Gospel Story Finder

As we moved along the line exchanging handshakes and greetings, one slight young woman shyly extended her arm. As I took it, I realized that she had no hand on it or on her other arm. We exchanged smiles and moved along.
I next encountered this young sister after she and her husband were invited to speak as a young couple married within the last eighteen months in the Manila Temple. When she arose to speak, I noticed that in addition to being born without hands, this young woman had an artificial leg. As first she and then her husband spoke, there unfolded a most remarkable story about their lives.
The stake president was her father. Despite what to others may have been a handicap, but what to her must have been only a difficulty, this young sister had completed a full-term proselyting mission. She described in beautiful terms her feelings about going to the Manila Temple to be married. Hers was a talk of such maturity in gospel understanding and humility that it would have been difficult to equal anywhere in the Church. Then her husband stood and told of how he had written to his girlfriend after being in the mission field two months and later toward the end, of how he wanted to marry her in the Manila Temple when he returned home. There were no second thoughts, no change of heart when far removed, but instead, a growing understanding of the meaning and blessing of temple marriage for them both.
As they proudly showed us their baby after conference, and when we considered the splendid achievements of this young husband and wife, we recalled the Savior’s words, “Blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it” (Luke 11:28).

Lea and Mom were almost done shopping. Then Mom stopped to look at some clothes.
“I’ll be just a few minutes,” Mom said.
Lea sighed. When Mom said “a few minutes,” sometimes it meant 20!
Lea found a shelf of toys nearby. She flipped through a coloring book and then tossed a bouncy ball a few times. But that got boring pretty fast.
Then she pulled out something shiny and round. It was a yo-yo! It looked just like the one Oskar had brought to school last week. During recess he had showed everyone his fancy tricks. The tricks had names like “Walk the Dog” and “Around the World.” Lea had asked him if she could try, but Oskar wouldn’t let her.
Lea slipped the loop of the string over her finger. She let the yo-yo drop and then tugged on the string like she had seen Oskar do. The yo-yo hit the floor with a clunk. She tried again. After a few tries, she was able to bring the yo-yo back to her hand! If she could figure that out so quickly, she could probably learn to do all the tricks Oskar had done.
That’s when Lea looked at the price tag. She frowned. She didn’t have nearly that much in her money jar at home!
“I’m almost done, Lea,” Mom called.
Lea sighed. She was about to put the yo-yo back when an idea popped into her head. The yo-yo wasn’t very big. She could slip it into her pocket and keep it! The store owner wasn’t looking. No one would ever know. She could keep it forever and learn to do new tricks. And kids at school would think she was cool.
As Lea looked down at the yo-yo in her hand, she felt prickly and nervous. Her hands felt sweaty. She gripped the yo-yo tighter. What was this bad feeling? She wanted it to go away.
Then she remembered something Dad had told her before she got baptized.
“After you’re baptized, you’ll receive the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Dad had said. “The Holy Ghost helps us make good choices. He speaks to us in a still, small voice.”
“He’ll talk to me?” Lea asked.
“Not exactly,” Dad said. “It may be like a thought coming into your mind. Or a feeling coming into your heart.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“It’s different for each person,” Dad said. “But usually, when you do something good, the Holy Ghost will help you feel calm and peaceful. When there’s something dangerous, He will warn you. And when you want to do something wrong, the Holy Ghost will leave, and you’ll feel confused or unhappy.”
Lea looked down at the yo-yo. She really wanted it. But she knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that stealing was wrong.
Lea put the yo-yo back on the shelf. As soon as she did, she felt peaceful and warm. She walked back to Mom.
“I’m done,” Mom said. “Are you ready to go?”
Lea smiled. “Yes.”
As they left the store, Lea felt as light and happy as sunshine. The yo-yo might have been fun for a while. But following the Holy Ghost was something she wanted to do always.

When the opportunity comes to plan an activity, those involved learn how to cooperate with others to make it a success. Taylor W. of Idaho says, “We planned a water-balloon volleyball game. We got big towels and balloons and tossed the balloons back and forth over a volleyball net with the towels. I felt good because I helped plan it and it went well. It also brought us closer as a quorum because we had to work together.”

The most famous maze comes from Greek mythology. In a Greek myth, Minos, the king of Crete, orders an architect named Daedalus to build a place to confine a terrible beast called the Minotaur. Daedalus constructs the Labyrinth, a maze with blind, twisting paths. The Minotaur is placed inside the Labyrinth, and each year fourteen Athenian youths are sacrificed to this awful beast. Once inside the Labyrinth, the youths cannot find an exit to escape from the Minotaur. Finally the Minotaur is slain by an Athenian lad named Theseus, who finds his way out of the Labyrinth with the aid of a ball of thread.

Illustration by Allen Garns
“The Westerland left yesterday,” my sister-in-law said as she greeted us at the Nadi International Airport in Fiji.
I was sad and disappointed at the news. The MV Westerland was the boat that was supposed to take us to see my elder brother on Rotuma Island. Rotuma is approximately 375 miles (600 km) northwest of Viti Levu, the largest of Fiji’s islands. If you miss the boat, you most likely have to wait days or even weeks for the next one.
A year earlier I had gone to Rotuma to help my brother renovate our grandmother’s house, and I left him because of a job-related disagreement. Now I wanted to see him face to face and tell him how sorry I was.
A week before my wife, Akata, and I flew to Fiji from Australia, my niece told me that the Westerland would be going to Rotuma the day before we were scheduled to arrive. I immediately called the boat’s office and pleaded with them to hold off the trip for two days.
“No, we couldn’t even if we wanted to,” came the reply. “The Rotuma Island Council has made preparations for a welcoming feast, and the boat needs to depart as scheduled.”
A thought flashed through my mind, and I decided to fast and pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I would very much like to catch that boat to Rotuma. I believe they can’t hold off departure another day or two, but Thou hast power to do it. Couldst Thou please remove just one bolt anywhere on the boat so as to stall the trip that I might board? I need to go to Rotuma and be reconciled with my brother.”
After we had heard the disappointing news, we made our way to the port on the other side of the island. There, however, we learned that the boat had experienced engine troubles and hadn’t left yet. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer! As it turned out, the entire engine—not just one bolt—had to be removed to repair a major oil leak.
When the boat finally left a week later, I was on board. When I arrived in Rotuma, I embraced my brother and apologized, and we restored our relationship. It was certainly a day of jubilation.
I will be forever grateful for this wonderful spiritual experience and for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is a testimony that miracles still occur today, that Heavenly Father lives and answers our sincere prayers, that prayer and fasting go hand in hand, and that the gospel is true—even in a small village on the tiny island of Rotuma.

It was one of those general conferences where some of the speakers reported the growth of the Church, and I was involved in the excitement of temples, visitors’ centers, more missionaries going into more countries every month, the member-missionary program expanding in wider circles …
And then a little voice inside me asked, “What about your neighbors?”
Just as quickly another voice replied, “My neighbors are hopeless.”
I honestly felt that way—especially that same night when I caught the three neighbor boys, ages twelve, ten, and eight, doing some mischief in our yard. That made me angry.
Just a week after the Millers (I’ve changed the names) had moved in, Bonnie, my six-year-old, came in crying from a welt on her forehead. “Jerry hit me with a rock.”
Kathy, my ten-year-old, was indignant. “Mama, Jerry Miller threw a big rock at Bonnie because she was holding their cat. When she started to cry, Mrs. Miller came out and Jerry said we were calling him mean names. She told us not to bother her family and stay in our own yard.”
“We didn’t call anyone mean names, mama,” added my serious eight-year-old, Cynthia.
My five children had always had their differences with other children in the neighborhood, but we mothers just separated them until they calmed down; an hour later they were usually playing together again. But Mrs. Miller’s invariable attitude was to defend her own children no matter what they had done.
After the incident when I caught the boys in our yard, I marched the boys home to their mother and scolded all of them: “If any more rocks are thrown into my yard, if my little ones are bullied or threatened, or if one of you peeks into my windows, I’ll call the police. And if you’d control your children, Mrs. Miller, instead of everybody else’s, maybe this neighborhood would have some peace again!”
Shaking, I returned home. But the next day as the anger disappeared, I knew I’d done the wrong thing. “If ever a family needed the example of a good Latter-day Saint neighbor,” I thought, “this one does. Could I possibly have set a worse example? And look what it did to me. I never want to feel such anger again.” I prayed aloud, “What should I do, Heavenly Father? What would your Son do?”
As I asked, the answer came clearly to my mind: “Show forth great love.”
As I thought about it, the challenge became exciting, and I went straight to the kitchen. While I baked and frosted a chocolate cake, the children and I talked about the Millers and how we had treated them as well as how they had treated us. We discussed the Savior’s example of doing good to others.
When the cake was finished, I carried it to the neighbors. Mrs. Miller wasn’t there, so I handed it to the oldest boy and told the three boys “I baked this cake especially for you.” Their faces showed both shock and pleasure. “I feel bad that I became angry, but do you know who really feels bad? Your mother. She loves you boys very much and it hurts her when you do things you shouldn’t. Could we try harder to get along and be good neighbors to each other?”
“Alright,” mumbled Tom, embarrassed, “we will.”
As I turned to leave, all three spoke simultaneously, “Thanks for the cake, Mrs. Brown!”
During the next month the results of this gesture were unbelievable. No more rock-throwing. My two littlest girls didn’t once run into the house afraid of the Miller boys’ threats. And all three boys cheerfully called, “Hello, Mrs. Brown,” whenever they saw me.
But I was still deeply ashamed of having become angry. I didn’t see Mrs. Miller and I didn’t try to seek her out—even when Cynthia and Bonnie told me at lunch: “Bonnie wouldn’t let Jerry Miller play with her racing car because he kept pulling off the wheels, and when Jerry started to cry Mrs. Miller came outside. She wasn’t upset with Bonnie. Instead she told Jerry, ‘If Bonnie was wrecking your car, you wouldn’t let her play with it, either.’ Then she told him to go inside and think about it for a while.”
I still wish I’d gone back to show love to Mrs. Miller herself. They moved a month later, and I’ve never known where they went. But I do know I’ll never forget the lesson of one chocolate cake.

Amelia never expected things to be free or to come easily. She knew that most important things had a price, and she always felt that if she truly wanted something, the price was worth it. When she first wanted to take flying lessons, she was living in California. Her father told her that the thousand-dollar lessons were too expensive. Instead of being discouraged, Amelia found a job at the telephone company and worked long hours to pay for the lessons.
Amelia did as much flying as she could in those early days of aviation, and in 1928 she was invited to become the first woman to cross the Atlantic Ocean in an airplane. She was only a passenger then, but in 1932 she decided to cross the Atlantic again—this time as the first woman pilot to fly across it!
On the evening of Friday, May 20, 1932, she took off from Harbour Grace, Newfoundland. Early in the flight the altimeter, which measures the distance an airplane is above the ground or water, stopped working. It was a very dark night, and clouds blocked out the light of the moon. A lightning storm arose. Visability was poor, and Amelia couldn’t see how high above the water she was. She decided to try flying above the clouds where she would have moonlight and be safely away from the storm and the ocean. However, as she climbed through the cloud layer, ice formed on the plane’s wings. The extra weight caused the plane to go into a spinning dive. As the plane came closer to the surface of the water, the ice melted from the wings and Amelia was able to pull the plane out of the spin. But she had been close enough to the ocean to see the whitecaps on the waves.
Later during the same flight Amelia noticed flames trailing from a broken weld in the manifold of her engine. If the flames caused the manifold to weaken and break apart, the airplane might crash. Amelia could have turned back to Harbour Grace, but “there was nothing to do about it … ,” she said. “So it seemed sensible to keep going.” Although the flames never ceased and the manifold rattled steadily, Amelia made it to Ireland. She landed there in a pasture rather than continuing on to Paris as she had planned.
In her lifetime Amelia broke several long-distance flying records. She believed that one day everyone would fly from one part of the world to another and that nations and peoples would therefore come to understand each other better. She knew this could only happen if difficult exploratory flights were made first in order to learn important information about piloting, flying conditions, and airplane design and safety. “Every flight … is potentially important,” she said. “It may yield valuable knowledge. We can look at all flights across the Atlantic and see that each, in its way, has done some definite good.”
When she wasn’t flying, Amelia kept busy by lecturing, writing, counseling at a university, and helping to start a number of commercial airline services. In 1931 she married George P. Putnam, a book publisher.
In spite of her time-consuming activities, Amelia still felt that she needed to make one more long-distance flight. She told her husband that it would be her last long flight.
On January 11, 1937, Amelia started her flight by flying west from Oakland, California, to Hawaii. Then she had an accident while trying to take off in Honolulu, and she was delayed several weeks until major repairs were completed on her Lockheed Electra airplane. During this time it was decided that Amelia should fly around the world going east instead of west.
It was May 1937 when she finally took off from Oakland again. Amelia said she was just making a test flight. On board with her were Fred Noonan, her navigator; Bo McKneeley, her mechanic; and her husband. Things went so well, however, that they continued on to Miami, where on June 1 Amelia and Fred Noonan took off to finish the eastward flight around the world. A month later, on July 2, 1937, Amelia Earhart’s plane was lost while she was trying to locate Howland Island in the South Pacific Ocean. She had completed more than two-thirds of her around-the-world flight. Neither she, Fred Noonan, nor the airplane were ever found.
Amelia deserved the tribute that newspaper columnist Walter Lippmann had previously written about her: “The world is a better place to live in because it contains human beings who will give up ease and security, and stake their own lives in order to do what they themselves think worth doing.”

One year we didn’t have much money for Christmas, so I prayed for help to be able to buy a gift for my stepdad, Adrian (whom my sister and I call Weegee). My sister and I had only two dollars between us to spend on gifts.
When my mom said we were going to a nearby thrift store to shop for Christmas gifts, I ran to my room and prayed for help: “Please help us find a gift for two dollars.”
At the store Elaina and I looked through the books and found a triple combination that looked brand new. We were so excited when we found it. I held onto it tight as we ran through the aisles to my mom. Jumping up and down, we said together, “We found a gift for Weegee!” At the checkout my mom asked, “How much for this?” The lady replied, “Two dollars.” My prayer was answered.
At that time our stepfather was not a member. He didn’t like Mormons, he didn’t believe in “the Mormon book,” and he didn’t like members picking us up for Young Men and Young Women activities. He even chased away the elders. But the ward members and missionaries didn’t give up on him.
On Christmas day we saved his gift for last. Elaina and I said, “This is the greatest gift anyone could ever give you! It will make you happy.” Weegee guessed a couple of times, and we laughed at his answers. We told him, “It’s an awesome gift! It’s going to change your life. It changed ours.”
Our mom was worried that he would be mad about our gift to him, but Elaina and I knew it was the right thing to do.
When he opened it, he thanked us for the gift and said he would read it.
Because we love Weegee, we wanted him to learn about Jesus Christ and the gift of His Atonement. We wanted him to believe like we do, to pray and repent, and to have the gospel in his life.
He read and prayed about the Book of Mormon, and with the help of the elders and ward members, he was baptized and is now a member of the Church. We were so happy to be sealed in the temple, and we know we will always be together forever as a family.

His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Australia. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos family joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father that if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you promise something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his Church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he would find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to Church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father to attend church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
The next time he got ready for church, his father again told him that if he went, he could never return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can come only about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
While at his grandmother’s home, Domingos had developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on, my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
He found that if he completed his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he would have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. Domingos continued something he had done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father ordered him out of the house for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission. He said if I went, I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
Domingos’s branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited him to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, uplifting music, Church activities, missionary work, and scripture study. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly, and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was thinking only about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he is eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

Once, I skipped a few days of class because I got into an art contest at my school. I missed a lot of lessons. When I came back, I struggled to understand our class discussions. My grades started falling.
Not understanding the lessons frustrated me, and I began questioning my self-worth. I felt like I wasn’t good enough because of my low scores, and I cried a lot. I didn’t know what to do.
Finally, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me accept and overcome my trials.
Right after I prayed, I got a text from my friend Shiella. “Hey, are you doing OK?” she asked. “How are you?”
I told Shiella I was struggling. She’s at a different school, but we’re in the same grade, so we take the same classes. She helped me understand the lessons I missed.
I knew Heavenly Father saw that I was hurting, and He sent Shiella to comfort me. It made me realize that Heavenly Father uses other people to show that He really cares about us.
This also taught me that I don’t need to be successful at all things. When we have challenges, Heavenly Father can help make us stronger. That doesn’t mean He doesn’t love us. I’ve learned that it’s better to try something and fail than to do nothing, because I can learn from failure. Now, I’m happy with my scores because Heavenly Father helped me overcome that trial.

One of the residents, Roy, was 46 when Sophia was age two. Because Roy’s mental age was the same as Sophia’s, they became best friends. Brother Ralph describes how they played together and followed each other around. “Now Sophia is eight, and Roy looks up to her as his big sister. Mentally he’s still a two-year-old.” It’s touching to watch them walk hand in hand down the lane to the lambing fields. When it’s spring, Sophia takes Roy to see the newborn lambs, an outing they both cherish.

It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.

As a young missionary serving in France, I wanted to know for myself that the Book of Mormon was true. I believed it was true. I hoped it was true. I had even gone on a mission with faith that it was true. However, as I worked day after day as a missionary and told people the best I could in my limited French that I had a testimony of the book, I still did not actually know for myself.
Our little apartment in southern France was cold and damp throughout that first winter. Every morning and evening, before and after the work of the day, I would huddle with a blanket and an overcoat to read and study my Book of Mormon. I knew of the promise of Moroni, that if I were to read, ponder, and pray, I too could know. For days and weeks I read, but nothing happened. No light, no angel, no voice—nothing except a feeling of peace as I read.
I continued to read and underline meaningful passages and pray to know that the Book of Mormon was true. The miracle eventually came. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has described, it was more like the rising of the sun than the sudden turning on of a light switch.4 A light began to illuminate my mind and my heart. I began to see the Book of Mormon in a different way. Passages that I had read before began to mean something new. The best way I can describe the experience was that my mind began to be enlightened.
Over a period of weeks and months, I can say that I came to know more surely than anything I had ever known that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I came to know that it was written and preserved for our day and was brought forth as a powerful witness of Jesus Christ and His Church. The impression that came to me again and again through the voice of the Spirit was, “It’s true, it’s true, it’s all true.”
Forty years later, that same witness continues with me. I have now read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time—every time—I again hear the words “It’s true.” This has given me the assurance that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that this is His great work of salvation.

“I had a friend at school that I really admired. She seemed so self-confident and had so many friends. She invited me to attend a few church activities with her. I enjoyed them so much she invited me to come to seminary with her. I was very excited to see what seminary was like, even though it started at 6:10 A.M.
“From the moment I started attending seminary, I felt really lucky. Seminary was a fun, easy way for me to learn about the Church. I especially enjoyed learning the scriptures for scripture mastery. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I decided to memorize all the scripture mastery verses given to us that year. Then, as I took the discussions with the missionaries and they taught a new doctrinal idea, the scripture mastery verse that applied to a new concept would come into my mind and I would understand.
“I joined the Church a few months after that. Now I find great joy in my commitment.”—Corri Anna Greiss, Morgan Hill Second Ward, Morgan Hill California Stake

As a college student, I spent some time working in the Mutual program at the state training school for the mentally retarded in American Fork, Utah. I quickly learned to accept and love those people. They were remarkable people and their spirituality was stronger than their mental and physical weaknesses.
Except for Ethel—the victim of severe cerebral palsy. I found it very difficult to work with her, or around her. My pity—and my revulsion—were simply too great. She had to be strapped, hands and feet, to a metal frame to keep her from injuring herself. People told me she had a good mind, but it had taken the state workers nearly 40 years to discover that she had a mind at all, it was trapped in such a cruelly crippled body. The workers had finally taught her to speak, though I still could not understand her. I wondered why the Lord had left her here, forcing her to linger when she was obviously miserable.
One day I happened to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the school. At the very end of the meeting, Ethel asked to speak. I wondered why they allowed her to take up time when no one could understand what she said. Then Ethel spoke, clearly enough so that even I could understand her. She said, “I love life!”
I was very startled as I heard her say, “And I love my Heavenly Father!” I bowed my head and wept.
When Ethel finished her testimony, the “kids” sang the song that had fast become their favorite, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …” Each time I have heard it since, I have remembered Ethel and the beautiful lesson she taught me.

“My transition from Young Women to Relief Society was a wonderful experience because of service,” says Tagen Spencer of the Princeton Ward, Pocatello Idaho East Stake. “Even though I started my Relief Society experience in my home ward, where most of the women were elderly, they were all very welcoming to me. When I served with them on a humanitarian project, many of the widows in the ward were there. We were assigned to sort used clothing. One sister called and offered to pick me up. She even took me to lunch after the service project. Every time someone came across a used wedding dress, she would pull it out, give it to me, and start laughing. We had such a good time. It strengthened my testimony of service as well as helped me bond with the sisters.”

Silver Packages Each Christmastime, the poor children in Appalachia were given silver packages by the man on the Christmas Train. Frankie prayed for a toy doctor’s kit. He was given needed clothes and toys, but not the kit. When he grew up, he became a doctor—and knew then that he’d been given something more valuable than toys in the silver packages: an understanding of the real meaning of Christmas.Cynthia Rylant5–8 years

When this pandemic began, I thought it would just pass quickly and would only last a few days. But as the days went by, we couldn’t have meetings, including seminary, youth activities, and sacrament meetings. We were told that we had to stay inside our homes for weeks, and we could only leave for essential activities.
While I’ve been home, I’ve seen that the Lord has given us all the things we need for this difficult time. We’re able to study the scriptures at home with Come, Follow Me, have seminary and school through video calls, and watch general conference from home.
One thing I’ve loved is that my family gets to be home more, and we’ve shared good moments as we’ve played games and spent time together. It’s usually difficult for us to come together during the week, so it’s been nice to all be home.
I’ve also been trying to develop spiritually. After conference, I realized we need to prioritize what’s really important—things like studying the scriptures, developing our faith and our testimonies, and helping strengthen those around us.
Just because we are going through difficult times doesn’t mean it has to be a bad time in our life. It just means that we have a chance to make ourselves better and go forward with faith. These adversities can help our faith grow, and we will have a much stronger testimony of the gospel when it’s all over.
Emma A., Spain

Many say that steps four and five, which focus on personal inventory and confession, are the most challenging. But it depends on the individual. Paula, who struggled with compulsive eating and overdependence in her relationships, worked hardest on step eight—forgiving and restoring relationships—as she tried to forgive her abusive father. She says now, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this miracle in my life: to love and forgive.”

Lucy saw the dress in the window of Carlstrum’s General Store. It was the color of lilacs with sprigs of lace at the neck and sleeves. Lucy hadn’t seen lilacs since her family moved from Salt Lake City. Mother had planted a lilac start, but so far it hadn’t developed enough to produce any blossoms.
She tugged at her mother’s arm. “Oh, Mama, look at that dress.”
Mama checked the list she held for what she would need in the general store. They had already been to the feed and seed store, and Lucy’s brother Thomas was still in the blacksmith’s shop. Her mother always went to the general store last, because it was the most enjoyable.
She glanced up at the dress. “It’s very pretty, dear.”
Lucy liked pretty things, but had to control her desires because her family was struggling with the new farm. Since President Brigham Young had sent her family and several others to settle in the New Harmony area, life had been difficult. It was dry and hot in the rugged, red-soiled desert country. The families were trying to raise cotton to sell to people in Salt Lake City, who often referred to Southern Utah as “Dixie.”
But Dixie was not yet producing abundant cotton as had been hoped. Water was precious and had to be used sparingly even for irrigation. Lucy’s father was the bishop of the town, and he was raising cattle as well as cotton to supply meat for the townspeople. It was the sale of beef that kept his family going.
Lucy gazed longingly at the dress. How it would set off her shiny brown hair and make her gray eyes glow! She could imagine herself wearing the dress to church, where all the other girls would see and envy her.
She flushed a little, feeling guilty, since Mama often told her that church was a place to worship, not to show off. All her dresses were plain gray flannel ones that had been remodeled from hand-me-downs. But this dress was beautiful!
Mama went into the general store to look at some bolts of cloth. “Look at this, Lucy,” she called. “We could make a pretty dress for you with this material.”
With a touch of excitement Lucy hurried to her mother’s side, but the material was just a plain yellow, brown, and black calico print. She had already seen several dresses around town made of it. “Oh, Mama, I need a special dress, not just an old faded calico,” she exclaimed, holding up the limp skirt she had on. “And just like everything else in Dixie—it’s the dusty colors of earth. Isn’t there any pretty material? Some blue or pink or lovely lilac?”
Her mother looked down at Lucy with an understanding smile. Her daughter really did need a new dress.
Lucy’s mother asked the storekeeper, who was standing behind the counter, “Have you any poplin, Mr. Carlstrum? Anything besides this calico here?”
“I had some rust-colored poplin, but Mrs. Newbitt bought it all to make curtains,” he replied.
Lucy was not consoled with Mr. Carlstrum’s offer of a peppermint stick. Her mother walked out of the store carrying the purchases she had made, a thoughtful look on her face. Lucy followed with her arms full of bundles. Silently she helped load the wagon. Thomas came from the blacksmith’s with the newly shod horse, hitched it to the wagon, and they started for home.
At the dinner table that night Lucy’s father announced that he would be taking a wagonful of men to Salt Lake for conference. “Thomas, you’ll be in charge while I’m gone.” Thomas sat up proudly in his seat as Bishop Peterson went on. “All of you children do what Thomas tells you. I hope everything will be green and growing when I come back.”
Thomas, Lucy, George, Charles, and little Carrie nodded their heads in assent.
Then their father turned to Mama and asked, “Emily, do you have a written list for me?”
“Yes,” she replied and added, “Lucy needs a new dress and there isn’t any material she likes in town. See if you can get some lavender lilac poplin or even sky blue or rose pink.”
“Lavender lilac, sky blue, or rose pink,” Lucy’s father repeated, considering the possibilities. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”
Lucy jumped up, hugged her father, and smiled gratefully at her mother.
Lucy anxiously watched for the wagon’s return. She often climbed up into the barn loft to gaze off into the distance, until Thomas called to her to stop wasting time and come down and help with the chores.
“Papa’s wagon will come before you know it, if you spend your time working,” he told her. But even as she worked Lucy dreamed about a new dress.
When Papa finally came, it was George who caught sight of the wagon first, from the field where he was digging a ditch. Clouds of dust billowed above the road as George put his shovel over his shoulder and ran to meet the wagon. He jumped onto the tailgate, shouting across the fields to his brothers and sisters that their father was home.
Lucy was waiting at the house, breathless after running from the calf shed. “Papa! Papa! Where’s my dress yardage?” she cried as he swung her off the ground in a tight squeeze.
“You haven’t seen me for days and all you think about is yardage!” he teased. “It’s at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in brown paper. You’ll have to help me unload before you find it.”
The family greeted their father and quickly unloaded the wagon. Lucy happened to be alone when she came to the brown paper package. With trembling fingers she untied the string. She could imagine the smooth feel of poplin, the wonderful smell of new fabric, the color of lilacs or the sky or a rose …
Tears came to Lucy’s eyes when she saw that the material she had waited for was the color of muddy green ditchwater. It was poplin all right, and it smelled nice and new, but, oh, the color! She buried her head in the brown paper and tried to keep from crying out loud.
Mama came out of the house where she had been sorting supplies. She saw Lucy’s face buried in the material. “What is it, Lucy?” she asked gently.
“Oh, Mama!” Lucy turned to her mother and held her tightly. “The material is … oh, Mama, it looks terrible! We might as well have bought that calico, or made a dress out of a flour sack!”
Mama smiled and said, “I used to wear flour-sack dresses all the time, Lucy, and you did, too, when you were little. But don’t cry now. Papa will be back in a moment, and we can’t let him see tears.”
“All right, Mama,” Lucy promised, so when Papa came back to the wagon, she smiled as she held up the yardage. “Thank you.” Her throat choked. “It’s … it’s … thank you for the material, Papa.”
Her father looked at Mama and then at his daughter. “I know it’s not lavender lilac, Lucy, but it’s the best I could find. I think it will make you a fine dress.”
“I’m sure it will,” Mama said. “We’ll borrow a pattern. There are only three patterns in town, and I think Mrs. Taylor down the road has one near your size.”
Lucy tried to think of the muddy green poplin transformed into a dress. “The color’s not really so bad, Papa, if we put a little ribbon on it or maybe some lace.” She looked up to see her father smiling down at her.
Lucy wanted to sew the whole dress herself. Mama showed her how to alter the pattern and to save all the scraps of material. Then Lucy hand stitched the pieces with small even seams. When she tried on the half-made dress in front of Mama’s mirror, she cried out, “Mama, come look! The waist is way down below my middle! What shall I do?”
Mama tried to keep from laughing, because the dress did look a little strange. “Perhaps we could take up the shoulders. Mrs. Taylor is taller than I thought.”
Lucy made some alterations and tried the dress on again. This time the waist was too high, and the hem was just below her knees. “Mama! Look at it now!” she wailed.
“We’ll put in a wide waistband,” Mama suggested. “That’s the fashion this year.”
Shortly after the dress was finished, Papa invited a photographer to his home to take a picture of the entire family. Lucy, of course, wanted to wear her new dress. “I wish I had some pantalets to wear,” she told her mother. “A little bit of lace showing below the hem would look so fashionable.”
Again Mama had the answer. One beautiful thing she had brought from Salt Lake was a short jacket with ruffles all along the sleeves. “Put your feet through the sleeves, dear,” she instructed, “and nobody will be the wiser.”
In that picture, handed down as one of the precious heirlooms of her family, a smiling Lucy is wearing a beautiful dress with a fashionable wide waistband and with stylish ruffles showing just beneath its hem!