Gospel Story Finder

I began taking sewing classes, and I had another wonderful teacher. She believes in God but belongs to a different religion. In one of the classes, the gospel came up, and when she asked me what religion I belonged to, I replied that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She seemed confused at the name, and I clarified, “People also know us as Mormons.” She immediately got excited and said, “I love the Mormons!” with a smile on her face.
She continued, “I can tell you’re a Mormon,” and she began to list the reasons why. I was happy that she noticed I strived to live the gospel. She asked me a little about baptism in the Church. As I explained it, she said right away, “I can’t get baptized into your church because I was raised in a different religion.” In hearing her tell me about her beliefs, I learned a lot about what I could share with her. I felt the quiet but firm feeling to give her a Book of Mormon, and I knew it was the Spirit speaking to me.
I obtained a Book of Mormon, grabbed a sheet of paper, and wrote her a short but sincere dedication with my phone number on the other side, in case she had questions. I put the paper in the book, wrapped it up, and put a bow on it. I gave it to her the next class. She was thrilled to receive it and thanked me.
All week I wondered how she had reacted to opening the gift—if she liked it or not. The next class I arrived a little late and was surprised with her reaction as I entered the room. She hugged me and said emphatically, “I loved it, loved it, loved it! The book you gave me is lovely, beginning at the introduction when it talks about the plates. It is so true! It has lovely scriptures. I started reading, and I’m halfway through. I can’t stop reading it!”
Hearing so much excitement, the rest of the class turned around to see what was going on. One of my classmates, whom I had been talking to about the Book of Mormon, asked if this book brought peace. My teacher replied, “It made me want to weep, not from sadness but from being blessed.” She couldn’t stop smiling and hugging me.
I felt very happy. At that moment, I came to understand that we cannot judge who is ready to receive the word of God. We cannot know how open a person’s heart is. If God inspires us to share, we need to take action because He knows better than we do.

Alph and Lucette Passeraub of Lausanne, Switzerland, love to go walking together. One of their favorite strolls is along the shore of Lake Geneva, where the Alps tower over the inland sea. A couple of years ago on such a walk, the Passeraubs spent the evening reminiscing.
“Even as an adolescent, I was searching for the truth,” Alph, 78, said. “I always said to myself, If God exists, He must have a living prophet on the earth. I was preoccupied with that thought all the time.”
As Alph began his post–high school studies, a friend encouraged him to attend a free English class taught by LDS missionaries. After one of the classes, the missionaries invited him to church.
“The first time I attended, the Sunday School lesson was about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost as three distinct beings,” Alph recalled. “The teacher said we know much about God thanks to the teachings of a modern-day prophet, Joseph Smith, and that there are living prophets today. I was amazed. They were talking about what had been in my heart for so long.” He soon joined the Church, “and every day since then, I rejoice that there are prophets on the earth.”
Lucette, 80, grew up as a child of World War II. “I had to go to work at 14 and never got to complete my education,” she says. “But I found that the Church gave me opportunities to keep learning.” After serving a full-time mission, she started dating Alph. They married in the temple, raised a family, and now look back at their journey that includes Lucette’s 14 years as ward Primary president, Alph’s 32 years on the stake high council, regular trips to the temple, visits with children and grandchildren, and always, always, gratitude for the truth they embraced when they were young.
“We have been blessed to walk side by side,” Lucette says. “And with each step, our faith has grown stronger.”

On the subject of prayer, Elder Abrea said, “I know my prayers have been answered many, many times. One of the first times I remember was when I was eleven years old. My father also used to sell a variety of grains that had to be mashed for cattle. One day he had an appointment and he couldn’t finish mashing the grain. I told him to leave me with the machinery and that I could finish it for him. He said he felt I was too young and wouldn’t be able to do it.
“‘Oh, Father,’ I insisted, ‘trust me, I can do it.’
“Well, he decided to let me try. The job took about four or five hours, and I began by putting the grain into the machine. Things were going all right and then suddenly the machine jammed. I knew that you had to take one of the parts off the machine and put it on again and then it would work. I removed the part but I couldn’t get it back on the machine. I started to cry because I didn’t want to disappoint my father.
“At that time I had been a member of the Church for about six months, and I remembered one of the lessons I learned in Primary. Still crying, I kneeled down. I remember I said, ‘Father, I need Thy help, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.’ After that I went back to the machine and tried again, and it worked!
“The next testimony meeting was the first time I gave my testimony in public. I expressed my experience with prayer very simply and sat down. I know that the Lord does hear and answer our prayers.

After the temple vows were spoken, after the pictures of the bride and groom were taken outside on the snowy grounds of the Idaho Falls Temple, after Steve and Cathy changed into warm sweaters and ski slacks for their trip, after parting hugs and kisses with parents—finally they were alone, Mr. and Mrs. Steve Holland, driving north for a three-day honeymoon at his uncle’s cabin in Montana.
“I’m a married lady!” she burst out suddenly a few miles out of Idaho Falls. “I’m somebody’s wife!”
“You sure are,” he smiled.
“I’m so happy! It’s all come true—my greatest dream. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been praying that some day I’d be married in the temple. And it’s come true.”
She snuggled close to him. “Steve, when you were in high school, did you ever think about who you’d marry?”
“Sure. I remember I used to look through each month’s issue of the New Era. I’d find a picture of a really neat-looking girl, and I’d think to myself, maybe she’ll be my wife someday. And for that whole month I’d have her picture on my wall and I’d try to do the things she’d want me to do. I was true to her—until the next issue.”
“You’ve never told me that before,” she said.
He grinned and reached out to touch her cheek. “I guess there’s still a few things we don’t know about each other. I bet you don’t even know what my favorite food is.”
“Hamburger,” she answered quickly.
“No.”
“Steve, that’s all you ever ate in your apartment at school.”
“But it’s not my favorite.”
“Steak? Pizza? Spaghetti?”
“Sorry,” he teased.
Suddenly she looked at him as if he were a total stranger. “You’re kidding!”
“No. It’s ham and lima beans.”
“Oh,” she said, moving away from him so she could take off her ski parka. She stayed on her side of the car.
They entered Rexburg. Steve drove around the Ricks College campus, savoring the bustling energy of students changing classes, and then drove back on to the highway north.
She didn’t say much for a long time. Finally she asked, “Steve, are you even just a bit apprehensive?”
“Maybe I am—just a little.”
“Me, too,” she confessed, “just a little. When I saw those girls at Ricks, I realized that I’ve left that for good. I’ll never be a coed again. I guess that sounds silly, doesn’t it?”
It was several miles before she could ask him, “What are you apprehensive about?”
He reached for her hand. “Not about you, Cathy. I’m absolutely sure about my love for you.”
She let out a small sigh and moved closer to him.
“It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to that one big goal called temple marriage for so long, and somehow I’ve never pictured what happens in a marriage a week after the ceremony, or a year, or a decade. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said. “It’s like those children’s stories where the handsome prince carries the fair maiden away to his castle. The end. But what do the fair maiden and the handsome prince do for the next 60 years?”
“They live happily ever after,” Steve said.
“We will, won’t we?” she asked with sudden concern in her voice.
“I hope so, Cathy. I really hope so.”
“Steve, you won’t die early, will you? Promise me you won’t.”
“This is our wedding day. We’re not supposed to think about death.”
“What if we have a baby that dies or is born a cripple? Steve, I couldn’t bear that. God won’t let it happen, will he?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“All of a sudden,” she said soberly, “marriage seems such a heavy responsibility.”
They rode in silence for several miles.
Finally Steve tried to break the somber mood they were in. “We’ll be at my uncle’s cabin in about three hours. It’ll be great! My uncle told me they went up last night to get it ready for us. They’ve got enough firewood split for four days, and they’ve filled the refrigerator with food.”
“It sounds nice,” she said quietly.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked her.
“There’s one thing I need to ask you. Can we start even the first day of our marriage with family prayer at night?”
“I promise,” he answered.
Then the spell was broken. She sat very close to him and asked meekly, “Tell me how to cook lima beans and ham.”
They continued north, finally crossing the Idaho-Montana border.
“It looks like we might get a little snow,” he said, understating his concern at the snow clouds in front of them.
Ten miles from a small town, the red alternator light flashed on. He thumped the glass to see if he could get it to turn off, but it stayed lit.
“It’s probably nothing, but we’ll have to stop at the next town and have somebody look at it.”
By the time they reached the four-store town, the snow was coming down heavily. They pulled into the gas station and parked. They went in, and Steve explained the problem to the attendant, who agreed to look at it as soon as he finished another car.
Steve and Cathy waited in the office, walking around restlessly, idly reading the instructions on oil additives. The room smelled of stale cigars. A desk in the corner of the office was strewn with piles of paper.
Two men, laughing loudly, stumbled across the road from the bar and entered the station.
“Hank? Where are you?” one of them yelled, taking off his cowboy hat and revealing a nearly bald scalp.
“Hank?Come on, close up! Come with us over to Pete’s Place. We’ll buy you a drink,” the other called. His stomach protruded well beyond the confines of his wide western belt.
They both walked into the garage part of the station. “You’re not going to get much business tonight. There’s a big storm coming. We heard it on the radio.”
“Just one more job and I’ll close it down,” the mechanic replied.
“We’ll wait.” The one who was paunchy stayed in the garage, but the other sat down on the chair in front of the desk, propped his feet on the desk, and took a long drink from his can of beer.
“You folks going far?” he asked.
“Just to Big Sky,” Steve answered.
“Glad it’s not me traveling tonight. Big storm coming. You’d better stay here tonight. That other guy—his name is Oscar—he runs the Star Motel. Gives winter rates, too. Of course,” he said with a wink, “maybe you’re not married.”
“We’re married,” Cathy said firmly. “We were married today.”
“No kidding? Hey, Oscar,” he yelled, “come here!”
The second man stepped into the office.
“Oscar, these good people just got hitched today. Now I told ’em that they ought to stay at your place instead of bucking the storm. How about it?”
“You bet! You can have my best room. The TV works, and I’ll even throw in some free donuts and coffee in the morning.”
“No,” Steve answered firmly. “We’ll be going on.”
Oscar drifted back out to talk with the mechanic, but the other man sat down again and opened another can.
“You got a dog?” he finally asked Steve.
“No.”
“Well, let me tell you something. You get yourself a dog before your wife gets too set in her ways.”
“You like dogs?” he asked Cathy.
“They’re okay.”
“They’re a lot better than okay,” the man said. “A dog’ll never let you down, never complains when you don’t get home on time.” Fumbling for his wallet, he pulled out a picture and handed it to Steve. “Ain’t she something? She’s real pretty, huh?”
“Yes,” Steve answered.
“She’s part German shepherd and part wolf. But you know what?” the man continued. “My wife hates that dog. It’s her own fault, too.”
He bent the empty can in two and tossed it into the already full wastepaper basket. He wiped his mouth and continued his story. “My wife’s got false teeth. When the dog was just a pup, my wife left the teeth on the kitchen table overnight. Well, you know how pups are when they’re young. When we got up next morning, there were pieces of false teeth all over the place. That pup chewed up my wife’s teeth! Ain’t that something?” He reared back in his chair, laughing crazily.
The laughing brought Oscar from the garage; he added some other details about how long it took to get another set of false teeth and how his friend’s wife wouldn’t go out in public until they came. That started them both laughing again.
“You just got hitched, huh?” Oscar asked. “Well, it’s too late to help you now, boy!” he joked. Placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder, he said, “Let me give you a little advice. Lay the law down right at first. Because if you don’t, she’s gonna run all over you.”
“I told ’em he ought to get him a dog right off,” the other man added.
“That’s good advice, real good advice.”
A few minutes later the mechanic was done with the other car. He had Steve pull his car into the vacant stall in the garage.
When he walked back into the office from the garage, he found that Cathy was outside, huddled by the door, her parka hood zipped up, tears in her eyes, staring out at the snow.
“You’ll get cold out here,” he said, putting his arm around her.
“I had to get away from there. To those men their wives are the enemy. What went wrong in their marriages?”
“It won’t happen to us.”
“Steve, it’s only been six hours since we were in the temple, and now look where we are.”
After a few minutes of work by the mechanic, they were back on the road.
The storm seemed much worse after leaving the security of the lights of the small town. The entire road was completely covered with snow so that it became difficult to judge where the center line was.
Steve leaned forward, his arms and back tense as he nervously concentrated on driving. Darting swirls of snow raced across the road.
A car suddenly jumped out of the swirling snow coming toward them. Steve tried to judge where the center line would be if he could see it.
The car was heading directly toward them. “Get over!” Steve yelled. He cranked the wheel hard to the right to avoid a collision, and the car breezed by, tossing up a giant cloud of snow into the air.
They were off the shoulder of the road. Steve gunned the engine, trying to power out of the slope, but the back wheels spun, causing the back end to slide farther down the slope. In order to correct for that, he steered the car farther down the incline. The snow brought them finally to an almost gentle stop.
He slammed his fist at the steering wheel in frustration. Turning to her, he asked, “You okay?”
“I’m all right.”
He got out of the car and walked around it. The snow was above his knees. Opening the trunk of his car, he rummaged around until he found a small shovel that he used for camping.
He walked to the front of the car and began to furiously scoop up small mounds of snow.
Suddenly she was next to him. “Steve, stop. It’s snowing faster than you can shovel.”
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Look, I’m not some helpless glass doll that you have to handle carefully or I’ll break. I’m your wife, and I go with you wherever you go—into the temple, or into run-down gas stations, and, if it happens, into snow banks.”
“I should’ve listened to that man in the gas station. We should’ve stayed in his crummy motel. But no, I have to have my grandiose schemes. What a dumb thing. You married an idiot.”
“We’re both alive, the car’s okay, so what’s the big deal?”
He looked at her, surprised at her strength. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she barked out in a fake gangster voice. “And another thing, quit knocking the man I married because I love him.” She snuggled close and kissed him.
“Steve, I’m part of this marriage, too. I can help out.”
“How can you help out now?” he asked, amused by the thought of her pulling the car out of the snow.
“By telling you that while you were putting on that impressive snow shoveling demonstration, I thought I saw a light through the trees back there.”
“Oh,” was all he said.
They started toward the light seen just faintly through the trees. It was a small house. There was a look of severity about the place, as if something had forced a style of life that was ordered but without joy.
They stood on the porch and knocked. “Cathy, if we can help it, let’s not tell them we just got married. I can’t stand any more free advice.”
“You ought to get a dog,” she mimicked.
A porch light flashed on, exposing them to unseen inspection. The door opened a crack. “What do you want?” a man’s voice asked harshly.
“Our car went into the ditch. My wife and I need some help.”
Seconds passed. “Martin, ask ’em in,” a woman’s voice chided.
A man opened the door, allowing them just enough room to enter. He was a giant of a man, his face roughened and carved by years of being outdoors.
“What do you want from us?” he asked suspiciously.
“If you have a tractor, could you pull us out?”
“I’ve got a tractor, but I’m not pulling you out tonight.”
“Why not?” Steve asked.
“We just heard on the radio that they’ve pulled off the highway crews. They advise no travel.”
“We’ve only got another 20 miles to go.”
“Look. I’m not pulling you out just to have you go over the canyon ten miles from here.”
“We’ve got to get to my uncle’s place tonight,” Steve said, feeling his temper mount. “So how do we get there?”
“You don’t. Not tonight. You don’t know this country like I do.”
The woman, thin and plain and eroded by her fight against the sterile land, stepped out of the shadows of the dimly lit room.
“You’re welcome to stay with us. Aren’t they, Martin?”
“I don’t see what else they can do,” he mumbled.
“They could stay in David’s room.”
“No! They aren’t staying there!” the man erupted. “It’s his room!”
“Martin, it’s been 15 years!” she complained.
“Don’t get me mad, Ella. The answer is no!” He hurried to a coatrack and put on a heavy sheepskin coat. “I’m going to chop some more wood,” he said, biting off the words.
Steve stole a quick glance at Cathy.
The woman walked to the door and looked at the footprints left by her husband. She turned around slowly, a strange heaviness in her eyes. As she saw Steve and Cathy standing in the middle of the room, she took on the role of hostess. “I’m sorry. Let me get your coats. Please sit down. I’m Mrs. Gibson.”
They talked for several minutes about the weather. Finally Mrs. Gibson asked, “How long have you been married? My guess is less than a week.”
They both grinned sheepishly. “Does it show that much?”
“When a girl twists her wedding ring like that, I think it means that she hasn’t been wearing it long.”
“We were married today in Idaho Falls,” Steve said, taking hold of Cathy’s hand.
“Look,” she said, brightening up, “let me fix you a little snack in the kitchen and then we can talk. Would you like to play some records? They’re old, but you might like some of them.”
She picked up some old 78 rpm records from a shelf and placed them on a coffee table in front of Cathy and Steve. “These are records of Glenn Miller. Martin and I used to play them when we were first married. That was a long time ago, during the Second World War. By the way, do you like tuna fish?”
She went into her kitchen to work. Steve put a few of the records on the phonograph.
“Do you know where I met Martin?” she asked them, coming to the kitchen entrance to talk. “At the five and ten store in Missoula. I was only 18 then. He was home from the army on a 30-day leave. It was a couple of days before Valentine Day, and I was working at the jewelry counter. After about a half an hour, he finally picked out something. He thrust it into my hand, paid for it, and asked if I’d gift wrap it. Well I did, but when I gave it to him, he just looked down, shook his head, gave it back, and mumbled, ‘It’s for you.’ And that was the beginning. Since he was going overseas in just a few weeks, we ended up getting married before he left.”
They listened to the records while they ate their snack.
“When Martin came back from the war, he worked at various jobs for a few years, and then we got a chance to get this place. It had belonged to his father. We’ve been here ever since.”
After the last record on the stack had played, she showed them the necklace. It was a tiny chain with a small silver heart in the middle. “I think it cost all of two dollars. Oh, there’s an inscription on the back. Can you still read it?”
“It says, ‘Love is forever.’” Cathy slowly read the worn inscription.
“I haven’t thought about that necklace for years.”
“I bet there are some grandchildren in your life,” Cathy said with a smile.
“No,” she said bleakly. “We had a son, David, but he was killed in Vietnam.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cathy said quickly.
“It’s been hardest on my husband. He needed to have grandchildren to show off the ranch to, but we’re all alone now. He can’t let go of the bitterness.”
She took the necklace into the bedroom and then returned to the kitchen. Steve and Cathy played some more records.
Mr. Gibson stayed busy outside until supper.
They had homemade soup and biscuits. Mr. Gibson hunched over his bowl and ate without much talking.
“Martin,” the woman said, uncomfortable with his silence, “they were just married today in Idaho Falls.”
He looked up briefly. “Are you from Idaho?”
“No, I’m from Montana and Cathy is from Nebraska.”
“Then why get married in Idaho?” he asked.
“We’re both members of the Mormon church. We were married in the Idaho Falls Temple.”
“Why there?”
Cathy tried to explain. “We believe that a wedding performed in a temple of our church can continue even after death. We wanted our marriage to last forever.”
The man sat up and glowered at her. “Nothing lasts forever. You’ll learn that soon enough, I reckon.”
“I’ve never been more certain of what I’m saying,” Cathy replied with a quiet firmness in her voice.
“Then you’re a fool!” the man said abruptly.
“Martin, that’s no way to talk to company,” the woman complained.
“Who invited ’em? I didn’t.”
“Martin!”
“What do they know about life? They’re just a couple of kids.”
“Please excuse him; he’s not used to company,” the woman said.
Mr. Gibson got up from his chair and walked over to Steve and Cathy. “You two come with me, and I’ll show you what life does to people and their ideas about forever.”
They followed him into a small back bedroom. The blinds were pulled, and there was only one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The room was filled with pictures and trophies and sports equipment.
“Go ahead, look around.”
As they examined each picture, it was as if they were viewing the growth of a small boy into a young man—pictures of a three-year-old being held on a quarter horse by his proud father, a seven-year-old standing beside his father displaying a string of fish, a thirteen-year-old wearing a 4-H jacket and showing a hereford steer he had raised, a boy kneeling beside a trophy elk he had shot, a seventeen-year-old beside a cute girl in a formal gown, a proud graduate in a black cap and gown, a nineteen-year-old in front of the small white house wearing an army uniform.
The last picture frame contained a telegram announcing the boy’s death in combat in Vietnam.
“It took us 19 years to raise him,” the man said bleakly, “but they killed him in one second with a land mine.”
“We’re both sorry,” Cathy said.
“I don’t need your sympathy,” the man said bitterly. He reached down and picked up a fishing reel in his hand, turning it over slowly, studying it. “He was a good boy, and if he’d lived, by now he’d be married and have children, and I’d have some grandchildren, and life would have some meaning.”
He put the reel down on the shelf and turned to confront them. “Who remembers my boy anymore?”
They didn’t know what to say.
“Nobody does. Not anymore. This is all that’s left of him. What you see in this room. A few pictures and some ribbons from a county fair. And when my wife and I die, somebody will buy the house and toss it all away.”
He took a step toward them, his face in agony. “Now you tell me, where is this forever you keep harping about? Where is forever for my boy?”
Cathy threw her arms around him as if he were her grandfather. Steve could hear her crying. At first the man stood there mutely, his arms at his side, untouchable in his grief. But then, seeing that she shared his sorrow, he put an arm around her to comfort her.
A moment later she stepped back and said, “God loves your son. His body is destroyed but his spirit is alive. Someday his body and his spirit will come back together, and he will stand on this earth with a perfect body. I know that is true.”
He examined her face, searching for any insincerity, but he found none.
She continued, “God has commanded that temples be built so that we can help those who have died to receive the rich blessings they might have had if they’d lived. Your boy will live again.”
Somehow the despair that had filled the room lifted. Steve felt the sweet influence of the Holy Ghost bear witness to Cathy’s words.
The man looked at her upturned face for a long time and then simply said, “Nobody’s ever told me that before.”
“Mr. Gibson,” Cathy said, “today I was in one of those temples. I’ve never been more certain that God loves all his children. He loves your son David.”
The man slowly nodded his head. “David was a good boy.” Then looking around and seeing for the first time that it was only a room, he said simply, “It’s cold in here, isn’t it? Let’s go in the living room and talk some more.”
Steve, with his mission experience, began to teach Mr. and Mrs. Gibson the gospel.
At 10:00 Mrs. Gibson invited them into the kitchen for a piece of cake she’d baked especially for Steve and Cathy. While they were eating, the electric power went out. They lit a candle and finished.
“Martin, it’s going to get cold tonight without our electric heater.”
“We can all stay by the fire and keep warm,” he said.
Huddled around the fire, with the wind howling outside, they continued to talk. At 2:00 A.M., Mrs. Gibson turned to her husband and asked, “Martin, what do you think?”
“It’s the first thing I’ve heard that makes any sense. We better learn more about it, though, before we join.”
Cathy burst out excitedly, “You and your wife and your son can be sealed together as a family forever! Steve and I want to go with you through the temple when you go!”
Mr. Gibson cleared his throat nervously and reached a little awkwardly for his wife’s hand. “Ella and me have been through a lot together. It’d be nice to be together forever.”
Finally they agreed that it was time for sleep. While Mr. and Mrs. Gibson went to get some blankets, Steve reached over and kissed Cathy. “You are a terrific missionary.”
“Wasn’t it special?” she asked happily. “I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”
They sat and watched the fire. The embers that had been in the fire the longest glowed the deepest red.
“Cathy, are you still afraid of the future? We can’t guarantee that we won’t have the same unhappiness in our lives that they’ve had.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“If you knew now that I’d die in a few years, or that a baby would suffer sickness, would you walk away from our marriage?”
“I used to think that Heavenly Father would spare me that kind of trial,” she said.
“And now what do you think?”
“I think that a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ can help us live through whatever comes.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
She shook her head thoughtfully. “Not anymore.”
Mr. and Mrs. Gibson returned to the fire, carrying some blankets. They pulled the couch and two chairs close to the fireplace. Mr. Gibson piled two large logs on the fire. Then he placed a small gift in Cathy’s hand. It was wrapped in tissue paper.
All he said was, “Don’t open it until you’re on your way tomorrow.”
A few minutes later Cathy whispered something to Steve. He nodded his head and then spoke to Mr. Gibson. “I promised my wife something about tonight. Would it be all right if we had family prayer?”
By the next morning the storm had let up, and by 11:00 they had managed to pull the car back on the highway. Shortly after that, Steve and Cathy were on their way.
Not until they were unloading their suitcases from the car into the cabin did Cathy remember the small package on the back seat. Unwrapping it, she found the old necklace with the words inscribed on the back—“Love is forever.”

As I finished a work trip and drove along the country road, I felt both thankfulness and great loneliness. I thought about the accomplishments of the week with my new job—but then there was the loneliness I felt heading toward my empty apartment. It was my first time away from home and family since my mission.

My mind wandered back several months to the morning I had packed my car and left home. With everyone else already at work or school, only my mother was there to give me last bits of encouragement and advice for living alone. As I pulled out of the driveway, my mother stood in the doorway blowing kisses and trying to hold back tears.

“Get a grip,” I said aloud to myself. “I’m a 24-year-old man.” I thought about how I had come to Chicago and had been awestruck with the size of the city. I had looked down from the 110th floor of the Chicago Sears Tower at one of the busiest intersections of freeway in the world, then out to see one of the busiest airports in the world. More than seven million people lived in the greater Chicago area, I was told. Looking down at the thousands of cars, I imagined the individuals in each car and how God knew each one. Is it possible? I had wondered. How is it possible that He knows each of us?

My mind returned to the emptiness of my car and the country road, and I prayed for comfort. I told Heavenly Father I had spent two years on a mission testifying that I know He lives and knows each of us personally but that my heart was filled with loneliness and doubt. Did He know how terribly alone I felt?

As I prayed I noticed in my rearview mirror a big truck following close behind me. I gradually slowed and pulled slightly to the right to allow him to pass. The driver sped up and waved at me as he passed. Once in front of me, he slowed down and pulled to the right as I had done, inviting me to pass him now. This isn’t what I had in mind to keep me company, I thought.

As I accelerated and passed the truck, the driver waved again, and this time he blew his horn, startling me. I quickly put some space between us. But before I could react, there he was, alongside my car and waving again. This time as he passed me, he motioned for me to pull over.

The back of his truck now filled my entire windshield view. That’s when I noticed the bumper sticker: Happiness Is Family Home Evening. “Wait a minute,” I said aloud. “He must be a member of the Church, but how does he know I am?” I followed him to a shopping area, and he motioned to a fast-food restaurant. I glanced over at the familiar bumper sticker and smiled back in agreement. It was, after all, dinnertime, and I was hungry.

“Hi, I’m Jake,” he said, extending his hand as we entered the restaurant. “I noticed the Brigham Young University sticker in your rear window and thought you might be LDS,” he continued. “Thought you might like to get something to eat.”

“You’re right, I am LDS. And I’m hungry too,” I said. “My name’s Kelly. I saw your family home evening bumper sticker and thought you must be a member also.” He confirmed that he was. We sat down at a small table.

“I’ve been a member for only one year,” Jake began, even before we started to eat. “All my life I felt there was a God who knew and cared about His children here on earth. But it wasn’t until I heard the plan of salvation that I gained a real knowledge of God’s love for each one of us.” Here was a complete stranger bearing his testimony to me. “When I came up behind you in my truck and saw your BYU sticker, I had an overwhelming feeling that I should meet you,” he said.

After a while, Jake said, “Can you imagine how different this world would be if everyone knew what we know: that God knows each one of us, loves us, and wants us to be happy?”

What a wonderful testimony, I thought as Jake explained that he and his wife were planning to be sealed in the temple later that month. My mind filled with thoughts of gratitude: toward Jake for sharing his testimony with me at a time when I needed it most; for the true Church of Jesus Christ, which makes friends out of strangers; for my family, who taught me the gospel; for my mission and the opportunity it gave me to share my testimony with others; for a loving Heavenly Father who knows and cares for each one of His children; and for good Latter-day Saints like Jake.

In the depths of World War II, I experienced an expression of true friendship. Jack Hepworth and I were teenagers. We had grown up in the same neighborhood. One afternoon I saw Jack running down the sidewalk toward me. When we met, I saw that there were tears in his eyes. In a voice choked with emotion, he blurted out the words, “Tom, my brother Joe, who is in the Navy Air Corps, has been killed in a fiery plane crash!” We embraced. We wept. We sorrowed. I felt highly complimented that instinctively Jack, my friend, felt the urgency to share with me his grief. We can all be grateful for such friends.

This story happened in the Philippines.
“Mano po! Hello!” Arkin said to Grandma when he got home. He greeted her by bowing and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Grandma smiled. “Your dad is waiting for you with the fish. Hurry and go help him!”
Arkin’s dad was a construction worker. He worked very hard to earn money for their family. But they didn’t have much. And sometimes Dad couldn’t find work. When that happened, Arkin helped him sell homemade tinapa (smoked fish).
Arkin and Dad put the packs of tinapa in a basket and carried it outside.
“Thank you for helping me,” said Dad. “I hope we sell enough to pay for a ride to church this week.”
Arkin’s family lived in a small village near rice fields and a fishpond. It was just him, Dad, Grandma, and his older sister. They were far away from the chapel. To get to church, they had to pay to ride a tricycle (a motorcycle with a sidecar). If they didn’t have the money, they had to walk for two hours.
“I have faith that Heavenly Father will help us,” Arkin said. “Let’s go!”
First they went to their neighbor Aling Nena’s house. She always bought tinapa from them.
“Good afternoon!” Arkin said.
Aling Nena opened the gate for them. “Oh, my two favorite people are here!” she said with a smile. She gave Dad some money, and he gave her two packs of tinapa.
“Thank you for buying from us!” Arkin said. “It really means a lot.”
Arkin and Dad walked back out to the street.
“Tinapa! Tinapa! Delicious tinapa!” Arkin called. More people bought fish from them.
It was hot outside, but Arkin didn’t mind. He and Dad sang “Count Your Blessings” as they walked. Every day was a blessing for them!
They kept singing and selling. Arkin almost didn’t notice that their basket was empty.
“Look, Dad! We sold all the fish!” Arkin said.
Dad smiled. “Yes, it’s a blessing.”
Arkin was glad they had sold so much tinapa. It would help pay some of their bills, and there was enough for a ride to church on Sunday!
But tomorrow was Saturday, and that was when they helped clean the church. So early the next morning, Arkin and Dad woke up to start the long walk to the church building. They always walked to save money for Sunday.
“Aren’t you tired of cleaning your church every Saturday?” asked Grandma before they left.
Dad put his hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Cleaning the church is one way we serve the Lord.”
Arkin nodded. “We get blessings for cleaning the church. Heavenly Father helps our tinapa sell out so we can buy food!”
While they walked, Arkin and Dad sang more hymns. Then they worked hard to clean the church. Arkin wiped the dust from all the windows and chairs. Dad swept and mopped the floor.
When they were done, the bishop shared pandesal (sweet rolls) with everyone who helped. Arkin ate his snack with a big smile. It would be a long walk home, but his heart felt joyful and thankful. When they came back to church tomorrow, the building would be clean for everyone to enjoy and remember Jesus Christ. He was happy he could help.
Illustration by Margarida Esteves

Barbara had lived in a new ward for only a few months when the pandemic began. Like so many, she discovered that her plans had been turned upside down. She thought meeting new friends would be a wonderful experience, but instead it became a struggle. During a time of isolation, patterns of ministering had to change. She didn’t have much of a chance to get to know the members of her new ward. She asked herself, “How do I visit, serve, help, and love sisters when visiting someone isn’t possible? Even sending a text is hard when sisters don’t recognize my name or number because I’m new.”
She found it even more important to pray and listen for promptings in such circumstances. Sometimes she felt prompted to simply drop off a note. Other times she sent a text to thank a sister for her prayer in sacrament meeting or to express appreciation for the testimony of another sister’s husband. An occasional socially distanced visit on someone’s front porch helped fill her need for seeing and talking in person. One prompting led her to think of a comforting, delicious bowl of butternut squash soup, so she dropped off the recipe and a butternut squash.
It’s not how she had hoped things would go when she moved in. Isolation made the process of getting to know her sisters slower. But as she followed President Nelson’s counsel to increase her spiritual capacity to receive revelation, she overcame challenges, became a better ministering sister, and formed some close friendships.

A true story from Australia.
“Hurry, Pae!” Keola said to his little brother. “You can do it!”
Keola and his family were at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They were playing Candy Grab with their cousins—their favorite game to play on Christmas Day. Pae was wearing a blindfold. He was trying to scoop up candy with a spatula and put it in a bucket.
“You have five seconds left!” their older brother, Tauinaola, said. He was holding the timer.
“This is hard!” Pae laughed and pushed his spatula around, spreading the candy all over the floor.
“Time!” Tauinaola called.
Pae pulled off his blindfold. “At least I got a few! Let’s play Ring Toss now.”
Pae, Tauinaola, and their cousins went to another room. Keola was about to follow them, but then he heard Grandma’s voice.
“How’s your Christmas been, Keola?” Grandma stepped over the candy and wrapping paper on the floor and gave Keola a big hug.
“It’s been great!” Keola said.
Earlier, Keola’s grandma, great-grandma, and aunties had made delicious Filipino food for dinner. Keola’s favorite was called pancit, made with rice noodles, chicken, and vegetables fried in a pan.
After dinner, everyone had gathered to read Luke 2. Keola and Pae used their Nativity set to help tell the story. It was nice to remember the birth of Jesus Christ together.
But now Christmas was almost over. Keola frowned. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”
“Me too. But I’m grateful we could spend the day together.” Grandma gave Keola another tight squeeze. “I should go help clean up. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
As Keola watched her go, he saw his parents helping his aunties and uncles clean up the kitchen. They were washing and drying the dishes. Keola didn’t really like cleaning, but he knew there was still a lot to do around the house.
Maybe I should help, he thought to himself.
There were still candy wrappers and wrapping paper on the ground. Keola grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen. He stuffed all the papers in the bag. Then he walked around and picked up dirty napkins and other trash. After a few minutes, the room already looked cleaner!
Keola wondered what he could do next. His baby cousins had been playing with some books and toys that were still on the floor. He gathered them up and put them away. Then he cleaned up the games that had been left out.
A warm feeling filled Keola’s heart. He knew that the Holy Ghost was telling him he was doing something good. He was happy to be helping!
The good feeling stayed with him as he carried plates and glasses to the kitchen sink. Mom smiled at him as she scrubbed the dishes.
“Thanks for your help, Keola,” she said.
Keola smiled back. “You’re welcome!”
Next, he helped his uncle mop the kitchen floor and put the leftover food away. After that, the house was practically sparkling!
Soon it was time to go home.
Keola waved goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa, then walked down the street with Dad, Mom, and his brothers. Crickets were chirping, and Keola saw the stars shining in the sky. He smiled. It had been a good Christmas. He was happy he had helped his family clean up. And he knew Jesus Christ was happy too.
“The spirit of Christmas brings out the best in us. The warmth and light of Christmas is the Light of Christ.”
President Dallin H. Oaks, “Celebrating Christmas” (First Presidency Christmas devotional, Dec. 8, 2024), Gospel Library.
Illustrations by Mattia Lo Russo

Jason C. Jones turned up the collar of his wet coat. He tried to creep farther under the bush, but the chilling rain still soaked through and found him.
Will I ever be warm again? Jason wondered.
On this cold night in November 1833, Jason thought back to that hot day in July when it seemed to him their troubles had all begun.
Jason’s father said to him that morning, “I have to ride into Independence for supplies, Jason. Fix the broken fence. And remember you’re eleven now, and you’ll have to look out for your mother and Jane.”
Shortly after noon that day Jason was straightening a fence rail near the road when he heard the sound of running horses.
Shading his eyes, Jason looked down the road. Many men were coming toward him on galloping horses. Then he noticed that all the men had weapons of some sort. Jason saw several rifles and some pistols, but most of the riders carried whips or clubs.
The boy trembled in fright. Are they members of a mob? he wondered. He’d heard stories about men who threatened the Saints, and sometimes when his father and mother had thought the children were both asleep, Jason had heard them whisper about killings.
All but one of the riders raced past the boy. The one who stopped pulled his horse up near Jason and shouted, “You one of those Mormon boys?”
Jason nodded.
“Tell your folks to get out,” the man cried. “You’re not wanted in Jackson County, Missouri.”
Jason stood silent and the man rode away.
When his father came home, Jason told him about the men and then asked, “Why don’t the people want us here, Father? We’re not hurting anyone, are we?”
His father looked sad. He was quiet for a moment, and then he explained, “I guess folks feel there are too many Mormons coming to live here.”
Jason remembered that the rest of the summer was peaceful at their farm, but many other families had not been as fortunate. One night his father rode into Independence again. A meeting was being held so that some of the Mormon leaders and other men chosen from the area could talk over their problems.
Before he left, Jason’s father had smiled and said again, “Take care of your mother and Jane, son. I’ll be home soon.”
But two weeks passed and Jason’s father had not returned. Near nightfall that day Jason walked to the road. He peered in the direction of town, hoping he might see his father coming home. What Jason saw instead made him stiffen with fear. He raced back into the house and shut the door.
Before he spoke, he took a deep breath. “Mother,” Jason quietly said, “some men are coming.”
His mother jumped up. A shirt she had been mending dropped unnoticed on the floor. “Maybe we can get away through the back door, Jason,” she suggested in a shaky voice. “Let’s hurry and—”
Before his mother finished speaking, a huge man pushed the door open.
“You Mormons get out!” he bellowed. “We’re going to burn your house down!”
Jason could not believe what he heard the man say. Then there were sounds in the yard outside, and Jason knew the loud noises meant fences were being ripped down and the barn and other outbuildings torn apart.
Jason helped his mother find Jane’s shawl as well as her own. He snatched a wicker basket and began to throw food into it, but the big man grabbed the basket and shouted, “Go on! Get out before this place burns down around you!”
Jason and his mother and Jane ran outside and up the road. They stopped a few times to look back at the flames that licked around their home as it burned.
During the night they were joined by other homeless women and children. They crossed a burned prairie crusted with sleet. Whenever they tried to stop and rest, men on horseback drove them on.
The driven people moved northward to the Missouri River. They reached the river late one evening.
Crowded on its banks were household goods, boxes, provisions, animals, and many people waiting their turn to cross the river. Only one small ferry was available.
Shortly after dark Jason became separated from his mother and Jane. Now the rain began to fall in torrents, and Jason huddled under the bush. He was desperately miserable and lonely as he thought about all that had happened since that July day when the man on horseback had screamed, “You’re not wanted!”
Then Jason remembered what he could do. Kneeling in the mud, Jason prayed for help.
Finally he dozed. But cries from the people on the river bank soon awakened him, and Jason crawled from beneath his bush.
The rain had stopped, and everyone was looking up. Jason looked up too. The sight he saw filled him with amazement!
The heavens were a deep blue background for a wondrous spectacle of falling stars that streaked downward in bright flames. It looked as if the stars exploded in place and then began to tumble toward the earth.
To Jason, it seemed that every star in the heavens was about to land in the river beside the people.
As the magnificent display gradually stopped, Jason again remembered his troubles. He sighed and shivered as he pulled his coat about him. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Jason looked up and saw his father.
“Oh, Father,” he sobbed, “I’m so glad to see you!”
His father hugged him close. “I found your mother and Jane too,” he said. “Come.”
The man and the boy walked down the river bank together. A fire burned warmly in front of a tent, and inside the opening Jason could see his mother and sister.
“With our family together again, even a tent is a home,” Father said as he gently pushed Jason inside toward his welcoming family.

I remember as a child looking at my grandmother’s wrinkled cheeks. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, and tiny lines graced her upper lip. I asked her how I could keep from getting wrinkles.
“Don’t smile,” she said. “And don’t cry.”
I followed her advice—for one day. Then I gave up. How could anyone live without smiling or crying? I decided I’d rather have a face that shows the lines of laughter and tears.

Sister Asay recalled another incident when she poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven: “Carlos has always made me feel that I’m the greatest person in the world, and I just never want to let him down, or do anything that will slow his progress.” She told of the time she had the responsibility of handling their very meager finances. “We had our money budgeted in little envelopes,” she explained. At that time her young student-husband was teaching school and also going to night school. As he left for school one morning with full confidence in his sweetheart and wife, he said, “I’ll need the tuition money ready so I can register after school tonight.” Colleen had this horrible feeling come over her. She realized that through some misplanning, perhaps paying a bill before it was due or something like that, there was no money for the tuition.
“He trusted me. I just couldn’t let him down. He needed the money then so he could continue his schooling, and there was no money and no way of getting it unless it was to just drop out of the sky.” With a desperate feeling, and yet with the unwavering faith she had developed over the years, she talked to her Father in Heaven: “There is no money. What am I going to do? Carlos thinks there is, and he is coming home, and I just can’t disappoint him.” Sister Asay hesitated a minute, then leaned forward and reverently bore testimony: “That was one of the greatest spiritual experiences I’ve had,” she said, “and I’ve had a number of them.
“You know, when I got up from my knees, I looked out of the window. I saw the postman coming down the walk. The thought came to me immediately, ‘There will be some money in the mail.’ I confidently walked to the mailbox and—nothing. I could hardly believe it. My heart sank. There was no money. Disappointed and heartsick, I turned to go back in the door, full of concern, thinking of Carlos’s education and our future. At that moment the postman came back around the corner of the house. ‘Here is a letter,’ he said. ‘It was in the bottom of the bag and I didn’t notice it.’” She quickly opened the letter to discover a seminary check—two payments in advance—for the exact amount of the tuition. “I just started to cry,” she said. “The Lord did hear my prayers. I said to the children, ‘Look, here is some money from the Lord.’” Those dear little children sensed their mother’s excitement and ran all the way up and down the block, where there were nonmembers, and publicly announced to all their friends, “The Lord has sent us some money.”
“That’s how instantly I’ve had prayers answered,” Sister Asay explained. “Sometimes answers don’t come that quickly, but sometimes they do!”

The first meetinghouse built by the Church in Mérida was very significant for members who helped build it—and, as was the policy then, pay for it—recalls Saidy Castillo de Gaona of the Zacil-Ha First Ward, Mérida México Stake. “The members paid our half with our work—pure hard labor,” she says. Young Saidy learned to operate the brick-making machine while she worked on the project. And it was there that she met her future husband, Noé, a labor missionary helping to construct the building.

“When they knocked that building down, it was very emotional for me,” Saidy continues. “But the important thing was that they built something of greater value.” The Mérida México Temple now occupies that site.

As a teenager, Saidy had seen herself in a dream in a temple in Mérida. “I knew there was going to be a temple. I asked the Lord to let me live long enough to see it.”

She and her husband were married more than 35 years ago. They were sealed in the temple in Mexico City shortly after it was dedicated. Through the years they supported the Church faithfully in a wide variety of priesthood and auxiliary callings. When the Mérida temple was dedicated in 2000, the Gaonas were prepared to serve there too; they were the first two temple workers set apart.

He was serving in the temple on the day he died suddenly in late 2002. Saidy says it was only her knowledge of the eternal nature of marriage that allowed her to cope with the loss of her companion. “I think if it hadn’t been for the gospel, I would have wanted to die. The knowledge of the gospel gives me strength to go on. The gospel is everything for me. It was everything for my husband too.”

She turned once more to service in the gospel for help in healing the hurt of her loss. In addition to serving in the temple, she found solace in giving of herself to her five children and grandchildren and also in her Church callings. “I think I’m happiest when I’m working,” she explains.

Several members of the Snow family, including 17-year-old Lorenzo, clambered into the carriage and drove off toward the Johnson farm, four miles away. The year was 1831, and recently a new religious group known as Mormons had sprung up in the area.
Word had been circulated that the Mormon Prophet, Joseph Smith, was to speak at a meeting at the Johnson place and the Snows, curious perhaps, decided to attend.
The Prophet was standing in the doorway of the house, addressing the group. Lorenzo later recorded his impressions thus: “He was only 25 years of age and was not, at that time, what would be called a fluent speaker. His remarks were confined principally to his own experiences, especially the visitation of the angel, giving a strong and powerful testimony in regard to these marvelous manifestations.”
Lorenzo concluded that Joseph Smith had not been deceived. Either the Mormon leader had, indeed, talked with the Father and the Son or he was an outright fraud. The boy was not religiously inclined at the time, and did not bother to find which of the possibilities was true.

A story is told that during the bombing of a city in World War II, a large statue of Jesus Christ was severely damaged. When the townspeople found the statue among the rubble, they mourned because it had been a symbol of their faith and of God’s presence in their lives.
Experts were able to repair most of the statue, but its hands had been broken so badly that they could not be fixed. The people added on the base of the statue of Jesus Christ a sign with these words: “You are my hands.”

Samu, a ten-year-old African boy, walked slowly down the village farm road. He smacked at the hedge with every step, trying to spear a leaf on the pointed tip of his msasa stick.
When he finally reached the gate in the hedge, he paused hopefully. Then he reached out and swung the gate open and shut, open and shut. The gate was badly in need of oil and squeaked loudly as Samu swung it backward and forward.
Soon Samu heard the same loud squeak come from the old woman’s front porch. It was the bird—the clever talking bird!
“Squeeeeeeeeek, squeeeeeeeeek! Naughty boy! Who’s there?” called the bird in the yellow cage. Then it barked shrilly like the old lady’s Pekinese dog.
Samu clutched the gate and giggled. “Hello, hello!” called Samu.
“Hello, hello!” replied the bird.
Samu felt very clever. He ran to his home in the village and told his mother that he was teaching a bird to speak. His mother laughed, because she knew nothing of talking birds.
“I will show you, Mother,” Samu said excitedly. “As soon as I get a bird of my own, I will teach it to talk!”
Mother was busy pounding corn into mealie, and she just laughed at Samu’s promise and told him to run away and play.
Samu asked some of his friends to help him catch a bird. “I will teach it to talk,” he told them. But his friends only laughed, for they had never heard of a talking bird.
Next Samu spoke to Old Mwanza, who sat all day by his hut warming his old bones in the sun.
“Birds do not talk. Men talk—and they talk too much,” said the old man, shaking his grizzled head at Samu. “Why teach birds to add to the chatter?”
Samu wandered off into the bush by himself, wondering how he could catch a bird and train it to talk as the old woman’s bird did. He had almost given up hope when he saw a black crow sitting in the branches of a msasa tree hoarsely croaking about nothing in particular.
Why don’t I try to make friends with this bird by feeding it? he thought. I will bring it some of mother’s cooked mealie every day at the same time until it knows me.
Samu quickly ran home and begged for some hard-cooked porridge. His mother gave him a handful, and back he ran to the msasa tree and spread lumps of mealie on the ground. Then he hid in the bushes. After a lot of surprised scraaaking, the crow hopped down and began to peck at the mealie.
Every day for three weeks Samu took a handful of porridge and fed the crow. It no longer flew up into the tree with a scraaaaak of fright when Samu arrived. Now it hopped up close to him and jumped up and down in the dust, waiting for Samu to spread the porridge.
At first when Samu tried touching its feathered back, it hopped out of reach and looked at him with bright beady eyes as it scolded, “Quraaaaaaack?”
But in another week Samu could stroke the crow’s back gently while it pecked up the food.
Now! he decided triumphantly. Now I can teach it to talk.
“Say hello,” Samu told the crow. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaak!” replied the crow.
“You will have to do better than that,” Samu said patiently. “Now try again. Say hello. Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaaak?” repeated the crow, putting its head to one side and blinking at Samu with curious eyes.
“Look,” scolded Samu. “If the other bird can say it, so can you. You’re not trying.”
“Crraasquk,” squawked the crow as it flew up to the lowest branch of the msasa tree.
Samu walked home through the bush, dragging his bare feet and feeling miserable. Why wouldn’t his bird even try to talk?
He went back to see Old Mwanza and told him that the crow refused to learn to talk.
“This bird that talks with many voices and barks like a dog and squeaks like a gate,” said the old man, “must have two tongues. Perhaps your bird only has one tongue.”
I guess my crow does have only one tongue Samu thought sadly. But I will try once more! So back he went to the msasa tree with a handful of mealie. He fed his crow and then squatted down in the dust beside it. “Hello!” he said loudly. The crow danced sideways for a moment and then hopped on to Samu’s knee.
“Squaaaaako!” said the crow, and again it flew up into the tree.
Samu felt quite sorry for himself. All of his work for nothing!
Behind him the old man chuckled. He had followed Samu to see how he was getting along with teaching his bird to talk. “Samu,” he said, “it’s good to try hard to do something. But it is foolish to try to do the impossible. Would you try to teach a hen to swim like a duck or a dog to crow like a rooster?”
“No,” said Samu sheepishly. “But the old woman’s bird talks. Why shouldn’t mine?”
“I have found out about the old woman’s bird,” explained Old Mwanza. “It is a parrot—a talking bird. Your crow will make a fine pet. Why don’t you teach it to come when you call and to hop after you when you go for walks. Then you will be teaching it something it is able to learn.”
“One day I will get a talking bird,” said Samu. Then he started to laugh. “Teaching a crow to talk is like teaching a dog to crow!” he said.
The crow looked at him with its bright beady eyes and said, “Squarrrrrrrrk!”

Across from me a woman sat sobbing. With tear-filled eyes, she told me, “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” She spoke of having struggled and prayed many days to know how to make a vitally important decision in her life, without success. She anguished, “I don’t know what to do. If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” With her hand on the scriptures, she said, “God told us He would help us. He answers everybody else’s prayers. Why won’t He answer mine?”
She said, “God told us He would help us. He answers everybody else’s prayers. Why won’t He answer mine?”
When one is caught in a whirlpool of emotion, it is difficult to find a way out alone. My prayer is to help you who have similar feelings.
When answers to urgent prayer don’t seem to come, it can be that we don’t understand some truths about prayer or because we don’t recognize answers when they come.
Communication with our Father in Heaven is not a trivial matter. It is a sacred privilege. It is based upon unchanging principles. When we receive help from our Father in Heaven, it is in response to faith, obedience, and the proper use of agency.
It is a mistake to assume that every prayer we offer will be answered immediately. Some prayers require considerable effort on our part. True, sometimes impressions come when we have not specifically sought them. They generally concern something we need to know and are not otherwise able to find out.
We are here on earth to gain experience we can obtain in no other way. We are given the opportunity to grow, to develop, and to gain spiritual maturity. To do that, we must learn to apply truth. How we face challenges and resolve difficult problems is crucially important to our happiness.
To better understand prayer, I have listened to the counsel of others, pondered the scriptures, and studied the lives of prophets and others. Yet what seems most helpful is seeing in my mind a child approaching trustingly a loving, kind, wise, understanding Father, who wants us to succeed.
Don’t worry about your clumsily expressed feelings. Just talk to your Father. He hears every prayer and answers it in His way.
When we explain a problem and a proposed solution, sometimes He answers yes, sometimes no. Often He withholds an answer, not for lack of concern, but because He loves us—perfectly. He wants us to apply truths He has given us. For us to grow, we need to trust our ability to make correct decisions. We need to do what we feel is right. In time, He will answer. He will not fail us.
I have described the absolute reality of our relationship with our Father. There is nothing about us He does not know. He is conscious of our every need and could provide all of the answers. Yet, because His purpose is our eternal happiness, He encourages us to make the correct choices.
Like many of us, Oliver Cowdery did not recognize the evidence of answers to prayers already given by the Lord. To open his—and our—eyes, this revelation was given through Joseph Smith:
“Blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time.
“Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:14–15; emphasis added).
If you feel that God has not answered your prayers, ponder these scriptures—then carefully look for evidence in your own life of His having already answered you.
To help each of us recognize answers given, the Lord said:
“If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?” (D&C 6:22–23; emphasis added).
The Lord provides further insight by counseling us to study a problem out in our mind and then to ask if it be right:
“If it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.
“But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought” (D&C 9:8–9; emphasis added).
It is vitally important to recognize that the Lord also responds a third way to prayer by withholding an answer when the prayer is offered. Why would He do that?
He is our perfect Father. He loves us beyond our capacity to understand. He knows what is best for us. He sees the end from the beginning. He wants us to act to gain needed experience:
When He answers yes, it is to give us confidence.
When He answers no, it is to prevent error.
When He withholds an answer, it is to have us grow through faith in Him, obedience to His commandments, and a willingness to act on truth. We are expected to assume accountability by acting on a decision that is consistent with His teachings without prior confirmation. We are not to sit passively waiting or to murmur because the Lord has not spoken. We are to act.
Sometimes answers to prayer are not recognized because we are too intent on wanting confirmation of our own desires.
Most often what we have chosen to do is right. He will confirm the correctness of our choices His way. That confirmation generally comes through packets of help found along the way. We discover them by being spiritually sensitive. They are like notes from a loving Father as evidence of His approval. If, in trust, we begin something that is not right, He will let us know before we have gone too far. We sense that help by recognizing troubled or uneasy feelings.
Illustration by Brian Call
Nephi’s efforts to obtain the plates of brass show how the principles work (see 1 Nephi 3:6–7). After two unsuccessful attempts, Nephi remained confident. He crept into the city toward the house of Laban without all the answers. He observed, “I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do,” significantly adding, “nevertheless I went forth” (1 Nephi 4:6–7; emphasis added).
Nephi was willing to try time and again, using his best efforts. He expressed faith that he would be helped. He refused to be discouraged. But because he acted, had confidence in the Lord, was obedient, and properly used his agency, he received guidance. He was inspired step after step to success, and in his mother’s words was “given … power [to] accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Nephi 5:8; emphasis added).
Nephi knew he was required to confide in God, to exercise faith, and to act so that he could receive help, step by step. He did not murmur nor ask for a full explanation. But, observe particularly, he did not wait passively for help. He acted! By following spiritual law, he was inspired and given power to act.
Sometimes answers to prayer are not recognized because we are too intent on wanting confirmation of our own desires. We fail to see that the Lord would have us do something else. Be careful to seek His will.
I confess I don’t know how to make a correct decision except where there is righteousness and trust in a Heavenly Father. The principles simply will not work when agency is intentionally used at variance with the will of God. If there is unrepented sin, we are left to our own devices to flounder and struggle on our own. We can be rescued through our own repentance.
When we seek inspiration to help make decisions, the Lord gives gentle promptings. These require us to think, to exercise faith, to work, to struggle at times, and to act. Seldom does the whole answer to a decisively important matter or complex problem come all at once. More often, it comes a piece at a time, without the end in sight.
I have saved the most important part about prayer until the end. It is gratitude! Our sincere efforts to thank our beloved Father generate wondrous feelings of peace, self-worth, and love.
Why is it that the most impoverished seem to know best how to thank the Lord? In the highlands of Guatemala, members barely subsist. Going to the temple requires great sacrifice. A visit takes a year of preparation. There is hard work, sacrifice to save money and food, the spinning, dyeing, and weaving of new clothing. There is the long, barefoot walk out of the mountains, the crossing of Lake Isabel, the bus rides with little food. Tired and worn, they arrive at the temple. They scrub until they shine, dress in their new clothing, and enter the house of the Lord.
Reclothed in white, they are taught by the Spirit, receive ordinances, and make covenants. One highland woman was greatly touched by the spirit and meaning of the endowment. Entering the celestial room, she saw others seated, with heads reverently bowed. Innocently, she knelt at the entrance to the room, oblivious to others. She bowed her head, sobbed, and for twenty minutes poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven. Finally, with her dress soaked with tears, she raised her head. The sensitive temple matron asked, “May I help?” She responded, “Oh, would you? This is my problem: I’ve tried to tell Father in Heaven of my gratitude for all of my blessings, but I don’t feel that I’ve communicated. Will you help me tell Him how grateful I am?”
This counsel about prayer is true. I have tested it thoroughly in the laboratory of my own personal life. I have discovered that what sometimes seems an impenetrable barrier to communication is a giant step to be taken in trust.
If you seek His help, be sure your life is clean, your motives are worthy, and you’re willing to do what He asks—for He will answer your prayers. He is your loving Father; you are His beloved child. He loves you perfectly and wants to help you.

At the age of 14, John entered the world of work to receive formal training for a vocation. The apprenticeship system in England then required young men to work for several years with a master of a particular craft or trade before they could themselves be certified as capable of practicing the trade on their own. John followed naturally in his father’s footsteps and was apprenticed to a cooper, or barrel-maker, in Liverpool. Unfortunately, John’s master apparently failed in business less than a year after the new apprentice arrived in the city, and John returned home to the family farm at Hale. He next turned his attention northward and apprenticed himself to the carpenter in Penrith where he worked for the next five years, completing his apprenticeship to become a fully-qualified carpenter himself in 1828.

Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Aidan Troutner, 18, from Timpview High School in Provo, Utah, figured he could race well at the Nike Cross-country Nationals (NXN) in Portland, Oregon. But no one figured he really had a chance to win the individual championship—until it came to the final sprint.
Aidan entered the meet, he says, “under the radar.” Several other runners were predicted to win. “But that’s one of the goals I had this season, not to worry about other people so much, just to focus on my own time and training, improving myself. The Lord gives us talents, but He expects us to put in the work.”
And Aidan had worked, hard. Training and competing from June through November had enabled him to win first place in both the Utah 5A high school championship and the Southwest Regionals.
“I had confidence in myself, because I knew I was prepared,” he says. “The Lord expects us to act, not to be acted upon [see 2 Nephi 2:13].”
He also knew that a couple of other Latter-day Saints were running, too. “So, just before the race began, we gathered together for prayer. We asked Heavenly Father to help everyone run to the best of their abilities. We said our prayer, then the starting gun went off and we were on our way.”
Aidan followed the strategy his coach had mapped out with him. He stayed in 4th position through most of the race. Then, with about 600 meters to go, he made his move. “It wasn’t until then that I realized I could really win it,” he remembers. “With 200 meters left, I took the lead and cruised to the finish line.” He had paced himself, and he had finished strong.
Aidan received a lot of recognition for his performance. “One of the greatest blessings I had was the number of people I got to talk to about the gospel,” he says. “Especially after the race, people wanted to know more about me, what I was doing after high school, and where I was going to college. I told them I’m going on a mission and then I’m going to BYU. It was an amazing blessing to talk to people who didn’t know much about the gospel.”
Aidan also finds that running has reinforced gospel principles for him.
“We had a lesson just last Sunday about self-reliance,” he says. “One of the key things we talked about was that self-reliance implies that you do it yourself, but in truth, we can’t do anything without our Savior Jesus Christ. That’s the way we become truly self-reliant—to rely on Him to ease our burdens. As applied to running, that means I couldn’t have done this by myself. I needed the help of teammates, coaches, and my family, just like each of us needs the help of the Savior.”

Natalie likes to explore the fields around our house. She found a special tree not far from our backyard, where she likes to pray. One night as I tucked her into bed, she said that Heavenly Father had told her to fast on the next Fast Sunday. She is so thin and young that I discouraged her. It was three weeks until the next Fast Sunday, so I thought that she would forget. But she didn’t!
On the day before the fast, she knew exactly her purpose for fasting. She wanted Heavenly Father to bless an elderly sister in our branch who had been very sick. Natalie said that she was never hungry during her fast, because she knew that that was what Heavenly Father wanted her to do.
For several months, she fasted every month with a special purpose, was cheerful, and never complained once. She has been a wonderful example for our family.