeless and in exceedingly difficult—near hopeless—circumstances. The district president then described how this brother’s study of the gospel and his conversion over a period of months led to his miraculous change, putting him on a path of both spiritual and temporal self-reliance and giving him a sense of purpose and joy.
I end where I began, recalling my experience years ago with a recent convert in Japan. Through his diligence and the diligence of missionaries and members, he found the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. In finding the gospel, he also discovered his purpose, which expanded his vision. He also found the great plan of happiness. Obedience to the plan’s gospel covenants brought him blessings and joy, lifting him temporally and spiritually.
His journey leading to membership in the Church of Jesus Christ allowed him to become a witness of Jesus Christ. Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has described the joy that follows:
“Because of the loving plan of our Heavenly Father for each of His children, and because of the redeeming life and mission of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, we can—and should—be the most joyful people on earth! Even as the storms of life in an often-troubled world pound upon us, we can cultivate a growing and abiding sense of joy and inner peace because of our hope in Christ and our understanding of our own place in the beautiful plan of happiness.”

Some years ago I was in Washington, D.C., on business, and the planes of five major airlines were grounded. It was imperative that I get back to Utah as soon as possible since I had some research that needed to be attended to, some classes to teach, and some Church responsibilities to discharge. I decided to go to the terminal in the wee hours when most people don’t like to travel. By going from one airline office to another I finally arranged for a flight to Chicago. I did the same thing at Chicago and finally got to Denver. I thought I would have no problem getting to Salt Lake from Denver because there were three airlines that had planes flying that route, but that is where the problem really became difficult. I just couldn’t get a plane to work it out. I took an airplane that was headed for Phoenix, Arizona, got off at Farmingion, New Mexico, intercepted a plane that was headed for Salt Lake City from El Paso, Texas, and I had it made.
But you know, as I sat in those terminals hour after hour after hour, I looked out on the runways and saw those magnificent jet planes—each one costing millions of dollars, each one having a tremendous potential to do a transportation job for me and for thousands of other people who were caught in the same fix I was—but what were they doing? Nothing. Why? Because there was no one who could or would step on the starter, or step on the gas, so to speak. Thus many were stranded.

Wyoming can be a cold and snowy place in the wintertime. That’s why one troop decided to make snowshoes. During the fall they were looking ahead to the Klondike derby coming up in January. They wanted an activity that could prepare them for winter camping.
Under the direction of their Scoutmaster and deacons quorum adviser, the young men went online to find a pattern and instructions for making snowshoes out of rawhide and wood. “We realized this project was going to take a long time,” says Sam F., deacons quorum president, “but we were all excited, and we had a plan.”
By January, the snowshoes were finished and each young man had a pair to use during the Klondike derby. Aiden H. said what they all felt about making snowshoes: “It was fun because we got to use them!”
“We learned a lot about enduring to the end on a project and about strengthening our quorum through Scouting,” Sam says. “My snowshoes will last a long time, and whenever I see them I’ll remember this experience, as well as the great friends we made in our troop and quorum.”

“This year was a really hard year for me. Pretty much all of my waking hours were taken up with my schoolwork, upcoming piano exam, and seminary homework and reading assignments. It was hard to cope with, and I struggled and cried a lot in the beginning. I also fasted and prayed a lot for the Lord’s strength to help me cope and to be cheerful while I did.

“Then, in general conference, I was deeply touched by President Nelson’s talk—it was as if he was speaking directly to me. It gave me so much courage to hold on to my faith and endure to the end. When my school finals ended a few weeks later, it was tempting to dedicate all my time to practicing music for my piano exam, but I remembered what President Nelson said about how focusing on Christ will bring you joy, and I chose to work on finishing my seminary work first. After that, I focused on my music and took my piano exam.

“In the end, I passed everything! I did well in my schoolwork, in seminary, and on my music exam. Most important, my faith in the Lord was strengthened, because during the struggle I was able to feel joyful. And now I feel joyful because I endured it well.”

Victoria H., 16, Selangor, Malaysia

I went to Baur Dee’s house often that summer. I felt so comfortable sharing my thoughts and feelings with her. One time the conversation turned to serious subjects. In a quiet, rather hesitant voice she told me that she had an incurable kidney disease that would take her life. Although I was concerned, I didn’t really comprehend what she was telling me. However, in a matter of months, she was gone. She was 27 years old.
After the funeral, as we girls stood somberly around the open grave at the cemetery, we promised each other that we would visit Baur Dee’s final resting place together every Memorial Day and that we would never, ever allow her memory to die.
Each Memorial Day for many years we dragged ourselves out of bed before it was light, gathered flowers, attached a card that said, “To Baur Dee, from your girls,” and made our way to the cemetery. We often speculated about whether the members of Baur Dee’s family ever noticed the flowers and note and wondered who we were.
Gradually, some of us went away to college, some married and moved away, until only a few of us made the annual trek. Eventually I found myself going alone and from then on did so, always tying a note to the flowers, a note which read, “To Baur Dee, from her girls.”

Of all the requirements Rocco has fulfilled to earn his various awards, he points to one in particular as most valuable for his personal growth: “Reading the Book of Mormon,” Rocco says without hesitation. “That was the biggest and most rewarding challenge.”

“I had read the Book of Mormon once already, a year or so ago, but I was just reading to get it done,” Rocco explains. “When I started reading it again, I really wanted to learn and gain a testimony of it.” He approached reading the Book of Mormon in a completely different way his second time through. “Every time I read now, I pray before to ask Heavenly Father’s Spirit to be with me as I read.”

Rocco’s already begun on his next big project—to more actively share his testimony with others as he prepares to serve a full-time mission. His Scouting experiences and earning the Duty to God Award have helped him in his personal development and in becoming a missionary. “To spread the gospel, I needed to know what is in the Book of Mormon, and I needed to know that it is true,” he says. “After reading the Book of Mormon for the second time, I received a testimony of it.”

Now that he has received his call to serve as a full-time missionary, the testimony Elder du Plessis has built is proving much more useful than the rope-and-log bridge he built for his Springbok construction project. However, some of the backwoodsman skills he learned as a Scout may come in handy as he serves in Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Malawi.

The Prophet went to visit his aunt and uncle. His uncle and his cousins were sick with the fever and chills.
Joseph, your uncle has the worst of it. I fear for his life.
Here, Uncle, have my shoes.
But, Joseph, what will you wear?
Joseph rode home without his shoes.
He sent for his uncle and had him brought to his home.
He will heal better at my house. Emma will take good care of him.
He also sent many supplies to help the rest of the family recover.
Thank you, Joseph. Thank you.
The Prophet’s genuine love for others saved his uncle’s life and eased his aunt’s burdens.

“Growing up in Queens, New York, I sometimes felt lost in the crowds of people living in the inner city. At times I felt quite isolated and lonely, even though I was surrounded by so many people.
“When I was introduced to the gospel of Jesus Christ, I started to experience the Light of Christ coming into my life. As I accepted invitations to read the scriptures, to pray, and to ponder, the light inside of me started to grow. I felt very known to God, where I previously felt unknown to everyone else.
“As a teenager, I leaned into that light early, and I stay leaned in to this day. President Russell M. Nelson teaches that it’s ‘vital’ to experience the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—especially in our present day and age. I’m grateful for that critical experience in my youth and that Their love and light continue to propel me forward today.
“God’s love and light keep my divine identity as a beloved daughter of God in the forefront and is how I choose to present myself and navigate my way in my daily life. It has also allowed me to see the divinity of all of God’s children—my brothers and sisters. God’s love can pierce the very center of the hearts of His children. When we feel it—when we experience it for ourselves—we come to know why ‘it is the most desirable above all things … and the most joyous to the soul’ (1 Nephi 11:22–23).”

I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”

Temples have always fascinated me. As a little girl, I was awed by the Idaho Falls (Idaho) Temple, so beautiful on the banks of the Snake River. And I remember Temple Square in Salt Lake City lit up with tiny lights at Christmastime like a fairyland. As I watched my mother carefully iron her white temple clothing, I longed for the day when I could go with her to the temple.
However, when I became an adult I was inactive. I let the Church become unimportant in my life, and many years passed before I realized how important the gospel was. Finally, I started to work my way back. With sincere repentance came an intense desire to know the Lord better and to enter his temple.
Finally, my bishop assured me I was worthy for a temple recommend. On the long-awaited day when I was to receive my endowment, I wondered if I was really ready. Would I be able to live up to the covenants I would make?
I spent much of the day preparing for the session that evening. I carefully ironed each piece of temple clothing, then called my aunt to make sure she would be at the temple.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed, Sharon,” my aunt cautioned. “I’ve been through the temple many times, and I still don’t understand everything.”
I wouldn’t be disappointed, I assured her. After the years of painful, lonely inactivity, how could I feel disappointed upon entering my Father’s house? It would be like coming home. I was tingling inside and felt that perhaps angels knew I was coming.
And maybe they did. Because upon entering the temple that day, I felt a tangible warmth and comfort. My loneliness eased away because I felt that many seen and unseen sisters and brothers stood near.
“Good evening, sister,” a white-haired man greeted me as I came through the door. Tears filled my eyes as feelings of uneasiness and unworthiness left me.
“I’m finally here. This is my Father’s house.” Everything felt right and clean and light, and, most of all, familiar. I looked around eagerly, almost expecting to see him walking toward me. I had been away from home so long that I knew he’d be glad to see me.
I did not see the Lord that day, but I felt he was near, and I knew I walked on holy ground. Tears continued to fall until I walked out the front doors. I had learned this day of my past and future—that it is endless and eternal. I had sensed that my soul is noble: I am literally a daughter of God!
Deep within each of us is a longing to return and live with him again. We can’t help feeling this way; we brought this feeling with us. We are drawn to temples because our Father’s Spirit is there.

Todd and his four younger brothers were raised in Pleasant Grove and Lindon, Utah. They enjoyed what he describes as an “idyllic” and “wholesome” childhood, one in which the boys enjoyed unstructured time to play, invent, and learn.
“We had a very secure, happy home life,” Elder Christofferson remembers. “Father and Mother taught us through their examples and showed us how to live according to the pattern of the gospel.”
His parents, in turn, remember Todd as an obedient, happy son. “Todd was a good boy and always knew what kind of life he wanted to live,” his father says. “He was a great influence on his brothers.”
His parents also recall that he was eager to help wherever he saw a need. When Todd was 13 years old, his mother underwent significant surgery as part of cancer treatment. Elder Christofferson’s father, who was with her at the hospital, learned that Todd had gathered his brothers to pray for their mother.
The surgery was successful, but it limited Sister Christofferson’s ability to complete some routine household tasks. Todd knew how much his mother loved homemade bread—and how difficult it would be for her to continue to make it. He asked his grandmother to teach him how to bake bread, and he made it regularly for his family until he left for college several years later.
When Todd was about 15 years old, his father, a veterinarian, took a new job in New Brunswick, New Jersey. At the time of the family’s move, Lindon, Utah, had very few people, so the transition to the more populated setting of New Jersey was a dramatic shift for the entire Christofferson family. Still, the next several years—full of new places, people, and opportunities—would be some of the most formative of Todd’s life.
The only Church member in his high school class, Todd enjoyed friendships and associations with people from a variety of cultural and religious backgrounds, something that would continue throughout his life. Todd discovered that many of his friends felt their beliefs as fervently as he felt his own, which caused him to think deeply and pray fervently about what he knew. “I began to see that the Church wasn’t just nice,” he says. “It was life-and-death important. I began to appreciate what I had.”
Greg Christofferson, one of Elder Christofferson’s brothers, who shared a room with him for over 16 years, remembers, “Todd was always spiritually inclined and exemplary in his conduct.” Greg notes that a few years after his brother graduated from high school, one of Todd’s outstanding classmates had been praying with his wife about how to raise their young children. When Latter-day Saint missionaries came to their door, the man recalled how good and honorable Todd, one of the only Latter-day Saints he knew, had been. Because of that memory, the man invited the missionaries in, and he and his family joined the Church.

Nine-year-old Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but Carrie twisted it away, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor and shattered, spraying their bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie’s and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the ketchup and glass without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel bad enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault,” Carrie replied.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing with the cart when the bottles broke, so she wanted to pay for the ketchup. The clerk thanked Carrie for being honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she had been saving for a tape player, but she was glad she didn’t have that sick feeling she had experienced after the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid the ketchup would stain the floor, forever reminding her of her mistake. But it had come clean with a wet mop.
A few months later, Carrie finished Sunday dinner and flopped down on the couch with a big sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked. “That’s a pretty heavy sigh for a Sunday afternoon.”
“Mom, I have to give a talk in Primary next Sunday on Jesus’ Atonement. I’m not even sure I know what the Atonement is.”
“This sounds like a good Sunday activity,” Mom said, sitting on the couch next to Carrie. “Tell me what you do know.”
Carrie was quiet for a moment. Then she replied, “I think it’s when Jesus suffered for our sins. If we repent, we don’t have to suffer any more for them because He already did. Then we can be forgiven.”
“Good!” Mom said, squeezing Carrie’s arm warmly. “You understand a lot. Tell me about being forgiven. What does that mean?”
“Well, I guess it means that we’re not in trouble anymore.” Carrie thought some more. “I mean, Heavenly Father forgives us, and we can forget about what happened.”
“Do we forget completely?” Mom asked quickly.
“Well, no—we have to remember never to do that wrong thing again. And we have to try to make up for what we did, like me apologizing to Andy if I yell at him or something. But once we’re forgiven, we don’t have to keep feeling bad. But, Mom,” Carrie asked, “how do I explain this to the kids in Primary? The three-year-olds are going to be totally lost!”
Mom was excited, her eyes twinkling. “Do you think they’d like a flannel-board story?”
“Sure. But how can I do that for the Atonement?”
“Think ketchup,” Mom said mysteriously.
Carrie looked at her in confusion, then cried, “Perfect!” as she bounced off the couch and hurried into the kitchen for paper, pencils, and construction paper. Carrie worked on her talk all afternoon, cutting out figures and thinking about her story.
The next week even the Sunbeams forgot to wiggle in their chairs as Carrie gave her talk. She put up a cut-out shape of a ketchup bottle, then the broken container with a big pool of red below it. The children were shocked by the thought of breaking two whole bottles of bright red ketchup.
Carrie explained, “We can make mistakes that seem too horrible to be forgiven. But if we repent, we can become clean from sin, just as ketchup can be mopped up off a floor.” She took down the picture of the broken bottle and replaced it with a picture of a sparkling clean floor.
“Jesus helps us ‘clean up’ when we commit a sin if we feel truly sorry and try to repair the damage we’ve done. He has suffered for our sins, so we don’t have to feel guilty forever. He helps us feel good again after we repent.”
She ended her talk with a scripture from the Bible, explaining that even if our sins are like scarlet, we can become white as snow through repentance, because of the Atonement (see Isa. 1:18).
As Carrie sat down, she looked at Mom sitting on the back row of the Primary room. Mom winked, and Carrie smiled back. This was the best talk she’d ever given. Maybe the rest of the family would like a repeat for family home evening!

While in high school I watched my classmates play a special classroom game. The students were matched against the teacher. The name of the game was “How to pass the answers in an examination from one side of the room to the other without the knowledge of the teacher.” One boy in the middle of the room was the “quarterback.” He had a special knack and skillfully and joyfully carried out the process. The game was so much fun that many of the students participated, not thinking themselves dishonest, but merely playing a game. I tried it myself a time or two, though I felt little need of help in answering the questions. On one such attempt the teacher caught me, and the embarrassment and overpowering sense of guilt put an effective stop to my participation.

Bert was left fielder on the Cubs Little League team. But most of the time he just sat on the bench. So when he did get a chance, he knew he had to do his very best—he had to be a winner.
One day during a game their left fielder kept dropping the ball. Suddenly the coach hollered, “Bert, get out there. I’m taking Fellini out of the game.”
“Does he mean me?” Bert asked in surprise. He clutched his mitt, thrilled and half scared.
“Sure, sure,” answered a teammate, poking Bert to make him move. “Hurry!”
Bert sprang up from the bench. “OK, coach!” He hustled out to the field. The coach wants me in now, he puzzled, with a Sox player on first and the score tied?
Bert ran toward the third baseman, a boy named Harvey.
“Be ready,” Harvey said. “They’ve got some big hitters coming up.”
“You bet,” Bert declared, punching his mitt hard with his fist. He’d show them. He just had to do a good job. And if he could, it would be the greatest feeling in the whole world. Suddenly he felt confident about his playing. All week he’d been practicing snagging flies and scooping up ground balls. He remembered what their coach always said—“Play to win: that’s what counts.”
The coach motioned to Bert to go farther back. A strong hitter must be coming up, the boy decided.
The Giant player, number eleven, came up to bat—a big guy. The pitcher wound up and zinged one over the plate. Number eleven swung … and missed. But there was plenty of power there. If he connects with the ball, it’ll really go, Bert thought. His hands felt hot and slippery. The batter swung again. What luck! Strike two. Then there was a foul ball. But what a crack of the bat! The ball went so far over the fence they had to send two kids out to hunt for it.
The batter took his time now. He rubbed his hands and hiked up his pants. Bert shivered in his shoes.
Suddenly the batter swung again, and snap went the bat. He had hit the ball, and it was coming like a bullet … straight toward left field. It was coming right toward Bert now, high and fast. Bert leaped in the air, reaching. It was like trying to catch a bird out of the sky. Then he fell over backward, rolling and rolling.
“Oh no!” Bert cried, his face full of dust. But he got back on his knees, and his hands were still clamped together. Everyone was shouting. He stood up. He held out his mitt and there was the ball cradled in it. Am I lucky! he thought excitedly. What a miracle. It could have been a homer—should have been, really.
Harvey ran over and pounded him on the back. “Great catch, Bert. He almost had a homer!”
“Yeah,” Bert said with a grin. “It was a lucky catch, wasn’t it?”
“Way to go, Bert!” the coach called, smiling.
Boy! Being a winner’s the greatest, Bert thought.
But just then Bert saw the batter walking back toward his team. He was all slouched over, and his cap was pulled down low over his face. He gave a quick rub to his eyes. And Bert realized that even winning isn’t one hundred percent perfect … for everyone.

Lucy was curled up in a corner of her bedroom when her mom came in to say good night.
“What are you doing over there, Lucy?” Mom asked.
“I just wanted to be alone to think,” Lucy said, burying her face in her favorite blanket—the yellow one with flowers that had belonged to Mom when she was a little girl.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mom asked, sitting down in the rocking chair.
Lucy nodded and climbed up on Mom’s lap. “I was thinking about Grandma Eliza,” she said quietly, rubbing her blanket across her eyes.
“Oh,” Mom said, rocking her gently. “You know, Grandma Eliza is in heaven now. I think she must be very happy there.”
Lucy sniffed. “I know,” she said. “But I miss her, and I’m not happy that she’s gone.”
“I miss her too,” Mom said as she stroked Lucy’s hair. “Why don’t we pray about this?”
“OK,” Lucy agreed. With Mom’s help, Lucy prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, I feel sad that Grandma Eliza died, and I miss her. But I know she’s in heaven and she’s happy, and I know that I’ll see her again when she’s resurrected. Please help me not to feel so sad. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After she said “amen,” Lucy sat quietly for a moment. Then she had an idea. “I know what to do! Aunt Emma told me that singing Primary songs helps her feel happy. Maybe we should do that!”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Mom said.
Together, Lucy and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God,” “I Love to See the Temple,” and “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” When they finished, Lucy said, “I feel happy now, Mom.”
“The Holy Ghost helped you know what to do so you would feel better,” Mom said.
Lucy smiled. “I know. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.” Now as she thought about Grandma Eliza, she felt like her favorite blanket was wrapped around her heart. She was comforted.
“I love you, Mom,” Lucy whispered before she fell asleep. “And I love Grandma Eliza too.”