Gospel Story Finder

My family had just returned from a wonderful vacation. After dinner I let our two children, four-year-old Markus and three-year-old Emma, play in the upstairs bedroom of our fourth-floor apartment. In Denmark, windows open out like shutters. The windows are usually locked, but we had left them slightly ajar during our vacation so the apartment would be ventilated during our trip.
As I was doing the dishes, I suddenly felt that something was terribly wrong. I ran into the living room as Markus came running down the stairs. He was screaming with fear, saying Emma had fallen out of the window—a window about 40 feet (12 m) above a cement sidewalk. I ran down the stairs, repeatedly screaming Emma’s name. I saw my little daughter lying on the cement as if she were lifeless. She was completely limp when I picked her up, and I thought my worst fears were confirmed. My husband, who had followed me outside, took her in his arms and immediately gave her a priesthood blessing.
The ambulance came quickly, and Markus and I said a prayer while the paramedics worked on Emma. Soon we were all in the ambulance heading to the hospital.
At the intensive care unit we were quickly joined by family members who came to support us. Markus went home with his cousins, while my husband and I stayed behind, not yet knowing about Emma’s condition.
After what seemed like a long wait, one of the doctors finally came in, asking for details about the accident. They said that normally a fall from such a height would have resulted in internal injuries and only a small chance of survival. Emma had a broken pelvis and a concussion, but her scrapes were only superficial. The doctor said an angel must have caught her.
Even though Emma’s survival was a miracle, she was still unconscious because of head trauma. My husband and two close friends again administered to Emma. In that blessing she was promised a complete recovery without any lasting problems and that this would be a positive experience in her life. I felt immense gratitude for the power of the priesthood. All my nightlong pleadings had been heard.
Emma came out of her coma four days later. During those four days, friends, members of the Church, and others fasted and prayed for her. I felt the prayers of faithful Saints weave around me, strengthening my family and me. I felt as if Heavenly Father had wrapped His arms around me and filled me with comfort.
Our stake had held a fast on the day before she woke up. We believe that Heavenly Father heard our prayers and that Emma’s waking up was a direct result of the fast. From there Emma recovered quickly. Five days later she said her first word since the accident, and nine days later she was released from the hospital. She spent five weeks in a wheelchair and then started physical therapy.
One year later, Emma could run, laugh, tell stories, and think as a four-year-old should.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Everybody get the prettiest leaf you can find. We’ll make pictures with them back in the classroom.
This is the best leaf in the park! It’s huge!
You mean it’s second best. Look at the color of this one!
Hah! Your leaf’s tiny!
Yours is ugly!
Oh yeah?
Yeah!
Don’t fight. Your leaves are both best. This one’s best for making a spaceship, and this one’s best for making a dragon.
Where did you learn to be such a good peacemaker?
Watching Mom make peace between Matt and me.

Members in Hong Kong feel a special closeness to President Gordon B. Hinckley. They are well aware that he was instrumental in choosing the site of the Hong Kong Temple and was very specific about many of the unique aspects of the structure. They feel of his genuine love and concern for them. Speaking of the dedication of the Hong Kong Temple, President Hinckley said:
“To me that is a miracle. It is wonderful that we … have a temple of the Lord in the great realm of China wherein live one-fourth of the inhabitants of the earth.
“I have been going to Hong Kong since 1960 when I received an assignment from the Brethren for responsibility for the work in Asia. I almost weep every time I think of having a temple in the great Chinese realm. It will be a different kind of temple. I want to say that if I ever felt the inspiration of the Lord in my life, it was on the occasion of going over there to find a place to build a temple. And I think I can say that it became as clear to me as anything what should be done.”

Life isn’t always smooth sailing, even for these girls. Of all the problems this group has faced, they agree that Erin’s was the most dramatic. During a youth conference trip to the Toronto Ontario Temple a few years ago, Erin noticed that she was suddenly covered with what looked like huge bruises from head to toe. But she hadn’t been injured, or even jostled, in any way. It was only a matter of hours after she discovered these bruises that Erin was in a hospital in Ottawa—a day-long drive from St. John. She had acute lymphoblastic leukemia.
“Since I was so far away, I lost touch with friends from school, but Melissa and Sacha both came to see me,” she says. The years following weren’t always easy. Erin’s treatment was aggressive and tiring.
“Your perspective really changes after something like this,” she says. “Having good friends, good family, and the gospel is really what’s important.”

By staying close to the Lord, I reestablished confidence in myself and could feel the influence of the Holy Ghost in my life. This influence soon led me to consider serving a mission. I know some people thought my desire foolish, but when I spoke with the branch president, he gave me the courage I needed. To prepare myself, I decided to read the Book of Mormon in its entirety—something I had not yet accomplished in my 12 years as a member.
However, my poor memory posed a real challenge. After starting with 1 Nephi at least 10 times and not being able to remember a thing I had read, I knew I needed a different approach. I prayed to find a solution, and soon a method entered my mind: I would write a summary of each chapter as I read it.
I bought a notebook and read the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Since I had only a vague idea of what I had just read, I read the chapter again. Only then was I able to summarize in my notebook the main ideas in that chapter.
Prayerfully, I moved on. After completing 1 Nephi, I found I no longer had to read each chapter twice; once was enough to write a good summary. I read the entire Book of Mormon this way. When I finished, I was left with a strong spiritual witness that the book is true, and I could also testify that the Lord strengthens us if we turn to Him.

Many years ago, as a brand new manager, I traveled to South America to attend an important work seminar held by high-ranking officials of the government agency I worked for.
The very first night at the end of the conference, the “big boss” of the agency announced a special activity for that night. Sure that everyone would appreciate his proposal, he proclaimed proudly: “To show you how much we appreciate you, tonight we invite all of you to a special night out, visiting the bars in the city, famous for a special cocktail drink. We will all taste the different variations of that drink and vote which bar makes the best version. There will be a contest and a winner. And don’t worry, it’s all on me, my special treat for you.”
As everyone applauded his plan, he added a rhetorical question: “Anyone not coming? Say it now or never!”
As everyone applauded again, I thought how embarrassing it would be to say anything in front of all those people, to contradict the boss’s expectation that this was an incredible offer.
Nevertheless, in a matter of seconds I decided what to do. I raised my hand, the only one who did. Then, in an intimidating way, he asked what I had to say. I had never heard a silence so loud before in my life!
I said: “Sir, I thank you for your generous offer, but I will not join you all tonight.”
After another silence, even more silent than I thought possible, he asked, “Why?” In that moment, I could have come up with some good excuses—that I was sick or had an important phone call to make to the other side of the world or any other reason that would have saved me from obvious embarrassment. But I said the simple truth, that as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I don’t drink alcohol.
After pondering for a moment, he finally said, “Then we will have fun without you.” And to the others, he said, “Follow me. Let’s go have fun! Let’s leave him alone.”
I still remember the echoes of their laughs as they were leaving the conference room and I was left by myself. I realized that many times, choosing the Lord is, as President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught, all about choosing “the harder right instead of the easier wrong,”1 even at the risk of being left alone.
As I walked to my room, I remember hearing a distinct voice in my mind: “Don’t you also want to go?” I was taken aback for a moment, but then suddenly, the words of Simon Peter to the Savior came to my mind. To that same question, he replied, “Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).
With feelings of new peace, I felt as if I was surrounded by angels bearing me up. Although I was alone, I didn’t feel alone. As I chose the Lord and stood for my principles, I saw that when we choose the Lord, we may be left alone in the world, but the Savior will never abandon us.

For thirteen years I was a devoted, “born again” Christian and an equally devoted anti-Mormon. As part of an organized evangelical program, I talked to people in stores, in parks, and in their homes, seeking to share the “good news of the gospel.”
Many of those people I encountered in my evangelical work were Latter-day Saints. I took every opportunity to tell them that their church was not of God, but was a cult inspired by Satan. I was well-read in anti-Mormon literature, and my heart ached for those “misguided Mormons.” They went about trying to “work” their way to heaven, believing in the words of a self-appointed prophet named Joseph Smith.
I told them again and again that those works didn’t count. Only those people who ask Jesus into their hearts will go to heaven, I said. All others, good and evil, share a fate of agony and eternal separation from God.
“What about those who have never heard of Jesus?” I was always asked. Having no answer, I quietly ignored the question.
After a divorce that was hard for me, I stopped going to church, and although my faith in God and love for him remained, I decided to lay aside the spiritual part of my life for a time. I married an inactive Latter-day Saint who nonetheless possessed an unshakable testimony. We rarely discussed religion, but whenever the subject came up, I made fruitless attempts to show him the error of his beliefs. He quietly listened, but his testimony remained intact. Then, through a family crisis, my heart began to change.
My father-in-law became very ill with cancer, and as death approached, he felt the need to express the importance of the Church to his children. Something about his simple testimony touched my heart, and I decided to find out for myself the truth regarding this church. I began by cross-referencing the scriptures, and found to my surprise that there were no inconsistencies between the Bible and the Book of Mormon. To me, the Bible was the precious word of God. I believed it without question. Could Mormon doctrine possibly be proven within the Bible? I set out to find the answer.
In going through my husband’s Church books, I came across A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards. As I read it, I felt as if it had been written for me. I discovered New Testament scriptures regarding baptism for the dead and Christ’s mission during the time prior to his resurrection. I discovered Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb: “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” (John 20:17.) Had he not returned to his Father immediately after his death? But I had used his words to the thief on the cross, “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43) to prove deathbed repentance! I had read these same scriptures countless times before but had never really understood them. Now I realized I had been deceived about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied and prayed, I began to find answers to the questions I had quietly pushed aside. Finally, I knew that this church was the Savior’s church, and its doctrine was his doctrine. In 1984 I was baptized.
I am grateful the Lord waited so patiently for the moment when my heart would open so that his Spirit would lead me to the truth.

Following a recent discussion on the subject of adversity, a young man who was greatly concerned about the burdens being carried by his wonderful mother asked the question, “If God is omnipotent and knows all, why does He put my mother through the agony of continual sufferings when He already knows what the outcome will be?” Our response was, “Your mother’s trials are not tests so the Lord can measure her. They are tests and trials so that your mother can measure herself. It is most important that she know her strengths in adversity and grow from the experiences.”

They started to raise their family from a very humble single attic-room apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. After several years of washing their clothes by hand, they had finally saved up enough money to purchase a washing machine. Just before they would make the purchase, the bishop visited them, asking for a contribution to build the meetinghouse in Amsterdam. They decided to give all they had saved for the washing machine and continued to do the laundry by hand. As a family we went through some hardships, just like any other family. These have only made us stronger and have deepened our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, just like when Alma was sharing his story with his son Helaman, where he told him that he had been “supported under trials and troubles of every kind” because he had put his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. How did two people who experienced so many trials in their younger years become the very best parents I could ever wish for? The answer is simple: they fully embraced the gospel and live by their covenants to this very day! After more than 65 years of marriage, my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, passed away in February. My father, at the age of 92 and still living at home, visited her as often as he could until she passed away. Some time ago he mentioned to my younger siblings that the dreadful experiences in the camp in Indonesia during World War II had prepared him to patiently care for his wife for so many years as she fell ill and deteriorated from this horrible disease and also for the fateful day he had to entrust her primary care to others and could not be by her side anymore. Their motto has been and still is to “Just carry on,” having a perfect hope in Christ to be raised up at the last day and to dwell with Him in glory forever.

I have always been interested in animals and birds. When I learned to read, I found books about birds and animals and came to know much about them. By the time I was in my teens, I could identify most of the African animals. I could tell a klipspringer from an impala, or a gemsbok from wildebeest.
I always wanted to go to Africa and see the animals, and finally that opportunity came. Sister Packer and I were assigned to tour in South Africa. We had a very strenuous schedule and had dedicated eight chapels in seven days.
The mission president was vague about the schedule for September 10th. (That happens to be my birthday.) I thought we were planning to return to Johannesburg, South Africa. But he had other plans. “There is a game reserve some distance from here,” he explained, “and I have rented a car, and tomorrow, your birthday, we are going to spend seeing the African animals.”
Now I might explain that the game reserves in Africa are unusual. The people are put in cages, and the animals are left to run free. That is, there are compounds where the park visitors check in at night and are locked behind high fences until after daylight. They are allowed to drive about, but no one is allowed out of his car.
Because of a delay in getting our evening meal, it was long after dark when we left to go to our isolated cabin. We found the turnoff and had gone up the narrow road just a short distance when the engine stalled. We found a flashlight and I stepped out to check under the hood. As the light flashed on the dusty road, the first thing I saw was lion tracks!
Back in the car, we determined to content ourselves with spending the night there! Fortunately, we were rescued by the driver of a gas truck who had left the compound late because of a problem.
In the morning they brought us back to the compound. We had no automobile, and no way to get a replacement until late in the afternoon. Our one day in the park was ruined and, for me, the dream of a lifetime was gone.
I talked with a young ranger, and he was surprised that I knew many of the African birds. Then he volunteered to rescue us. “We are building a new lookout over a water hole about 20 miles from the compound,” he said. “It is not quite finished, but it is safe. I will take you out there with a lunch. You may see as many animals, or even more, than if you were driving around.”
On the way to the lookout he volunteered to show us some lions. He turned off through the brush and before long located a group of 17 lions all sprawled out asleep and drove right up among them.
We stopped at a water hole to watch the animals come to drink. It was very dry that season and there was not much water, really just muddy spots. When the elephants stepped into the soft mud, the water would seep into the depression and the animals would drink from the elephant tracks.
The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was “Crocodiles.”
I knew he must be joking and asked him seriously, “What is the problem?” The answer again: “Crocodiles.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “There are no crocodiles out there. Anyone can see that.”
I thought he was having some fun at the expense of his foreign game expert, and finally I asked him to tell us the truth. Now I remind you that I was not uninformed. I had read many books. Besides, anyone would know that you can’t hide a crocodile in an elephant track.
He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. “There,” he said. “See for yourself.”
I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink.
Suddenly I became a believer! When he could see I was willing to listen, he continued with the lesson. “There are crocodiles all over the park,” he said, “not just in the rivers. We don’t have any water without a crocodile somewhere near it, and you’d better count on it.”
The guide was kinder to me than I deserved. My “know-it-all” challenge to his first statement, “crocodiles,” might have brought an invitation, “Well, go out and see for yourself!”
I could see for myself that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But he was patient enough to teach me.
I hope you’ll be wiser in talking to your guides than I was on that occasion. That smart-aleck idea that I knew everything really wasn’t worthy of me, nor is it worthy of you. I’m not very proud of it, and I think I’d be ashamed to tell you about it except that telling you may help you.

In 1982, Nuria and I were taught the restored gospel of Jesus Christ by full-time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Jackson, Mississippi, USA. During the first lesson they explained about the doctrine of eternal marriage and eternal families. This particular message addressed some private concerns of ours. Upon our return to Puerto Rico, we began personally searching civil and religious records. We experienced great joy as we began finding some of our ancestors and submitted their names to the temple for sacred ordinances on their behalf. At the time we did not know that it was the spirit of Elijah, testifying to us that families indeed are forever. As often as we were able to travel and attend a temple, we would go and do more work. We understood that this was a commandment and a duty to perform.
More recently, as we were taught to fill out the information in the My Family: Stories that Bring Us Together booklet, the spirit of Elijah was again felt strongly. That is the main purpose in filling out this booklet. This time we felt it was even more personal than when we did our family history work as recent converts.
Before, we spoke of taking names to the temple to perform the sacred ordinances for them. After finding out and recording stories and adding pictures along with the dates of significant life events in the online My Family: Stories that Bring Us Together, we now felt that we knew them, and could not wait to do their temple work. They were now more than just names.
That is how I came to find out about Juana Cancel, one of my father’s grandmothers (and one of my great-grandmothers). She was born in Vega Baja, Puerto Rico in the year 1880. I wrote and recorded the following information about her, which I learned from my father. “Juana Cancel was a very beloved grandmother of my father. She would protect, love, nurture, and spoil him. She safely kept his Life Magazine collection for him. Her husband, Jose Hilario Martinez, died eighteen years before she did. That meant that she had to continue administering and working their farm by herself after his death. She then used to sleep with a half a cue stick, an iron bar, and a hatchet underneath her bed, in case somebody tried to break into her home. She also used to smoke cigarettes. She said that she smoked in order to repel the mosquitoes! She passed away from a metastatic cancer of her cervix. My father remembers her going to receive treatments in the oncologic hospital in San Juan. I love her very much, because it is quite clear to me that my father nearly worshiped her.”
I could not rest until the temple work was done for her. It was a moving labor of love to have all of her vicarious ordinances performed. Family history and temple work are truly the “most glorious of subjects belonging to the everlasting gospel” (D&C 128:17).
I conclude by quoting Sally Johnson Odekirk.1 She wrote an Ensign article where she listed activities that help us do our family history and temple work, in ways that bless all members of the family that participate:
Look at family history websites, especially FamilySearch.org (where you can also find an electronic version of My Family: Stories that Bring Us Together, ready to be completed online). See also churchofjesuschrist.org/topics/family-history/family-history-is-for-everyone.
Take your children to visit the temple or do baptisms for deceased ancestors.
Visit important family sites—such as old homes, schools or cemeteries—and treat them with respect.
Pass down stories about your ancestors. I would add the importance of recording them.
Display (and share) family photos.
Gather and display family heirlooms in your home, cook old family recipes, or plant a heritage garden with flowers and vegetables your grandparents might have had in their gardens.
Create a calendar with birthdays of special ancestors.
Learn about an ancestor’s homeland, including the area’s history and traditions.
Index records at FamilySearch.org.
Keep a photo record of family traditions that you are creating now.
Preserve current and past family history with digital scrapbooks and blogs.
Attend family reunions and family organization meetings.

I first met Luan in February 2001 at a Young Men camp in Recife, Brazil. In Brazil, it was the time of Carnival—a holiday that has become four days of unruly partying. During Carnival, stakes often hold youth conferences and camps to give Latter-day Saint youth a fun and wholesome alternative. In my assignment as President of the Brazil North Area, I was visiting one such Young Men camp in the Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake.
When I first saw Luan, I noticed that he was quite thin and did not have even a single hair on his head. I also noticed that he had many friends. And I learned that he had just turned 12 and was going to be ordained a deacon during the camp.
I also learned that Luan had bone cancer in his left leg. In fact, just before camp he had learned that the cancer was progressing so rapidly his leg needed to be amputated immediately. But because Luan wanted so badly to receive the Aaronic Priesthood at camp and to play soccer with his friends one last time, his doctor had agreed to postpone the surgery for a week.
Now, surrounded by his brothers in the Church, Luan literally beamed with happiness. After his priesthood ordination on Sunday, Luan bore a beautiful testimony about his faith in the gospel and his gratitude for the Savior’s love.

Bert and I grew up expecting to serve missions, and when we got old enough, we did. My mission made all the difference in the world to me. I gained a deeper understanding of the gospel, I developed discipline, and I learned to serve others. It has been the basis for a happy, successful life.
Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who the person was who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made it clear what he expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9–10.)
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

While on assignment for the Church magazines in Taiwan, I was traveling with an interpreter and a driver. Though I still had hours of work to do, my interpreter needed to leave me alone with the driver, who didn’t speak any English. There was no way I could finish my work without being able to communicate with the driver. As they discussed options, my interpreter began to laugh. He explained that the driver spoke Spanish, which he knew I had learned on my mission. The driver and I had a great time together, and I finished my work without any problem.
This was no dramatic healing or moving of a mountain. But it was divine intervention that my driver was one of the relatively few people in Taiwan who spoke Spanish.

Alice held the crumbled paper in her hand. She clenched her fist tightly and tried hard to erase the horrible words that now burned in her mind.
Alice is an idiot, the paper read. Alice didn’t know who had written the words—someone nearby, no doubt—but she had found the mean little message sitting on her desk when she had returned to her seat. Now, defeated and miserable, she wished she had never signed up for this section of Speech 1. She wished even harder that she had never had to stand up to give her presentation. And she wished even harder still that she could believe that the words written on the paper were lies. But she couldn’t. She was an idiot, she was sure.
Minutes before, Alice had walked to the front of the class to deliver her speech. She had prepared for her presentation carefully, had even read the book for her report twice. But something unexplained had snatched her confidence from her the moment she had opened her mouth to speak. Her voice had trembled as she spoke, unrecognizable, wobbling foolishly, and her hands had shaken so badly she was afraid she would knock the podium over. She had barely made it through her speech. By the end of it, she was visibly on the verge of crying. During the long walk back to her desk, she had been afraid to look at the students in the class.
Why? she had thought miserably to herself. Why did I have to go to junior high school? Why did we have to move? Couldn’t I have stayed in the sixth grade forever? Everything within her young, thin frame wanted to be back in Mrs. Martin’s class, to be back in her old neighborhood, where all was familiar and sweet.
And then she had sat down at her desk, and there she had found the nasty message she was certain was true.
I am a jerk, she thought bitterly to herself. I’m stupid and dumb and I have no confidence. I have no friends, either. And I hate this stupid school.
The angry bath of self-hatred washed over her, spilled out of the corners of her eyes, made her feel peculiarly numb in her misery.
But the horror was not over yet.
“Alice?” Mr. Goldstein’s voice called to her, as the bell sounded to switch classes. “Alice, can I see you up front for a minute?”
Alice heard some snickers from a group of boys as she gathered her books. She swallowed, then walked up the aisle to Mr. Goldstein’s desk.
“Alice,” he began. “I was so surprised by your performance today. I know you’re a bright and talented girl. I think you just need another chance.” He paused thoughtfully, then continued, “What if I schedule you to give it another try next time we meet?”
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Panic filled her. Wasn’t one humiliation enough? Couldn’t he see she was no good at speaking? But Mr. Goldstein’s soft voice rumbled on, something about fitting her in easily at the end of the next class, that he was certain her classmates wanted her to get another chance, too.
Alice walked home from school alone that day. Tami and Susan had offered to walk with her, but she had declined. They weren’t in her speech class, and she didn’t want to have to tell them the sad story of how foolish she had felt. If she didn’t walk with them, she wouldn’t have to speak to any one until she got home. By then, she hoped she could muster a calm hello to her mother, and then take refuge in the room she shared with her older sister until dinner. If she was lucky, Karen would stay late at school, practicing her part for the Autumn Festival play.
Alice walked the blocks home from school, acutely conscious of herself. In every storefront, in the windows of every parked car, she saw her face, her thin and sorrowing face.
Why can’t I wear eye makeup yet? she wondered angrily to herself. Everyone else does, even most of the girls in the ward.
She held her head down before the gusty wind, couldn’t bear to let her bangs blow upward, exposing her large forehead. Oh! it was miserable to be almost 13.
Alice managed to pass by her mother’s scrutiny. Something inside her wouldn’t let her tell her mother. She wanted to keep her horrible failure inside. She wanted to be by herself. Alice closed the door to her room, lay on her bed, face down on the pillow, alone in the safety of her home. Her father had been transferred again. They had lived in this new neighborhood just three months. Alice remembered her painful good-byes now. She rolled over, looked up to the ceiling, felt a flash of nervousness. She was terrorized at the thought of having to present her speech again. How could Mr. Goldstein be so mean?
Dinner passed.
“What’s the matter with the kid, here?” her older brother had asked, affectionately winking at Alice. “You’re quieter than usual.”
Karen gave the family home evening lesson that night on joy, of all things. Alice listened stonily.
Who could feel joy when everyone thought you were an idiot? she thought bitterly. Worse yet, who could feel joy when you had to go through another horrible day at school? Alice hardly heard her older sister’s comments about how prayer had sustained her during the first weeks of their move.
Tuesday passed. Alice saw only two of the students that were in her speech class, and both of them were girls. They smiled at her, and Alice felt no menace in them. Inevitably, though, Tuesday evening came, the good-nights, the walk up the stairs to bed, the certainty that tomorrow was coming.
Alice turned restlessly in bed. She was still awake when Karen came in. Alice watched the easy confidence with which Karen removed her makeup, fluffed her hair, then reached for the light. There were a few moments of silence as Karen said her prayers beside her bed, then the comforting sound of the bedsprings, the rustling sheets, of Karen settling into sleep. But Alice was still awake.
Hours passed, it seemed, but always the horror of the morning prevented Alice from surrendering to the black walls of her heavy eyelids. She had said her speech 300 times by now, had practiced taking deep breaths, had even imagined the entire occasion from start to finish, the perfect delivery and confident self-assurance. But reality always filled her. Alice was afraid. This wasn’t Primary, this wasn’t Young Women, this wasn’t even sacrament meeting. It was a class full of strangers, some of them older than she was, and all of them better at speaking than she would ever be.
Alice sat up in bed. She looked over at her sleeping sister, peaceful and at rest. Maybe being 17 did that to a person, Alice thought hopefully.
A thin column of white penetrated the dark room, the glow from the streetlight on the corner reaching in from behind the shade. A car passed by, its headlights shadowing wild patterns in the room. The pipes knocked in the basement, followed by the pleasant sound of steam hissing in the radiator.
Prayer is the best way to get through the tough times, Karen had said the other night. Alice had not wanted to think about it then, had thought it sounded corny and dumb. After all, Alice wasn’t a Merrie Miss anymore. She no longer had to sit uncomfortably in the back of Primary opening exercises.
But prayer?
Alice pushed the covers off. The floor felt cold on her feet. She bent down, then knelt awkwardly. Should she fold her arms, or was it enough just to kneel?
It was an awkward prayer, she knew, her first attempt since the faith of her family had begun to seem something weird and distant to her, something not to tell her new friends about, something that had to be done, she guessed, when her parents made her, a burden more than a blessing.
Alice opened her eyes after the amen, lingered for a moment on her knees, beside her bed, looking at the shadows in the light. And then a feeling warmed her, something real and sweet, a glow not from the hissing radiator, but a quiet warmth just the same. Quite simple, really. As Alice pulled the covers over herself, though, the moment lost its simplicity and became profound. The Holy Spirit had filled her, she knew, had warmed her and given her peace.
Alice walked slowly down the hall to her speech class. She avoided the boys who had laughed. She tried hard not to think of her failure or of the horrid little note, or of the minutes until she must surely try again.
“Alice? Are you ready to give it another try now?” It was Mr. Goldstein’s voice, of course, calling her to her second death, she was sure.
Alice stood slowly, picked up her paper, told her legs to move to the podium in the front of the classroom.
She knew her heart was beating too fast already. She was cold and trembling. She took a deep and trembling breath, smiled weakly to the class, then opened her mouth to speak.
And in a timeless moment, suspended somewhere between her trembling breath and her first uneven words, she remembered the warmth of the night before, the sense that her Father loved her, had heard her.
“Mr. Goldstein. Students. Good morning.”

Grudges, if left to fester, can become serious maladies. Like a painful ailment they can absorb all of our time and attention. Guy de Maupassant has written an interesting chronicle that illustrates this.
It concerns Master Hauchecome, who on market day went to town. He was afflicted with rheumatism, and as he stumbled along he noticed a piece of string on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket. He was seen doing so by his enemy, the harness maker.
At the same time it was reported to the mayor that a pocketbook containing money had been lost. It was assumed that what Hauchecome had picked up was the pocketbook, and he was accused of taking it. He vehemently denied the charge. A search of his clothing disclosed only the piece of string, but the slander against him had so troubled him that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he went he bothered to tell people about it. He became such a nuisance that they cried out against him. It sickened him.
“His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.
“He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of [his] death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:
“‘A little [piece] of string—a little [piece] of string. See, here it is, [Mister Mayor.]’” (See “The Piece of String,” http://www.online-literature.com/Maupassant/270/.)

I never talked with anyone about those feelings. Then, when I was 11, my parents took me to the home of my great uncle. He was a patriarch. He put his hands on my head and gave me my patriarchal blessing. He told me about the home where I would someday be the father. He described what I had been yearning for—my future home and family. I wondered, How can he know what is only in my heart? It was not secret, because God knew.

My siblings and I grew up believing in God, but our family wasn’t religious. We did our own thing and didn’t bother to learn about our purpose on earth. When a few relatives died, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I remembered my grandfather warning us not to sleep too much because when we die, we sleep forever, and it got me curious. Was death just a dark place of eternal sleep? As my soul searched for the answer to what happens after death, a neighbour—a former bishop for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sent missionaries to us. They taught my sister, Fiasili, and me the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and introduced us to the plan of salvation, which finally answered all my questions about death. Fiasili and I were soon baptised. She was 13 years old and I was 12.

Kathryn and Emily Phillips were both excited when their stake president called them to obtain the contents of the box to be placed in the cornerstone of the new Bountiful (Utah) Temple. For approximately seven months, the box was part of the family while they gathered, sorted, and prepared its contents.
““The box is sort of like a time capsule,” says 14-year-old Emily. “We put things in it that were representative of the time when the temple was built.”
Newspapers, histories of the area where the temple was built, pictures of the temple under construction, and books about the lives of both President Benson and President Hunter were included in the box, which was sealed in the cornerstone when the temple was dedicated in January.
After gathering all of the desired items to put into the box, Kathryn and Emily’s work still wasn’t finished. They did 30 presentations for Primary, Mutual, and adult groups, explaining what they had done.
““My favorite group was a group of Primary children,” says 18-year-old Kathryn. “They had raised some money and bought a set of scriptures to put in the cornerstone box. During the program, we all sang ‘I Love to See the Temple.’ I’ll never sing that song quite the same way again.”
Although the box is out of sight, it will always be close to the hearts of these sisters who are now eagerly awaiting the time when they can enter the temple.

Bailey loved princesses. She loved pretending to be a princess with her sister. She loved her princess books and toys. Most of all, she loved the little glass slipper she kept on her shelf. It was just like the shoe one of her favorite princesses wore.
Every night, Bailey’s dad read a story to her before bedtime. Then he read scriptures with her and helped her say a prayer.
But tonight, when Dad stood up after prayer, he bumped into Bailey’s shelf. The glass slipper wobbled. It tottered. Then it tipped off the shelf. Bailey’s eyes widened as she watched it fall. Dad tried to catch it, but—CRACK! It hit the floor.
Bailey gasped. “My slipper!” It was broken in half. How could she pretend to be like her favorite princess now?
“I’m so sorry!” Dad said.
Mom came into the room. “What happened?” she asked.
Bailey felt a lump in her throat. “Dad broke my glass slipper.”
“Oh no! I know how much you loved it,” Mom said.
Dad carefully picked up the pieces of glass. “Maybe I can fix it.”
Bailey could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. Her slipper would never be the same.
As Dad left the room with the pieces of the princess shoe, Bailey hugged her mom.
Mom held Bailey tight. “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry you feel sad.”
“I love you too,” Bailey said. Then she thought for a moment. “And I still love Dad too.”
“Maybe Dad will feel better if you tell him that you love him. It might help you feel better too,” Mom said.
Bailey wanted to keep crying, but she nodded. “OK.”
Bailey walked into the kitchen. Dad was sitting by the table, trying to glue the toy shoe back together.
“Dad,” Bailey said, “I know you didn’t mean to break my slipper.”
“I am really sorry,” Dad said.
“I forgive you,” Bailey said. “And I love you.”
She gave him a big hug. She didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was still sad, but hugging Dad helped her feel a lot better.
“Do you want to see what I did?” Dad asked.
He carefully turned the slipper so that she could see it better. It was in one piece again!
“You fixed it!” Bailey said.
“I think so,” Dad said. “But don’t touch it yet. The glue still needs to dry.”
Bailey could still see the crack in the middle where the slipper broke. But she was happy it was in one piece again.
“Thank you!” Bailey said.
“And thank you for forgiving me,” Dad said. “That was a hard thing to do.”
Bailey hugged her dad tight. Forgiving Dad was hard, but Bailey loved him more than any toy.