Gospel Story Finder

Adam Hickenbotham of the Las Vegas 68th Ward, Las Vegas Nevada Sunrise Stake, set a rather ambitious goal for himself. He decided to try to read all the standard works in one year. Adam admits that reading is one of his favorite hobbies. He is at the top of his high school class with straight-A grades. He also loves sports and Scouting. He has earned his Eagle Award and runs on the school track team. Adam recommends that others try what he did and read the Old and New Testaments, the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, and the Book of Mormon in one year. “It was a great experience. I really learned a lot, and my testimony was strengthened,” he said.

The young women around the world have taught me so much about seeking Christ and gaining a daily, personal witness of Him. Let me share the wisdom of two of them:

Livvy has watched general conference her entire life. In fact, in her home they traditionally watch all five sessions as a family. In the past, conference for Livvy had meant doodling or drifting into the occasional unintended nap. But this past October general conference was different. It became personal.

This time, Livvy decided to be an active recipient. She silenced notifications on her phone and took notes of impressions from the Spirit. She was amazed as she felt specific things God wanted her to hear and do. This decision made a difference in her life almost immediately.

Just days later her friends invited her to an inappropriate movie. She reflected, “I felt the words and spirit of conference return into my heart, and I heard myself declining their invitation.” She also had the courage to share her testimony of the Savior in her ward.

After these events she stated, “The amazing thing is, when I heard myself testify that Jesus is the Christ, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm it again for me.”

Livvy did not skip like a stone over the surface of conference weekend; she dove in, mind and spirit, and found the Savior there.

I recently had the honour of volunteering with the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire team over October half-term holidays. The main aim was to ensure that no child went hungry during the holidays. We ended up providing 3,000 meals a day. Surprising as that was, it wasn’t the only thing that amazed me.
At the beginning of the half-term week, I posted on a local Facebook page to ask for volunteer drivers to deliver food. Following my post, a lovely lady sent me a private message to say she couldn’t physically help, as she is disabled, but if there was anything she could do, she was ready to help.
I thanked her for her willingness and suggested that she could handwrite address labels for the food bags, so people would know where to deliver each meal. She agreed and I contacted Nicola, one of the organisers to arrange to drop off the labels.
The following day, Nicola sent her partner, David a high school teacher, to deliver the labels— it was at that point that he realised that we hadn’t explained to that lady, that we needed to have the labels written that same day.
David, reached out to assist the lady, and it just so happened that this kind-hearted woman who volunteered to help us, had been one of David’s pupils over 10 years ago. As they sat together and handwrote address labels, they talked of how her life had been since they had last seen each other.
Once a very healthy young woman, she got older and developed a curve in her spine. After seeking medical help and undergoing a life-changing surgery that unfortunately went wrong, she was left without feeling in one of her legs. She is now in a wheelchair.
David discovered that she had been waiting for the council to provide a ramp for her home for over 12 months. The lack of a ramp meant she had to carry her wheelchair down her two front steps daily, with only one functioning leg.
A master at woodwork, David immediately offered his services and has already started building her a ramp (with a permanent metal one on order).
Were it not for the many kind volunteers of Holiday Hunger East Lancashire, people united doing good and feeding children during half-term, this woman and David would have never crossed paths that day. It is a miracle without a doubt.

Hi, I’m Jesse!
Every member can be a missionary. My stake president in California gave us a challenge to share the gospel. When I had to give a school report on a state in the United States, I knew this was my chance!
The Challenge
My teacher asked us to pick a U.S. state and build a diorama, or a miniature scene. I told my teacher I wanted Utah. I’ve been to Utah many times on family vacations. I wanted to learn more about the “Beehive State.” And I thought it might help me with missionary work!
Fun Facts
I learned that the golden spike that linked the First Transcontinental Railroad was placed in Utah. I put a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in my project. I also wrote facts about President David O. McKay (1873–1970) because he is my grandpa’s favorite prophet.
The Beehive
I wanted to show my class our Savior’s beautiful creations in my diorama. I covered a box in bees and designed it like a beehive. Beehives remind us to work as hard as bees to spread the gospel.
The Buzz about Bee-ing a Missionary
I took my school project to the open house. Everyone loved my bee box! My teacher gave me an A+! I hope people will see what a great place Utah is. Maybe they will ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go on a mission and share the gospel even more!

I’ll start with a small confession. I had never read the entire Book of Mormon until I was in the Missionary Training Center. Oh, I had made valiant efforts before—even using the seminary student manual to guide me. But I always lost interest or got bogged down by mid-Alma.
But in the MTC, I caught on fire when it came to the Book of Mormon. I used every free moment I had to read—sometimes 20 pages a day. For me it was all new and exciting. My patriarchal blessing had promised me that I would be “surprised at the satisfaction” I could gain from reading the scriptures, and I was beginning to see the fulfillment of that promise.
Several weeks later, I was in Penns Grove, New Jersey, with my first companion, Elder Rumsey. We had been teaching an older, single woman who always had the most unusual concerns, worries they don’t teach you about in the MTC. For instance, she wondered that if men changed and corrupted the Bible as they translated it, couldn’t Joseph Smith have done the same thing with the Book of Mormon? Her questions always kept us on our toes.
One day, she had been reading toward the end of 2 Nephi when she became disturbed by some of Nephi’s statements. In 2 Nephi 30:18 and 31:1 [2 Ne. 30:18; 2 Ne. 31:1], she had noticed Nephi had used phrases like “my sayings” and “my prophesying.” To our investigator, it sounded like Nephi was taking the credit for the marvelous things he had written instead of acknowledging that the Lord had inspired him. She declared that Nephi, therefore, must not be a true prophet.
“Let’s look at the end of 2 Nephi,” I said.
If you had asked me right then what was at the end of 2 Nephi, I couldn’t have told you. I had read 2 Nephi 33, of course, but not in several weeks, and I certainly hadn’t memorized any verses from it. I stepped out on a limb, but with amazing confidence. I wasn’t the least bit afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find an answer to our investigator’s problem. I know it was the Spirit that caused me to suggest looking there because I certainly wouldn’t have thought of it on my own.
As soon as we turned to chapter 33, a verse I had previously marked caught my attention. I read aloud the second half of verse 10. [2 Ne. 33:10]
“And if ye shall believe in Christ ye will believe in these words, for they are the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me.”
There! Pow! Nephi gave credit to the Lord exactly as our investigator thought he should.
Doctrine and Covenants 84:85 [D&C 84:85] sayss to “treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man.”
I know that through my study of the scriptures the Lord was able to bless me with the perfect answer to our investigator’s question. That day I was able to say, with Nephi, that my words were “the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me.”

I joined the Church in England in 1965, but the hostile reaction of my father and other pressures eventually led me to become less active.
Those were painful and unhappy times. On the outside it seemed easy to stay away, and I suppose I started to break the Word of Wisdom to fool myself that I didn’t care. Eventually I convinced myself Heavenly Father no longer loved or cared about me, and I felt completely rejected and alone.
Members still visited me occasionally, but it didn’t help. I both resented and envied them.
Then one evening a pair of senior sister missionaries dropped by. I was determined to give them a hard time so they wouldn’t make a return visit, but something inside me warmed to them. They had come as friends, not to preach to me or make me feel guilty.
They returned again and again to work in my garden and to strip paint from an old chest and help restore it—but above all to be friends to me. I began to be able to feel the Savior’s love through them as they filled my home with their obvious joy in living the gospel. They gained my trust, something that was so difficult for me to give.
All too soon their missions came to an end and they returned home. I later visited them in the United States. Rebellion against the Church was still within my heart, however, so I would not attend any Church meetings during the trip. In fact, I took great delight in drinking coffee in front of my two friends, trying hard to show them I was “untouchable.” I soon found out I was far from untouchable.
On the Saturday before Easter, we visited a memorial park in Glendale, California, and were deeply moved by the paintings and other art having to do with the Savior. It seemed that the Atonement was suddenly becoming real to me. A week later I was in southern Utah on the Sunday of general conference. During a moment alone, I switched on the television to a talk given by President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency. As I listened to that great man, I could not contain the tears of guilt and shame.
That afternoon I climbed to one of the observation points in the national park I was visiting. As I walked, I tried to put my life into perspective. I found that the climb, which was very difficult and strenuous in places, was comparable to the trials in my life. Because I pressed on and reached the end of the climb, I could look down at the beauty of creation and feel exhilaration.
The spirit of rebellion was not completely gone from my heart, but I was starting to feel the hostility melting away. I began to experience feelings of love—new, beautiful, and strange to me. I also began to learn that I could be loved. I knew I needed to change my life, to truly repent.
When I returned home I felt much different inside. I was beginning to feel hope and was learning to pray for guidance and forgiveness. True repentance didn’t take place overnight; it took many months before I felt I had been forgiven. I made a decision to start attending church again, the most difficult part of which was finding the courage to actually walk to the doors and go in.
I become overwhelmed as I think of the meaning of the Savior’s Atonement: “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, number 193). It is also wonderful that two sister missionaries came into my life when they did and shared with me their love and example. I was filled with joy to have one of them be my escort when I finally attended the temple to receive my endowment.
Following years of wandering, I had come home at last.

Enter Sara, another friend. About the same time that Tiffani and Catlin were investigating the Church, three of Sara’s friends from high school were preparing to leave on missions. Sara couldn’t understand what was so important that these young men would put aside a normal life to become full-time missionaries for the Church. She thought she might find some answers if she read the Book of Mormon, so she asked Catlin for a copy. Once she started reading, Sara couldn’t put it down. She went to church with Catlin and there met the sister missionaries. One month after Catlin joined the Church, Sara followed her friend’s example.

The two holdouts, Christina and Kristin, could not believe what was happening to their friends. First it was Tiffani (who had not yet been baptized, though they assumed it was inevitable), then Catlin, and now Sara. But Christina and Kristin decided they weren’t going to let religion come between them and their best friends, so they supported their friend Sara by attending her baptismal service.

It’s early Saturday morning. You have lots to do—hang out with friends, maybe catch up on your homework. Then the phone rings and you remember that this Saturday is your ward’s youth serve-a-thon. You groan and think about getting in one more hour of sleep, right?
Of course not. Getting up is easy if you’re in the Richmond Ward, Richmond Virginia Stake, and today much of your service will be for those who aren’t members of the Church. Today you get to join with the missionaries and meet a lot of new people.
This Saturday morning, youth from the Richmond Ward are spread out in five different locations around the city. The first stop is a small house in the middle of Richmond. Fourteen-year-old Zack Harton and his friend Will Jones are stationed here, raking leaves, pulling weeds, and having fun.
Zack doesn’t personally know the family his group is helping, but he does know that this family is investigating the Church. Therefore, he knows that he’s also setting an example. “It makes me feel good because I’m helping someone in need—just as I would help my own brother and sister if they needed help,” Zack says.
His friend Will is also investigating the Church and is glad that Zack invited him to come along today. Will has already caught on to the wonderful feeling that comes from service. “I feel that I have an obligation toward other people,” Will says. “I started coming with Zack to Scouts and never knew it was going to get into this. But I just think it’s wonderful that somebody would care enough to do this. While we were working in the yard, everyone would help one another. You didn’t even have to ask. I could feel God around me.”
Will’s enthusiasm for service touches Cary Fleming as she, too, helps clean up at this stop. “The house looked pretty bad when we got there,” Cary says. “I wondered how we were going to clean all this. But then Will started singing nonstop, and I kept on pulling weeds, and we had a blast.”
Cary found out that what her mom said last night was right. “I did not want to go, but she told me it would strengthen my testimony if I really prayed about going and asked to have a good time. So I knelt down and prayed, and I’ve had the best time.”
A couple of kilometers away, Charity Holderness is cleaning bedrooms and bathrooms for a part-member family in the Richmond Ward. For Charity, this is a little out of the ordinary. “When I clean my own room, my mom thinks I’m sick,” she says.
Today she’s feeling something different. “I can’t even explain this feeling. I know that I haven’t done even a fraction of the work some people do. But I feel so much better knowing that I can keep doing small things. Maybe I’ll sweep the kitchen floor when I get home.”
Thirteen-year-old Caity Ingles is also here. She is not a member of the Church but came when her friend April Lacy invited her. April asked Caity to come because, she says, “I want her to know that I like to serve and help other people.”
The two missionaries at this stop like April’s idea about setting an example. Elder Jeffrey Mortensen, from Visalia, California, says: “We’re just the missionaries serving in this area for a short time. But when a ward member can make a connection with a nonmember, that is awesome.”
Building relationships—as well as cutting down some unwanted trees—is in full swing where a third group of youth are stationed. Todd Swenson, age 17, is here, and he’s a little tired from pulling up roots and clearing leaves. But his attitude is not the least bit tiresome. “This is my first time doing anything like this, but I want to do it again. I think it makes the people we are helping feel that they have friends, that someone is looking out for them,” Todd says.
Ben Mullins, age 14, agrees. “I hope it makes them feel that Church members like to help other people. It also gives me a better attitude about serving.”
Besides, according to Heather Swenson, there’s not much better to do on a Saturday. “I can spare one Saturday. I’ve got a lot of time left in my life to help other people. I need to use that time well.”
Across town at a less-active ward member’s home, Chris Odell knows all about using his time well. “I know this is the best thing I could do today,” Chris says. “When I serve, I feel close to heaven.”
Lindsay Lansing, age 14, nods in agreement and says, “Service shows that you love and respect others.” She is helping the sister missionaries gather leaves and stuff them into a garbage bag. This is not the first time she has joined them to provide service for her neighbors and less-active ward members. “I do this whenever I get the chance.”
Lindsay, Chris, and the rest of the group here finish quickly, but they don’t want to quit yet. So each of them jumps into a leader’s van to find another group that may need some extra hands.
By lunchtime, the last group of Richmond Ward youth are putting finishing touches on a wall at Svetlana Iskiyayev’s Village Shoe Shop. They have spent the morning tidying and painting the back room of the shop.
Svetlana and her husband left careers as a doctor and a lawyer when they came to Virginia from Russia several years ago. Now they are building their dreams here. And Helen Capehart, age 16, is happy she can help them. She has invited two nonmember friends to help her today and hopes that they, as well as the Iskiyayevs, will see the light of the gospel through her service.
After all, examples of service are what drew Helen herself to the gospel just a short time ago. She says: “I’m so grateful that the Lord led me to this Church and for the awesome examples my friends here have been to me. My biggest example now is Jesus Christ, and I find so much joy in serving him. I hope I always have this feeling in me.”
Most likely, that feeling will stay with Helen because she has found an important key to sharing the gospel—service.
As youth from the Richmond Ward close their day of service with a testimony meeting, Helen once again captures the essence of this activity. “I don’t think I ever feel the Spirit as strong in my life as when I am serving the Lord,” Helen says. “Look at all the magazines with beautiful people on the covers. The world says that’s beauty. But when I was working today, I got paint and dirt all over me. And I think that is the Lord’s true definition of beauty.”
She is probably right. What could be more beautiful than a child of God who has found happiness in following the example of the Savior?

“When I was a little boy,” President Hinckley said, “we traveled by horse and buggy. We had a sorrel horse, Prince, who was a feisty animal. He had to be treated just right or he would get a little balky and mean. He was rather high-spirited but a fine-looking animal.

“Then one historic day in our family, my father came driving up to our home in a new 1916 Model T Ford. What an exciting day that was! That Ford took the place of Prince and the buggy, yet all the time that I was growing up, we had a saddle horse or two.”

When I was 12 years old, I was injured in a BB gun accident that caused the complete loss of sight in my right eye. In addition to the insecurity that came from the slight disfigurement, I was more than a little anxious about living life without full vision.
About a year after the accident, I traveled with my father and brother to attend a general priesthood meeting in Salt Lake City. In anticipation of being in the same auditorium with a prophet of God, I began to think that if I could just look at President Ezra Taft Benson with my injured eye, somehow the powers of heaven would flow from God through that prophet directly to me, and my sight would be restored.
President Benson did not speak at the priesthood meeting that evening, though he was on the stand. During the first few talks, I directed the gaze of my blinded eye (if you can call it a gaze) directly at President Benson.
Initially, nothing happened, but I was undaunted. Hoping that decreasing the distance to the prophet would increase the possibility that a miracle would occur, I inched forward in my seat, leaned my entire body over the balcony, and gazed even more intensely at the stand.
Now, I really would like nothing more than to relate to you an inspiring account of how my faith was rewarded and my vision miraculously restored. But it didn’t happen that night in Salt Lake nor in the days that followed. In fact, even today, I still have vision in only one eye.[14]
Thankfully, what I can see is how Heavenly Father has provided me with everything I need to live with the consequences of the accident. Some of my other senses became more acute, which helped me compensate. I was given divine courage to try things I didn’t think I could do. Most importantly, I received confirmation that this physical limitation does not define my worth or limit my ability to contribute to the Lord’s work. We all have challenges that remain with us throughout this life. I know from personal experience that the Lord will strengthen us in our trials so that we are able to “bear up our burdens”[15] in a determined and cheerful way.

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family. Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.
From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. One of those descendants now stands here as an especial witness of the Savior Jesus Christ, bearing solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

Chandradas “Roshan” and Sheron Antony of Colombo, Sri Lanka, decided to be sealed in the temple. Their friends Ann and Anton Kumarasamy were so excited for them. But they knew that getting to the Manila Philippines Temple wasn’t easy or cheap.
Roshan and Sheron had saved their money and booked flights months in advance to get a flight they could afford. Finally, the day came. However, during their layover in Malaysia, they discovered that to continue on to the Philippines, they either needed a visa or needed to fly on a different airline. It wasn’t possible to get a visa, and they couldn’t afford to buy tickets on another airline. But they couldn’t bear the thought of returning home without being sealed.
Unsure what else to do, Roshan called Anton. Anton and Ann desperately wanted to help. They were one of the few couples in Sri Lanka who had been sealed in the temple, and they knew what a blessing it was. But they had recently used their savings to help a family member in need, and they didn’t have enough money to help Roshan and Sheron buy tickets for a new flight.
In Sri Lanka it is customary for the groom to buy the bride a gold necklace so that she will have some money if her husband dies. Ann decided to sell her necklace to help buy the new tickets. Her generous gift made it possible for Roshan and Sheron to make their temple appointment in Manila.
“I know the value of a temple sealing,” Ann said. “I knew Sheron and Roshan would be a great strength to the branch. I didn’t want them to miss this opportunity.”3

Some people may feel that they need eloquent words or lofty reasoning when sharing their testimonies. But simple words offered in faith and humility contain great spiritual power. Sister Anne Osborn Poelman tells of her conversion to the Church. As she met with the missionaries, the most powerful testimony was unexpectedly borne by a young elder who had been a missionary just one week. He was nervous. Sister Poelman tells that when she challenged his statement that he knew the gospel was true, “he paused and gulped. ‘Well, Sister Osborn,’ he finally said as he looked me straight in the eye, ‘I guess I just believe it so hard I know it’s true!’ How can anyone argue with such an earnest, deeply felt testimony? I really couldn’t” (The Simeon Solution, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1995, page 59).

My great-great-aunt Laura Clark Phelps was the first member of the Clark family who joined the Church. She was a woman who uniquely demonstrated a faith in the Lord that stands fast, nothing wavering.
Laura’s legacy teaches much about the doctrine of faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” She received her patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. In it she was counseled to be faithful and she would have an inheritance in Zion. She was further told to “call upon God in faith, and if thou wilt thou shall have all of the desires of thine heart.”
Laura and her husband knew the Prophet Joseph Smith. On one occasion, the Prophet and his brother Hyrum came running to their farm outside Far West, Missouri, where Laura hid them behind the clothes curtain. She calmly faced the mob leaders who rushed in shortly afterwards in search of the Prophet.
Laura experienced the joys and privations of the early Church members in this dispensation. Her faith deepened as she was driven from her homes and separated from her husband on various occasions. As an efficient midwife, she worked and traveled day and night in all kinds of weather to help provide for her family. This overexertion and exposure took their toll. She died at the young age of 34, leaving behind her husband and five children. She did not live to see her children, her grandchildren, or her great-grandchildren following her in faith. She did not experience the blessings of receiving her own temple endowment in this earth life, blessings I believe she would have cherished.
Laura’s faithful life bears witness of this verse from Hebrews: “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Faith lived in Laura, and Laura lived her faith.

I yanked the middle drawer right out of my dresser and rifled through it, hurling all the rejected clothing to the floor. It was “Bulldogs Wear Blue” day at school, I was late, and I still couldn’t find my Bulldogs sweatshirt. Finally recognizing a blue sleeve poking up out of the bottom drawer, I grabbed the wadded sweatshirt. Giving it a good stretch to try to pull out the wrinkles, I threw it over my head and rushed to the front door.
“‘Bye, Mom,” I said, smearing a kiss on her cheek and racing down the driveway toward the bus stop. From the sidewalk, I could see the last child boarding the bus.
“Here comes Michelle,” someone called to the driver. Then everyone on the bus turned to watch as I ran to it. Red-faced from running and from embarrassment, I slunk into the first available seat without ever looking up.
At school, I was halfway through the Pledge of Allegiance when I glanced at the chalkboard and realized that I had forgotten my homework. Last night I had struggled through a math story problem four times before I figured it out, and now I had left it home, where it would do me no good at all! When a day starts like this, it’s guaranteed to be rough. By the time the bell rang at three o’clock, I was miserable.
I trudged home from the bus stop, rehearsing my troubles of the day. Maybe Mom made some of her delicious peanut-butter cookies, I thought. The chewy ones with the crisscross marks on the top. Warm. With milk. I couldn’t wait!
My happy thoughts quickly disappeared when I walked into the kitchen. My little brother—not my mother—had been busy in the kitchen! There was a white powder trail from the flour bin to the middle of the floor, where he sat with a big mixing bowl full of slimy goo. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m making bread just like Mom,” he answered, throwing a handful onto the floor and “kneading” it into the linoleum.
On another day, I might have thought it was funny. But not today—I was angry! I wanted to be greeted by warm cookies, not a little brother making a big mess!
Just then Mom walked in and saw the disaster. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Michelle, why are you just watching him make such a mess?” Her voice rose a notch. “And your room is a disaster! Go to your room and don’t come out until it’s clean.”
I slammed the door to my room and flopped onto the bed. It isn’t fair! I didn’t make a mess in the kitchen. Why am I in trouble? I’m the one having a bad day. Nobody cares. I sat up and wiped the angry tears from my eyes. I could hear the twins crying. My slammed door must have woken them from their naps.
I looked around my room. It really was a disaster! There was a drawer on the floor, and I had scattered clothes everywhere that morning while looking for my Bulldogs sweatshirt. And during the day, my would-be-baker brother must have invaded my toys, because they were scattered around the room, too. It was a mess. And it wasn’t fair! That brother of mine was a problem. Why can’t he stay out of my stuff? I wondered. I decided to rearrange my room so that he couldn’t reach my toys anymore.
I pulled everything off all the shelves and out of my desk drawers—toys, papers, crayons, everything! Everything of any interest to a little brother was going to be moved out of reach. As I rummaged through my closet, looking for toys that would need to be protected, I found my Tyrannosaurus Terror Drawing Kit.
Meanwhile, Mom had gone to the twins’ room to settle them down again. Then she had returned to the kitchen and found my brother trying to clean up his mess. Dragging a wet towel in the dough, he had smeared paste from the middle of the room to the sink and all around!
After Mom finally got the kitchen under control, she came to my room, where she found me sitting on an even bigger pile of stuff, playing with my dinosaur drawing kit. I knew right away that I was in big trouble. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something (or maybe yell something). Instead, she just turned around and left crying, looking totally defeated.
I felt awful. Everything had gone wrong—my sweatshirt, the bus, my homework, my little brother—and Mom was upset with me. I felt all alone. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt and prayed. “Heavenly Father, please help me. Help me so everything is OK. Help my mom be happy. Help her to love me even though I have a messy room. Please, Heavenly Father, please help me.” Still kneeling beside my bed, I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed.
Shortly, I heard Mom in the hall. I jerked up and grabbed a shirt to act like I was putting it away. I didn’t want to get in trouble again for not working.
When Mom came into my room, her eyes were red and swollen worse than mine. She quietly asked if I had been praying. I hesitated because I knew I was supposed to be cleaning, but I nodded yes.
Mom cleared a spot beside me, sat down, and put her arms around me. “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry I was upset with you. I’m sorry you’re not having a very good day. I’ve had a hard day myself, and I was praying for help when the Spirit whispered that you were praying for me, too.”
“Really?” I asked. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer, and the Holy Ghost told you?”
“That’s right,” Mom said, smiling.
I started to cry again, but this time it was because I knew that somebody cared. Heavenly Father had watched my awful day, and He understood that I needed love more than I needed a clean room. And even though I didn’t get warm peanut-butter cookies, I felt a real warmth inside, a comforting knowledge that I am never alone.

When I was called to serve as a counselor in my ward’s Young Women organization, I accepted the call, but I was concerned about how to do it. I felt unprepared, and I was struggling with a trial.
Three months before receiving this calling, following a high-risk pregnancy, my baby boy, Nicolas, had been born. He needed constant medical care. A few weeks after his birth, a small red spot appeared on his eyelid and began to grow gradually. Our pediatrician explained that it was a benign tumor and would disappear after Nicolas was a year old. But the tumor developed rapidly. It occupied his ocular cavity and would eventually cause permanent damage to his vision if not treated.
We made the difficult decision to start chemotherapy. Nicolas’s fragile body reacted negatively to the treatment. He had daily fevers, constant infections, and low weight. The process made him cry a lot. My calling became harder and harder to fulfill under these conditions. I didn’t know how I could do it.
Thankfully, my husband supported me. Together, we felt I should continue. The Young Women president also supported me. She was a faithful and patient sister. She helped me see qualities I did not know I had and helped me find ways I could serve that I hadn’t thought of.
Being with the young women each week helped me not fixate on the routine of injections, examinations, and doctors. It kept me from wasting time feeling sorry for myself or questioning why this was happening to my small angel. My calling was a blessing, and before I realized it, Nicolas was growing and the treatment had concluded. Nicolas became a happy and healthy boy who was full of energy.
Serving those valiant daughters of our Heavenly Father has helped me overcome feelings of inadequacy, develop eternal bonds of friendship, discover my talents, and improve in my responsibilities as a mother and wife.
The Lord does not always take trials from us, but I know with all my heart that He is always willing to help us have the strength to confront them.

The ward Primary presidency were deep in thought as they contemplated the organization’s needs for the coming year. “What shall we do about Jenny?” one of them asked. “She is the only eleven-year-old in the whole ward. Don’t you think we should just combine the classes? You know how difficult it is to get teachers, especially to teach just one child.”
The Primary president nodded. “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “But I just don’t feel right about that solution. The Anderson family is having some problems with Jenny’s older sister right now, and I don’t think that Jenny is getting all the attention she needs. I think we should be particularly prayerful about this decision.”
At that time, Primary was held on a week-day afternoon, and it was difficult to find people who could teach Primary during the week. And to find someone who would be willing to teach only one child seemed an impossible task.
The next day, the Primary president studied the ward membership list. It seemed that all those who might be suitable already had more than one calling. So she took the problem to Heavenly Father—and prayed again about finding a teacher for Jenny.
The next time she looked at the ward list, she felt drawn to Sister Conner’s name—an unlikely choice, she thought, because Sister Conner said she was not a good teacher. In fact, Sister Conner had said many times, “I’m just not a teacher. I makes me nervous to stand in front of people.” Sister Conner had said it so often that everyone in the ward believed her. But there was no mistaking the Spirit’s promptings, so the Primary president took her request to the bishopric.
Sister Conner was surprised to receive the call. “Are you sure?” she asked the bishop. “You know I can’t teach.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” came the answer. “The Lord needs you in this calling, Sister Conner. We suggest that you pray about what you can do to help Jenny.”
Sister Conner was so nervous about her new calling that she was actually relieved that there was only one child in her class. Jenny was delighted when she found out that she was really going to have a teacher all to herself. Her parents were relieved and impressed that Sister Conner had accepted such an unusual calling.
The Primary year began. Every Primary day Sister Conner and Jenny could be found in the same small classroom. Sister Conner gave the lessons, and they planned projects and had fun together.
One winter day, Jenny came home from school looking as if she was getting sick from a cold. When her mother said that she had better stay home from Primary, Jenny burst into tears. “Mom, you don’t understand. I have to go. Sister Conner needs me. If I don’t go, she won’t have anyone to teach, and that would make her feel very sad!”
As the year progressed, friendship and love grew between Sister Conner and Jenny. Sister Conner taught Jenny to sew, and Jenny taught Sister Conner how much it meant to her to have a teacher of “her very own.” Jenny learned many new skills that year, and Sister Conner learned that she could indeed teach—and that she loved teaching!
As the time for Primary graduation grew closer, Sister Conner and Jenny decided that they wanted Jenny’s graduation to be a special time. Jenny’s mother bought fabric for a new dress, and Jenny and Sister Conner sewed it together.
At last, graduation day arrived. The program was a beautiful, spiritual ending to a unique year, and Jenny looked lovely in the dress she and Sister Conner had worked on together.
Jennifer is a grown woman now—beautiful and self-confident. After nine years of marriage, she has been blessed with only one child. But she learned long ago the value of “just one child”—from Sister Conner.
Meanwhile, Sister Conner has become a great Primary teacher. She still prefers teaching small classes, and when questioned about the year she taught Jenny, she says, “I didn’t do much. It wasn’t a sacrifice for me at all; it was really fun. I just loved Jenny. I enjoyed that year more than almost anything I have ever done. Even after all these years, I still miss her.”

When I was 12 years old, my family moved from subtropical Hong Kong to a place with cold, unfamiliar winters. Soon, I was invited on my first winter hike with the young men in my ward.
On the day of our hike, I dressed as warmly as I knew how. As we ascended the winding mountain trail, I was excited to see falling snow cover the ground. I was inadequately dressed for the terrain and weather, however, and had difficulty keeping up with my group. I told them to go ahead and I would join those who I believed were following us.
As I continued at my own pace, my shoes and clothing became soaked and my hands, feet, and face became numb. It then began to snow so intensely that I could no longer see the trail. After wandering for some time, I realized that I was lost, alone, and unsure if anyone knew I was missing.
Elder Tai in the Sierra Nevada range of California around 1988. The story he shares took place on Mount Baden Powell in the San Gabriel Mountains of California in 1984.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Lost, cold, and alone on that snowy mountain those many years ago, I became desperate. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt in the newly fallen snow and prayed to my Heavenly Father for help. I shared my predicament and fears with Him and pleaded to be found and rescued.
When I arose from my prayer, the snow descended all around me, and a beautiful, calm silence filled the trees. This serenity was disrupted when I heard rustling in the bushes nearby. Two older boys emerged. They had already reached the summit, and instead of following the trail, they decided to slide down the mountain. Of all places, they slid right to where I was!
When they asked me what I was doing there, I told them I was lost. They invited me to join them, and together we slid safely down to the trailhead at the base of the mountain. Eventually we were reunited with the rest of our group.

When I was a new Beehive, I enjoyed Young Women, but I was also shy and a little intimidated by the older girls. I had a hard time relating with them since their main interests seemed to center around boys and clothes—or so I thought.
One of the first Mutual activities I attended after turning 12 was held in the backyard of one of our leaders. All the girls were there, including Shannie,* one of the older Beehives. She was well-liked by everyone, and tonight she was dressed in the latest summer fashion, right down to her sparkling white tennis shoes.
When the refreshments were served near the end of the activity, we all took our cookies and purple punch over to the lawn chairs where we could eat and socialize. I sat down next to Shannie, placing my glass of punch on the ground. As the girls began to talk, I shifted my legs. To my horror, my foot knocked over my glass of punch and it spilled all over Shannie’s left foot! I sat paralyzed as the deep purple spread over the once-sparkling-white shoe. I was sure all the young women had seen it happen. I thought I would die of embarrassment!
As I began to choke out a desperate apology, Shannie put her hand out and said in a soft voice, “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” And she meant it. She encouraged the conversation to continue as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening she seemed to ignore her soggy, purple shoe.
In that moment, I realized that while Shannie was well-dressed and popular, her biggest priority was to treat others with Christlike kindness. I will forever remember the compassion she showed to me at a time in my life when I needed it most.

Chan Yung Fai stopped furtively at the corner of the building to flick away his cigarette in the darkness. The wind howling off the South China Sea flung the red sparks down narrow Macau Street.
Yung Fai hesitated at the church door. It’s been three years, he thought. I can’t go in now. But the ominous sound of the approaching typhoon warned otherwise. Inside the church were his mother and sister. He had to warn them.
Already the street markets were shutting down in panic. Yung Fai had hurriedly sold the last of his squawking chickens, keeping a plump red hen for the family’s dinner. Now the hen writhed in a pink plastic bag clenched firmly in his hand.
Yung Fai could vaguely hear singing inside the church. His sister, Chan Wai Fung, had talked all week about the music festival here tonight. Above the door, he read the Chinese characters for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Reluctantly, Yung Fai stepped through the doorway. The last time he had been inside this church was two weeks after he and his sister had been baptized. It was also the same day he had started smoking again. He had not dared go back—not to face broken promises and rules he could not keep.
The clear, melodic voice of his sister singing an old Chinese love song wafted through the church. Her voice is as perfect as she is, thought Yung Fai. Then he sighed. She’s always kept every rule in the book—probably even a few that aren’t there.
He edged around the corner to watch. Instantly, Wai Fung’s eyes greeted him. Her song smiled to him. Shyly, Yung Fai smiled back.
Then she sang her favorite, “How Firm a Foundation.” The audience was so enraptured they seemed oblivious to the rising wind outside.
Yung Fai watched her frail body quiver as she was named winner of the music competition. Propped in her chair, she was extraordinarily small for age 19. She lifted her crippled arms to limply clasp the hands of people crowding around to congratulate her.
Yung Fai had almost forgotten why he had come. Suddenly, he pushed forward to the pulpit and nervously cleared his throat. “There’s a big typhoon brewing outside. You need to get home.”
Stunned, the congregation for the first time heard the gushing wind. Wai Fung’s mother scooped up her daughter. The fragile, smiling girl with the lifeless legs and big, beautiful voice looked like a tiny child tucked in her mother’s arms.
Yung Fai followed them out. Rain was plopping on the rough-stoned street. Halfway down the street already, his mother was trying to shelter Wai Fung from the splashing drops.
Yung Fai had always looked upon his mother’s devotion to his sister with a mixture of guilt and amazement. On Sundays, while he was off gambling at the racetrack, his mother carried Wai Fung to church—a church his mother did not even like. Yet, every Sunday, she took Wai Fung to this Christian church and then went to her own Chinese temple to burn incense.
His mother’s irritated voice broke into his thoughts. “Yung Fai, are you coming? If we don’t hurry, the buses will stop running and we’ll be stranded on this side of the bridge.”
As he caught up with them, Wai Fung reached out to him. “That was brave of you to warn us. I would have been frightened to speak out in front of so many people I didn’t know.”
Yung Fai only shrugged and tried to keep up with his mother’s fast clip. When they reached the bus stop, people were pushing at each other to squeeze on the Taipa Island bus. A passenger immediately gave up his seat to Wai Fung and her mother. Yung Fai grabbed the overhead rail and wiggled close to them. Crammed against another passenger, his red hen began screeching loudly. His mother gazed at the squirming sack.
“What else have you got in that sack?” she snapped.
Yung Fai shrugged again. “Oh, only a pack of cigarettes.
Her black eyes flashed. “How much longer are you going to waste our money on those worthless things? You seem to forget there are seven of us to feed in our house. With you gambling and smoking, we’ll never be able to save enough money to go back and visit your father in China. You know that’s all Wai Fung has ever dreamed of.”
The bus lurched forward and picked up speed. The wind and rain whipped through the open windows, drowning out their voices and the sound of the irate chicken. Across the long bridge, above the tumultuous sea, the bus reeled with the wind and weight of its passengers.
When they finally jostled off the bus in front of the path leading to their plot of land, Wai Fung touched her brother’s sack. “I think you picked a good chicken for dinner, Yung Fai.”
After dinner, Yung Fai watched his mother clear the rice bowls off the table and roll the chicken bones up in the newspaper tablecloth. He uneasily paced the floor in their small tin/wood house. It was too quiet outside. He knew the storm would come back. Everyone in the house was waiting for the typhoon to exhale like a dragon. In the corner, his eldest sister, who preferred the English name of Lily, was listlessly threading plastic petals on a spindle. Her flower making brought a little extra money for the family.
Lily’s husband was fidgeting with the television.
“All you’re getting is static. Why don’t you turn that thing off!” Yung Fai said in exasperation.
“I’m just trying to get the Hong Kong station. They’re predicting this storm to be one of the worst ever.”
Yung Fai noticed Wai Fung shudder tensely. Wai Fung was usually so calm. Now her uncoordinated hands were fumbling aimlessly through the Book of Mormon which she read so diligently. She was always reading the Bible or Book of Mormon or one of those other scriptures.
Everyone was nervous. Only Lily’s toddler girls slept peacefully in the bunk against the far wall.
The typhoon crept back gradually as they all finally dozed in their beds. Yung Fai woke with a jerk to the wailing of the wind and whimpering of Lily’s youngest daughter. The window near her bed was rattling crazily.
At first everyone lay rigidly in the darkness, listening to the swelling storm. The dragon had returned. Its lashing tail sounded as if it would rip right through the house. They heard a thundering crack and the rushing thud of a tree falling. More trees creaked and splintered. The pitter-patter of rain had become a spewing torrent.
Yung Fai could hear the foreboding sound of rain beginning to trickle through the roof. Then the splattering of glass brought them all rolling to their feet. The wind hurled itself in one window and crashed out through another window on the opposite wall. Glass and splintered boards lay scattered on the floor.
Yung Fai was soon sweeping up water faster than glass. Water poured under the door. An unrelenting stream came through the ceiling and broken windows.
“We’ve got to save our things!” shrieked his mother, yanking open the door. She began scooping buckets of water and throwing them into the yard. The yard looked more like a river.
Suddenly, Wai Fung’s scream resounded above everything else. “Hear it! The power pole is falling. The house will cave in!”
“We must escape!” gasped Lily.
Momentarily, everyone groped in confusion. The ensuing crash seemed to come down in slow motion. Wood and tin hurtled against them. In panic, they pushed each other through the door.
Yung Fai looked back to see the entire roof collapsing under the weight of the giant pole. He could feel warm blood seeping down his face. But the rain sloshed it away, and Yung Fai imagined he was standing in a river of red. Dazed, he looked around to see that all his family had miraculously escaped.
“The animal shed!” shouted his brother-in-law. “There might be more shelter against the hillside.”
Bracing against the wind, everyone struggled through the swirling waters toward the hill. They slithered through mud and climbed over fallen trees. Once Yung Fai saw his mother fall, and he hurried to help her. She was still holding Wai Fung above the water.
When they reached the animal shed, mud and water were oozing through it. But no one cared. The storm was less violent there.
The chickens cackled noisily, and the pigs grunted in annoyance. Lily’s husband tried to kick the pigs away, but they were not about to be rousted from their secure spot.
Exhausted, everyone sank down. The pigs and people rested against each other, waiting out the typhoon.
Yung Fai dreamily kept pace with the rhythmic breathing of the pig next to him. After a while, his glazed eyes focused on his sister, Wai Fung. In her hands she gripped the satchel holding her scriptures. Even a typhoon threatening her life could not make her give them up.
Yung Fai looked slowly around. Each person was clutching something. His mother held Wai Fung closely. Lily and her husband were each cradling a daughter. Strangely, each tiny girl had managed to stay clinging to her doll.
Then Yung Fai realized he had also carried something out. He looked down to see what it was. The pink plastic bag was wound tightly around his hand. In it was his pack of cigarettes. In a sudden surge of disgust, he flung them outside into the mud.