Gospel Story Finder

Her older sister, Katie (12), was the first girl born into the Fox family in 110 years. For the first eight and a half years of her life, Katie wasn’t able to be physically active because of a spinal condition she was born with. When Carolyn was old enough, she spent a lot of time keeping Katie company. Two years ago, after receiving a priesthood blessing, Katie underwent back surgery to try to fix the problem with her back. Even her doctor couldn’t believe how well it went. Now, though Katie plays actively with her other friends, she and Carolyn still have a closeness that’s unmatched.
Because of that closeness, the sisters have learned much from each other. In Primary, Carolyn looks out for children who are having a hard time and helps them know that they have a friend and are loved. She learned to do that from her sister, Katie.

by Jeffery A. Lee and Paul Scott Embley
What do you get when you combine 39 Hollanders, eight missionaries, and five eight-foot sandwiches? The young members of the Groningen Branch, Netherlands Amsterdam Mission, found out when they joined their nonmember friends, the missionaries, and fellow branch members in the park. The combination means you’re having an American picnic, Dutch style.
Actually, the fun began the night before when the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women gathered to fill the lengthy loaves. Armed with spoons, knives, ham, bologna, cheese, lettuce, pickles, and condiments, they soon stuffed the “submarines” amply enough to satisfy any appetite.
The next morning, an unexpected problem arose: how do you transport five eight-foot sandwiches to the park when the major means of transportation is bicycles? The answer was easy—recruit a Volkswagen! Such a car may already seem small to some people, but it seemed even smaller stuffed with super sandwiches!
But the sandwiches arrived and so did the crowd, with young and old enjoying each other’s company. The picnic started with contests: tossing raw eggs between partners, three-legged races, wheelbarrow racing, Frisbee throwing, volleyball, and soccer.
The games were followed by a testimony meeting, during which the picnickers discussed their love for their Savior, Jesus Christ. Then, finally, it was time to eat. Even though everyone’s hunger was great, they found it small compared to the size of the sandwiches—a total of 40 feet of bread and fillings.

When I was nine years old, I was the only Mormon student in a very large private Catholic school in Ibadan, Nigeria. It was announced one day that the archbishop of the Ibadan Diocese would be coming to our school, and everyone was very excited. He is a very important person, and he makes such a visit only every four years. Great preparations were made—the school was repainted and decorated with flowers and balloons, the lawn was cut, and we were all reminded that we should look our very best on this special day. On the day of the visit, I woke up two hours earlier than usual just so I could get ready. I was very excited to wear my new school uniform, and I was eager to show it to my brothers and sisters before I left for school.
At eight o’clock, all the teachers and students were waiting when the honored guest arrived. After he greeted us and made a few remarks, he asked, “Who was Saint Martha?” The hall was quiet. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he asked the question two more times. It was easy to see that the archbishop was disappointed because no one answered his question.
I felt very nervous. I was confused when he asked about Saint Martha, but I felt sure I knew the right answer. I had learned about Martha in Primary, but I was afraid to raise my hand—partly because I belonged to a different church and partly because I was so shy. I had not even talked much to my classmates, and answering this question would mean standing in front of a crowd of more than 1,000 people!
But I remembered how I always stood up in church to bear my testimony, and the Spirit gave me the courage I needed. The next thing I knew, my hand was in the air and I was being called on to answer. I then found myself standing beside the archbishop in front of the largest crowd of people I had ever seen. All eyes seemed to be glued to me. Everyone was waiting for my answer. My legs were shaking as I stated that Martha was the sister of Mary and Lazarus. There was another silence after I answered. Then the archbishop’s expression changed, and he asked me to explain further. I remembered the story from Primary, and I told about Jesus Christ’s visit to Mary and Martha and about how he raised Lazarus from the dead (see Luke 10:38–42 and John 11:20–45).
The archbishop seemed very impressed with my answer and asked for a round of applause for me. He then shook my hand, hugged me, and asked which Catholic church I attended. I explained that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that I learned these things in my church Primary class. He smiled and said, “Gbenga, you have made me very happy today. I am very proud of you, your church, and whoever taught you. Without you, nobody would have answered that question, and I would have been greatly disappointed.” He then rewarded me with a scholarship for my last year at the school. This made me feel very thankful for the Church, my Primary teacher, my family, and the Spirit of God, which directed me.
Since that day, I have been referred to as “scholarship boy.” Every time I hear that phrase, it brings back good memories and reminds me that I should always listen to the promptings of the Spirit.

Some of you may think that in today’s world the future doesn’t hold much to strive toward. I can remember as a young 13-year-old boy coming home from priesthood meeting on Sunday, December 7, 1941, to learn from my parents that Japan had just bombed Pearl Harbor. This propelled the United States into a world war that had already been raging in Europe for two years. It seemed like life as we knew it was going to come to an end. There was much uncertainty as many young men were swept up into military service. However, now, just as then, amidst all of the conflicts, struggles, and evil influences in the world, there is still much good.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah Second District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “Mom, I was asked 10 questions. The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ I stated that throughout history humankind has derived systems of morality by patterning their lives from archetypes. The archetype of morality I strive to pattern my life from is that of Jesus Christ. I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. The law school looked like a castle and was set high on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake. Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

Eliana Verges de Lerda, a member of the Church in Argentina, met her friend Anabel when they were both six years old. Their friendship grew as they went to school together. During that time, Eliana never hid the fact that she was a member of the Church.
“I felt very comfortable talking about the gospel with Anabel, even though we didn’t share the same beliefs,” she says.
When the girls were 14, Anabel agreed to listen to the missionaries, but she decided not to be baptized.
Eliana was disappointed, but this did not stop her from continuing their friendship; nor did it stop the gospel discussions. A few years later, Eliana invited Anabel to attend seminary with her. During the lesson, Anabel felt the Spirit very strongly. As Eliana prepared to go to the temple a few days later, Anabel told her, “I promise to go with you next time.” Anabel was baptized a short time after.
Anabel’s conversion did not take days; it took years. The process was possible because Eliana was her friend first—regardless of whether or not Anabel felt an interest in accepting the gospel.

“Look at that boy,” Ike sneered from across the campfire. “See how scared he looks when we talk about killing old Three Foot. You’d think we were up here hunting cougars instead of a mangy, thieving coyote. Mr. Penry should have kept that Indian back at the ranch to wash dishes or something!”
“I wish he had,” Gray Hawk murmured. He flushed at the men’s laughter and ridicule and slipped away to his bedroll. Can’t they tell the difference between fear and distaste? he thought resentfully. I don’t want to kill anything except for food.
Gray Hawk believed that the land belonged to the coyote, too, and that its existence is important in the overall plan of life. It has sensitive ears, sharp eyesight, a keen nose, and is extremely intelligent—except when it came to a rancher’s property rights. If it is hungry and could not find a young rabbit for its young, it will steal a chicken—a small price to pay for the rodent control provided by coyotes, the boy felt. But old Three Foot had raided the Penry ranch chicken yard and so he was to be hunted down and killed.
Gray Hawk had worked at the Penry ranch since March. He was an expert rider and liked the job until the balding, red-bearded Ike had been hired. The big man disliked Indians. He said so loudly and often. The youth had accepted good-natured gibes from the other men, but Ike was cruel. His remarks were stinging insults, meant to nibble away chunks of Gray Hawk’s pride. The youth’s small salary helped his family and he knew they needed it. Gray Hawk sighed and snuggled deeper into his blankets.
Early the next morning a rider came out to take the cowhands back to work in the north pasture. To Gray Hawk’s dismay, only he and Ike were left to continue the hunt for the wily Three Foot!
Ike was furious. “Not much chance of catching him unless I do it by myself,” he grumbled to the men as they left. “That Indian wouldn’t see Three Foot if he were running alongside his horse! Look how he’s hung back and let us do all the tracking.”
Late that afternoon Ike spotted the distinctive trail by a waterhole where tracks led off toward some high bluffs to the east. The big man loosed a yell of triumph and streaked off. Gray Hawk followed more cautiously. Loose rocks provided dangerous footing for a fast-moving horse.
Gray Hawk shouted a warning when he saw a large prairie dog village ahead. He knew the area would be riddled with holes and burrows. But Ike didn’t seem to hear his cry. He raced straight ahead, his eyes on the bluffs, searching for the elusive gray coyote the Indian youth had already spotted twice. Then Ike saw the loping figure, pulled out his rifle, and fired without really taking aim. There was a shrill yap of pain, and the coyote dropped out of sight behind a rock. Gray Hawk felt sick.
“I got him! Got him with one lucky shot!” Ike yelled triumphantly, just before his horse stumbled and went down. The big man somersaulted through the air and hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash. Gray Hawk leaped from his saddle and raced to his fallen companion who was lying motionless. Ike’s horse struggled to its feet and shied away as the youth approached.
Ike’s usually ruddy face was as white as the underside of a toad. His right leg was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. Gray Hawk was glad that Ike was unconscious as he worked to straighten the man’s broken leg.
The Indian boy’s search for sticks for a splint led him to where he had seen the coyote go down. He noticed a few splotches of blood, but the animal was gone. A glance at the tracks showed that the coyote Ike had wounded was not Three Foot. The youth was glad it had escaped.
Darkness had come by the time Ike regained consciousness. Gray Hawk was preparing supper, his face impassive in the red glow of the fire. He glanced up as Ike groaned and struggled to sit up. His fingers touched the thick bandage covering his throbbing head. Bewildered, he saw that the youth had splinted his leg and bound it with strips of blanket. It wasn’t easy for Ike to express his gratitude, nevertheless he mumbled his thanks. Gray Hawk understood and returned a pleasant nod.
A full moon rose and it seemed ironic that three coyotes would position themselves on high points around the camp for a “sing.” It was not the yapping of dogs. First one and then another would break out into a series of barked phrases. Gray Hawk wondered if Ike noticed the constantly changing intonations and inflections. Each animal took a turn, as though they were discussing the intruders, asking for and advancing opinions.
“Listen to those varmints,” Ike said suddenly, laying his empty plate aside. “It sounds like they’re carrying on a conversation.”
“Maybe they are,” Gray Hawk said, grinning, “and it’s not likely that what they’re saying is very complimentary to us.”
“Do you reckon they’re mourning the death of the one I killed today?” Ike whispered thoughtfully.
“No. You only winged it, and not very seriously from the little blood I saw,” Gray Hawk replied. “It wasn’t Three Foot. This one was smaller and left a set of four good tracks.”
“Then I busted my leg and went through all this for nothing!” Ike growled. But he didn’t seem as angry as Gray Hawk had expected.
At dawn Gray Hawk made Ike as comfortable as possible and placed food and water within reach before leaving for the ranch. A wagon would have to be driven out to take the injured man back to the bunkhouse. It would be the next morning, at the earliest, before help arrived. Ike looked apprehensive as the Indian youth prepared to leave.
“Be careful,” Ike said gruffly. “If anything happens to you, it might take a spell before Mr. Penry gets worried and sends someone out to find us.” Gray Hawk nodded and mounted his horse.
As the sun rose, Ike grew bored and restless. He thought about cougars and rattlesnakes and stiffened with fear when some loose stones rattled down the slope. Then he burst out laughing as two surprised coyote pups tumbled down in a tangled wad. The man remained quiet and watched the plump pups struggle to their feet and make several unsuccessful attempts to climb back up the bluff. He caught a glimpse of their worried mother on a high ledge, and noticed a wound on her right shoulder.
Finally, one of the pups seemed to realize that continued assaults on the bluff were useless. While his sister whined shrill cries of distress and clawed at the rocks, he sat down and stared at Ike. His instinct told him the crippled man was an enemy, but a harmless one.
Time passed slowly. Ike leaned against a boulder, grateful for the shade as the temperature rose. He laughed at the way the pups romped and wrestled with each other like regular dogs, growling with mock ferociousness. The fluffy balls of fur didn’t look like coyotes. Ike favored the young male. He had even whistled and tried to lure it closer, but it was too wary. Gray Hawk would not have believed how much pleasure the company of the small frolicking coyotes gave Ike.
The big man sighed and reached for one of the water canteens. He drank deeply and wiped trickles of water off his beard. One pup watched with bright eyes, then whined enviously. The romping and playing had left him very thirsty.
Ike looked at the canteen, then at the coyote. He had another full one, but help could be several days away if Gray Hawk found the ranch deserted and had to ride to the north pasture. Besides, it was ridiculous to even think of sharing precious water with coyotes!
“You’re not getting any!” Ike growled, trying to stare the pup down. Nevertheless the young coyote detected a friendly note in his voice. He stiffened his front legs and dashed closer in a mock attack, then back, and sat down panting. How long can they live in this heat without water? Ike wondered. He had sighted the worried, pacing mother several times, but, so far, she had never left the ledge. His gun was beside him, but Ike no longer felt like killing coyotes—not even old Three Foot, who had probably sired the pups.
The pups grew listless in the heat. They curled together at the base of the bluff where a small outcropping cast a shadow. Ike became more and more worried as they slept. Suppose they were dying! He poured water onto his plate and pushed it toward them as far as he could reach, then he whistled shrilly, waking the coyotes. The female arose first and stretched her quivering muzzle toward the water. She took a few cautious steps before a warning growl from her brother stopped her.
“Stop being so all-fired suspicious!” Ike scolded. He took a stick and pushed the water closer to them. His rugged face split into a wide grin when the female crept to the plate and began to lap the water. The male abandoned his caution and joined her when he saw that Ike was still leaning against the boulder.
Ike awoke during the night and remained motionless as he watched a gray shadow slip in close to the pups. The mother sniffed her young then stared toward the man. The happy pups licked her face and pawed at the probing muzzle, but she was in no mood to play. The reunited family soon faded into the darkness.
Moments later, another coyote “sing” began. Ike wondered if he only imagined a more joyful note in the yapping cries. He snorted. Then he remembered the enjoyment he’d had watching the pups during the day. “Still … those pups were cute. I don’t intend to track down another coyote as long as I live, not after getting acquainted with those little rascals.”

In response to counsel from Parley P. Pratt, Wilford Woodruff traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, in April 1834 to join Zion’s Camp. Brother Woodruff’s account of his first meeting with the Prophet Joseph Smith is instructive for all of us:
“Here for the first time in my life I met and had an interview with our beloved Prophet Joseph Smith, the man whom God had chosen to bring forth His revelations in these last days. My first introduction was not of a kind to satisfy the preconceived notions of the sectarian mind as to what a prophet ought to be, and how he should appear. It might have shocked the faith of some men. I found him and his brother Hyrum out shooting at a mark with a brace of pistols. When they stopped shooting, I was introduced to Brother Joseph, and he shook hands with me most heartily. He invited me to make his habitation my home while I tarried in Kirtland. This invitation I most eagerly accepted, and was greatly edified and blest during my stay with him.”9

I have a Young Women leader named Jennifer. She is my inspiration. When I was in seventh grade, she showed up at my doorstep every Wednesday and Sunday, wondering if I was going to go to Mutual or church. I always came up with the excuse of being “busy,” so I said no. Then I noticed her visits were a repetition. She was showing up every week, so one Wednesday I decided to try going to Mutual.
When I went, I felt so loved. I just loved being there with the other young women and leaders. I went home and cried myself to sleep, I was so happy. On Sunday, Jennifer was at my door again. I said no, so she made me a deal. She said if I went to just Young Women and liked it, she would continue to take me; if not, she would keep bugging me. So I went, and I loved it.
I started getting back into the Church, and I remembered how much I loved the gospel. Jennifer has been there for me through everything. I am so glad that Heavenly Father has blessed me with my leaders, especially Jennifer. She has made such a great impact on my life. I haven’t always made the right choices, but I am glad and so grateful that I have her on my side. She has motivated me to become active again. I don’t know how I could ever repay her. I thank Heavenly Father that I have her in my life.
I now know how to appreciate my leaders more. I know that they are here for us and they can help us become better young women and men. That’s why God blessed us with them.

Years ago, in my childhood home, my parents decided to recarpet the house. The night before the new carpet arrived, my mom asked my brothers to remove furniture and rip out the old carpet in the bedrooms, so that the new carpet could be installed the next morning. Emily, who was 7, was asleep on her bed.
While she soundly slept, my brothers removed all the other furniture from her room and everything from the walls and the closet—then even the carpet. Then they had an idea—an awful idea; they decided, as big brothers around the world sometimes do, to prank their little sister.
They then removed everything from the walls and the closet.
The room was completely bare except for the bed.
Then they wrote a note and tacked it to the wall:
“Emily, we moved. We’ll write in a few days and tell you where we are. Love, your family.” Well, the next morning Emily did not show up for breakfast as usual. My mom sent one of my brothers to get her. Emily was not in her bed, but my brother did hear the sound of crying coming from inside of the closet. There was Emily, curled up and crying her little heart out.
Emily reflected on this experience later:
I wondered, why would they just leave me?
I felt so alone and unloved.
Was I really that unimportant?
In my 7-year-old mind I thought, “No one likes me, not even my own family.” I was crushed. But what would have happened if I just opened the door? What would I have heard? What would I have smelled? I would have known I was not alone.
I would have known I really was loved. The thought never even crossed my mind to do something about my situation. I just gave up and stayed in my closet crying. And yet if I had simply opened the door...

Some time ago, a friend and I applied for an educational program. I was confident I would be selected. When the results came out, I was disappointed that my friend was selected but I was not. I felt wronged because I thought I deserved to be selected more than my friend.
At that moment, I saw my friend as an opponent or someone who had taken something that belonged to me. A few days later, while studying Jacob 2 in the Book of Mormon, I read how Jacob had rebuked his people for their sins. One of those sins was pride.
Jacob’s teachings made me realize that I was committing the sin of pride toward my friend by thinking I deserved something given to him. Jacob’s words were a revelation to me:
“Let not this pride of your hearts destroy your souls!
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves” (Jacob 2:16–17).
I prayed to Heavenly Father to forgive me and to help me avoid the sin of pride in the future. Then I spoke to my friend about how I had felt and asked him to forgive me. I felt peace and joy in doing so and in receiving forgiveness from him and from Heavenly Father.

Just twenty-four hours after my call as an Apostle last June, I left for a Church assignment in southern California where, in due course, I found myself standing by the bedsides of Debbie, Tanya, and Liza Avila. These three lovely sisters, aged thirty-three, thirty-two, and twenty-three, respectively, each developed muscular dystrophy at age seven. Since that tender age, each has had her rendezvous with pneumonia and tracheotomies, with neuropathy and leg braces. Then came wheelchairs, respirators, and, finally, total immobility.
Enduring the longest period of immobility of the three sisters, Tanya has been on her back for seventeen years, having never moved from her bed during that period of time. Never once in seventeen years has she seen the sun rise or set or felt the rain upon her face. Never once in seventeen years has she picked a flower or chased a rainbow or watched a bird in flight. For a lesser number of years, Debbie and Liza have also now lived with those same physical restrictions. Yet somehow through it all, these sisters have not only endured, they have triumphed—earning Young Women personal achievement awards, graduating from high school (including seminary), completing university correspondence courses, and reading the standard works over and over and over again.
But there has been one other abiding ambition these remarkable women were determined to see fulfilled. They rightly saw themselves as daughters of the covenant, offspring of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Jacob and Rachel. They vowed that somehow, some way, someday they would go to the house of the Lord to claim those eternal promises. And now even that has been accomplished. “It was the most thrilling and fulfilling day of my life,” Debbie said. “I truly felt I was home. Everyone was so gracious and helpful with the innumerable and seemingly insurmountable arrangements that had to be made. Never in my life have I felt more loved and accepted.”
Of her experience, Tanya said: “The temple is the only place I have ever been where I felt truly whole. I have always felt I was a daughter of God, but only in the temple did I understand what that truly meant. The fact that I went through the experience lying horizontally with a respirator took absolutely nothing away from this sacred experience.”
Elder Douglas Callister, who, along with the presidency and workers in the Los Angeles Temple, assisted these sisters in making their dream come true, said to me, “There they were, dressed in white, long black hair falling down nearly to the floor from their horizontal position, eyes filled with tears, unable to move their hands or any other part of the body except their heads, savoring, absorbing, cherishing every word, every moment, every aspect of the temple endowment.” Debbie would later say of the experience, “I now know what it will be like to be resurrected, surrounded by heavenly angels, and in the presence of God.”

One school year I began to feel weighed down from the stress of life. During one of these stressful days, I prayed and read the Book of Mormon for 10 minutes. As I read, I felt an incredible warmth fill my heart. I felt loved, uplifted, and happy despite my trials. I felt an incredible peace I had never felt before. From this experience I finally understood what the Savior meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). The next few weeks, I had this experience multiple times, and it propelled me to move forward through my struggles.
Chloe K., age 18, Wisconsin, USA

Second, let us rejoice in our diversity. I grew up a Buddhist, the daughter of a Japanese plantation laborer in Mahukona, a tiny village which no longer exists, on the big island of Hawaii. My first exposure to Christianity came during the annual Christmas pageant organized by Captain Beck, who was in charge of the plantation. Every year, there was a little nativity play, the singing of Christmas carols, and wonderful presents from a mysterious fat man in a red suit and a white beard.
When I was about seven, Captain Beck asked me to be the angel in the nativity play. I didn’t know what an angel was, but I was proud to be chosen and worked hard on my speech. And it was hard work. My native language was a combination of Japanese and pidgin, and here I had to memorize strange, seventeenth-century King James English. I was just a skinny little seven-year-old in a white cheesecloth costume with crooked tinsel wings and a wobbly tinsel halo on my head. But when the big night came, I was ready.
“Fear not,” I said. “For, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy. … For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10.) I didn’t know who David was or Christ. I only knew Buddha. I didn’t know what swaddling clothes were or why the baby was in a manger. I didn’t know what shepherds were or why they were afraid or what good tidings were. It was only later, when I became acquainted with the Church at age eleven and joined the Church at age fifteen, that I realized that baby was the Son of God and that the good tidings were those of the gospel. Then I understood my “reason to rejoice” in Christ, the Lord.

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.
“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”
Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.
At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.
He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did too because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.
“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”
Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.
“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”
The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.
“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”
Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.
“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.
“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”
“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.
“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”
Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.
“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”
Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.
A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.
Just then he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Feike mumbled.
His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”
“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”
Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”
“What will you do in America?”
“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”
“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”
“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”
The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.
“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”
The skipper pulled his son into a hug.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

When my oldest son was a baby, I received a call at my office. Someone had broken into my home. My greatest concern was for the welfare of my wife and son. Many of our belongings were taken, including our passports and visas, which we had just processed in order to attend a course abroad. Despite the lost possessions, I felt greatly blessed because my wife and son were not at home when the burglary took place. That was certainly a blessing.
The Lord opened the windows of heaven and placed the right people in our path who were able to help us process once again the documents we needed to attend the course. And despite the inner turmoil a burglary can create, my family and I received the blessing of spiritual reassurance that all would be well.

There’s nothing like learning from the best. That’s what 16-year-old Cassandra Johnson of Laie, Hawaii, decided when she left her home island for Houston, Texas, where the promising gymnast could study with world-renowned coach Bela Karolyi.
Cassandra lives with Church members in Texas and comes home to Hawaii for Christmas and spring break. It’s not easy, but her family is proud that she’s able to do so much missionary work among her teammates—she’s already given out 16 copies of the Book of Mormon. She’s also active in seminary and won first place in the scripture bowl.
Cassandra keeps a tough schedule. She attends seminary at 6:00 A.M., practices gymnastics from 7:00–8:30 A.M., goes to school from 9:30 to 2:30, studies, then goes back to the gym from 5:00–9:00 P.M. She would eventually like to become a gymnastics coach.

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington

In the summer of 1970, our car broke down in the 110 degree heat of the Nevada desert, in the middle of the day when there was little traffic on the highway. Stranded with a wife and three small children and not knowing what possibly could be wrong with the engine, or how to fix it, I said to Carolyn, "I don't know what to do."
"We can pray," came the voice of our four-year old Angela, "and ask Heavenly Father to send someone."
"Would you pray for us, Angela," I asked. "Sure," she said.
So Angela knelt in the back seat and said, "Heavenly Father, here we are in the desert and Daddy doesn't know what to do. Please send someone."
As I sat there after the prayer, pondering the words of our little daughter, Angela said again, "Well Daddy, don't just sit there, get out and wave at somebody."
So I did. It seemed a long time in the heat before any car appeared. The first car sped by, the second sped by but screeched to a stop, backed up and an African American fellow jumped out.
"What's the matter," he asked.
"I don't know."
"Well, you're in luck. I'm the best mechanic in the State of Nevada."
Well, I don't know about that, Brothers and Sisters, but in five minutes he had the car running. He slammed the hood, waved, and sped off. As I drove our car back on to the highway, Angela said, "That's the man Heavenly Father sent."