Gospel Story Finder

I have also discovered that the Lord is generous and will often guide us in matters for which we have not sought direction. Some time ago one of our children had run for an elected office at the junior high school she attended. It was the day of the election, and I was home, busy with the routine of the day. Suddenly, it came clearly to my mind that our daughter had lost the election and I needed to go early to the school to pick her up. I watched the clock, and when I knew it was time for the election results to be announced, I arrived at the school. As I walked through the front door, all the youth who had participated in the election were seated in the front hall. They were listening to the results before they were announced to the other students. Our daughter was grateful for an early ride home in order to collect her thoughts, emotions, and priorities before meeting her friends the next day. I am grateful that the Lord, who created the universe, will also guide a mother to comfort the heart of a child.

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries. As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that. I just need a more organized way to learn about your beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than any other church people I had met; and in my search for religion, I had met many of nearly every faith. Their prayers were different. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. They lived what they learned in church, too. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the billions of stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another. I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was ten and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially moving lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he’ll tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. All I had to do was listen.

I share with you an account of one family which was able to find blessings in the midst of serious challenges. This is an account I read many years ago and have kept because of the message it conveys. It was written by Gordon Green and appeared in an American magazine over 50 years ago.
Gordon tells how he grew up on a farm in Canada, where he and his siblings had to hurry home from school while the other children played ball and went swimming. Their father, however, had the capacity to help them understand that their work amounted to something. This was especially true after harvesttime when the family celebrated Thanksgiving, for on that day their father gave them a great gift. He took an inventory of everything they had.
On Thanksgiving morning he would take them to the cellar with its barrels of apples, bins of beets, carrots packed in sand, and mountains of sacked potatoes as well as peas, corn, string beans, jellies, strawberries, and other preserves which filled their shelves. He had the children count everything carefully. Then they went out to the barn and figured how many tons of hay there were and how many bushels of grain in the granary. They counted the cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, and geese. Their father said he wanted to see how they stood, but they knew he really wanted them to realize on that feast day how richly God had blessed them and had smiled upon all their hours of work. Finally, when they sat down to the feast their mother had prepared, the blessings were something they felt.
Gordon indicated, however, that the Thanksgiving he remembered most thankfully was the year they seemed to have nothing for which to be grateful.
The year started off well: they had leftover hay, lots of seed, four litters of pigs, and their father had a little money set aside so that someday he could afford to buy a hay loader—a wonderful machine most farmers just dreamed of owning. It was also the year that electricity came to their town—although not to them because they couldn’t afford it.
One night when Gordon’s mother was doing her big wash, his father stepped in and took his turn over the washboard and asked his wife to rest and do her knitting. He said, “You spend more time doing the wash than sleeping. Do you think we should break down and get electricity?” Although elated at the prospect, she shed a tear or two as she thought of the hay loader that wouldn’t be bought.
So the electrical line went up their lane that year. Although it was nothing fancy, they acquired a washing machine that worked all day by itself and brilliant lightbulbs that dangled from each ceiling. There were no more lamps to fill with oil, no more wicks to cut, no more sooty chimneys to wash. The lamps went quietly off to the attic.
The coming of electricity to their farm was almost the last good thing that happened to them that year. Just as their crops were starting to come through the ground, the rains started. When the water finally receded, there wasn’t a plant left anywhere. They planted again, but more rains beat the crops into the earth. Their potatoes rotted in the mud. They sold a couple of cows and all the pigs and other livestock they had intended to keep, getting very low prices for them because everybody else had to do the same thing. All they harvested that year was a patch of turnips which had somehow weathered the storms.
Then it was Thanksgiving again. Their mother said, “Maybe we’d better forget it this year. We haven’t even got a goose left.”
On Thanksgiving morning, however, Gordon’s father showed up with a jackrabbit and asked his wife to cook it. Grudgingly she started the job, indicating it would take a long time to cook that tough old thing. When it was finally on the table with some of the turnips that had survived, the children refused to eat. Gordon’s mother cried, and then his father did a strange thing. He went up to the attic, got an oil lamp, took it back to the table, and lighted it. He told the children to turn out the electric lights. When there was only the lamp again, they could hardly believe that it had been that dark before. They wondered how they had ever seen anything without the bright lights made possible by electricity.
The food was blessed, and everyone ate. When dinner was over, they all sat quietly. Wrote Gordon:
“In the humble dimness of the old lamp we were beginning to see clearly again. …
“It [was] a lovely meal. The jack rabbit tasted like turkey and the turnips were the mildest we could recall. …
“… [Our] home … , for all its want, was so rich [to] us.”13

One night I read 3 Nephi 14:13–14: “Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat;
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” [3 Ne. 14:13–14]
I got up from my chair and walked outside. Alone in the darkness, I could see myself standing at that narrow scriptural gate, pacing back and forth, afraid to go in. I realized at that moment that I had found the way. The Lord spoke to me that night, not as we speak to one another, but with a still, small voice that said, “What are you going to do about it?”
I went back to tell President Conley I wanted to be baptized. But he was in Salt Lake City. Thinking that only the branch president had the authority to baptize, I left, intending to return a week later.
During that week, Satan placed another stumbling block in my path—more doubts. “Do I have to start all over again?” I wondered. After struggling with my doubts for three days, I started reading a book President Conley had given me—Truth Restored, by President Gordon B. Hinckley. As I did, the Spirit, which had borne witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, also bore witness to me that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s true church.
When President Conley returned from Salt Lake City, I told him I wanted to be baptized. As we drove to Gilmer, Texas, for my baptism on 19 October 1970, I asked him, “Do I understand correctly from what I have read in the scriptures that just because I’m being baptized, I’m not saved, but that I have to endure to the end?”
He said, “That’s exactly right.”
I cried all the way to my baptism. I felt very strongly that the Church was true. After baptism, I felt it ten times more strongly.
Many times after, I wondered, “Why me? Why do I know the truth while many good Christian people don’t?” And a scripture always came to my mind, “Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Luke 11:9).
Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”
I do know with all my heart and soul that the Book of Mormon is true. It led me to the living God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to his church guided by a living prophet.

Her name was Maria, and she had lived in New York City for decades. She worked in a building a few blocks away from the towers. She told us that a few weeks before September 11, she had received a strong feeling that she should pray and ask if God was there. She said that up until that point in her life, she hadn’t prayed much and hadn’t really felt like she needed to. She didn’t feel an answer to her prayer until terrorists struck the towers on that fateful morning. Chaos and confusion ensued all around her, yet she suddenly felt calm. Maria told us that she felt this incredible peace and that, in spite of all the inexplicable destruction of the moment, she felt that God was there looking out for her.

Years later, while attending Sunday School, I learned about patriarchal blessings and felt an urgent need to receive one. The patriarch, Joseph William “Billy” Johnson, was a respected disciple in the Church community and was among Ghana’s first converts. I traveled two hours to request my blessing and returned a month later with an open heart to receive it.
During the blessing, I was overwhelmed as the patriarch spoke personal insights that resonated deeply within me, revealing a connection to my life that only God could know. I felt His love and assurance that I had a purpose. Each subsequent reading of my blessing emphasized God’s intimate knowledge of me and the divine work I was meant to accomplish.
I came to realize that God is deeply interested in our lives, that we are His children (see Romans 8:16) and have a divine purpose. This realization inspired me to keep my patriarchal blessing at the forefront of my mind, reminding me of the commandments and promises associated with it. My patriarchal blessing motivated my decision to serve a mission. This experience profoundly transformed my life, and I witnessed the blessings that the patriarch pronounced upon me materialize throughout my service.

Seven-year-old Joseph has grown up around water. Or rather he has grown up with water all around him—surrounded by the cold waters of Lake Titicaca in Peru. That’s what happens when you live on a small island made of floating reeds.
Joseph and his family are part of the Uros people, who have built and lived on floating islands on Lake Titicaca for hundreds of years. They fish in the lake. They bathe in the lake. They row across the lake to get from island to island.
You might think that Joseph, being so used to the water, wouldn’t be nervous about standing in a baptismal font in a few months to be baptized. But he feels the same way many other children feel.
“I’m excited,” he says. “But I’m worried about going under the water.”
With water all around them, Uros children are taught to be careful with water. So after Joseph told his parents about his worries, the family talked about baptism during family home evening, and Joseph and his father practiced what to do.
“My father will baptize me,” Joseph says. “He helped me to not be so afraid.”
Now Joseph is diligently preparing for his baptism. He is trying especially hard to pay attention during Primary and to learn the Articles of Faith. He knows that will help him now and in the future.
“I’m going on a mission,” he says. “Like Nephi said, I will go and do the things the Lord commands” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).

I’m trying to read the whole Book of Mormon before I turn eight. In family home evening my dad talked about setting goals, so I decided to read three pages a day to meet my goal. Sometimes I take my Book of Mormon to school so I can read it during silent reading. My friends have asked me about the Book of Mormon, and I have been able to tell them about it. I’m happy that we can have the scriptures to read and share with others.
Emily S., age 7, Texas

They arrived a few minutes late. Scott’s suit was soaked. Sister Snowden saw them come in and hurried over to Scott. She wouldn’t let him stay in wet clothes. She talked to the custodian, who found an extra pair of coveralls for Scott to wear while his suit dried. Scott sat in the back of the chapel and listened to the conference.

President Snowden interviewed Scott while he was still in the borrowed coveralls.

“How’s my goal setter?”

“President, I’ve changed some of my goals. I’ve replaced some of them for one goal—to try to become more like the Savior.”

“That’s a lifelong goal,” President Snowden said.

Scott agreed. “President, I’ve found out that it’s true what you said. It’s not where we serve; it’s how we serve.”

A few minutes later, President Snowden asked, “How would you feel about serving as a zone leader for the remainder of your mission?”

“I don’t need it anymore. I’m content where I am, in our little branch.”

“It is the will of the Lord that you labor as a zone leader.”

“I’ll serve wherever he wants me.”

The dream was so real it awakened me. Trying not to disturb my sleeping missionary companion, I slipped from my futon (Japanese style bed roll) and groped through the predawn shadows for my journal—I wanted to record the dream before it was reduced to hazy impressions.
“You have been swept clean by strong winds,” said the man in the dream, as he studied my face intently. Then he smiled and stepped off the platform where I had stood, trembling. Who was he? Where had I been standing and why? What did the words mean, exactly? His brief, poetic assurance was branded on my heart as if by fire.
My mission in Japan was nearly over. I would be leaving the Tokyo South Mission in a matter of days and, like most missionaries nearing the end, I had been reviewing my accomplishments of the past year and a half with a critical eye. Had I done everything I could to be a successful missionary? Well, a good part of the time I had. Yes, I had tried: I had really worked hard, despite my imperfections. The last month or two had been particularly challenging, though. The heat had been terrible, and my companion had been the target of an exhausting virus. I had become disheartened and felt the need to evaluate my efforts in a more positive way, acknowledging the good I had accomplished on my mission with its attendant personal growth.
Street contacting in the bitter February chill, for example, had resulted in the baptism of Shizuoka Ward’s newest Young Adult representative. Abiding by our mission president’s “total dedication” plan, we had been blessed with the opportunity to meet and teach other spiritually strong members-to-be. Learning to live harmoniously with a variety of different personalities had taught me greater patience and love. Bearing frequent testimony to people thirsting for the truth had brought me closer to our Heavenly Father. And in experiencing a time when we had no baptisms, I had developed a greater dependence on him. Indeed, I had had a part in changing lives for the better, including my own.
The words rang again in my ears, “Swept clean by strong winds.” Yes, I was sure that the Spirit had communicated something important to me.
The comfort I received from the dream carried me through the remaining days of my mission with vigor and grace. Familiar sights, sounds, and smells planted themselves firmly in my memory. Seaweed-covered riceballs never tasted better; the crowded, rattling trains were actually fun to ride; and, of course, the smiles and handshakes from my Japanese friends were sweeter than ever.
Sadly, though, it appeared that I had had my last glimpse of Mount Fuji weeks earlier, before the summer haze settled in, obliterating my view. Only a few miles from the mountain for half of my mission, I had come to delight in her beauty and strength and, in fact, had penned these lines in her honor.
Lofty summit
Pristine mountain
Rising noble in the midst
of mediocrity—
Morning monarch
Evening guardian
Symbol of my own sky-reaching
possibility.
Grateful that I had been permitted to enjoy the inspiration of Fuji for so much of my mission, I determined to waste no time regretting that I would not see her again.
My renewed efforts and prayers of faith were rewarded by my Father in Heaven. New members, thrilled with the blessings of the gospel, brought their friends to us to learn how they, too, could find such joy. Contacts who had received the introductory lessons months earlier called, requesting that they be able to hear the remaining discussions. The proprietor of a noodle shop asked for help designing an advertising campaign to attract English-speaking foreigners and enthusiastically accepted the Joseph Smith story in the process. During the last week of my mission, six people were baptized. Packing my suitcases, I realized that the frustration and heartache of earlier weeks had evaporated, giving way to a feeling of profound peace and satisfaction.
The morning departure was a blur of bags and farewells. Too rushed for the typical mugi mikan (whole-wheat cereal tangerine) breakfast, we ran from the apartment to the van which would take us to the train station. Once outside, I felt a peculiar exhilaration, quite distinct from the natural anticipation of seeing home and loved ones. The breeze! Yes, it was the breeze we had missed for so long in the sultry summer heat. Brilliant sky replaced the dense gray mist which had enshrouded the area since the previous May. Wind-whipped waves pounded the coast with a vigor that replaced the stagnant air with a fresh sea mist.
My companion and I were exultant. Then, instinctively, I lifted my eyes—and there she was in all her splendor. Not a single cloud floated between Fuji and me to obstruct her clear, straight, imposing form. As my suitcases were being loaded onto the van, I stood alone for a moment, gazing upon one of God’s most magnificent creations, from which I had received the inspiration to “fight the good fight.”
Interrupting my reverie, a young native sister ran toward me, eyes wide with disbelief and pleasure. “Shimai, shimai” (Sister, sister) she cried, as she grasped my arm and gestured animatedly toward the mountain.
“Fuji-san!” She continued breathlessly, “You can see Mount Fuji so well today, shimai! Because the air has been swept clean by strong winds.”

Third, the Master Healer can comfort and sustain us as we experience painful “realities of mortality,” such as disaster, mental illness, disease, chronic pain, and death. I have recently become acquainted with a remarkable young woman named Josie who suffers from bipolar disorder. Here is just a little of her journey toward healing as she shared it with me:
“The worst of the darkness occurs on what my family and I have deemed ‘floor days.’ It begins with sensory overload and acute sensitivity and resistance to any type of sound, touch, or light. It is the apex of mental anguish. There is one day in particular that I will never forget.
“It was early in the journey, making the experience especially frightening. I can remember sobbing, tears racing down my face as I gasped for air. But even such intense suffering paled in comparison to the pain that followed as I observed panic overwhelm my mother, so desperate to help me.
“With my broken mind came her broken heart. But little did we know that despite the deepening darkness, we were just moments away from experiencing a mighty miracle.
“As a long hour continued, my mom whispered over and over and over again, ‘I would do anything to take this from you.’
“Meanwhile, the darkness intensified, and when I was convinced I could take no more, just then something marvelous occurred.
“A transcendent and wonderful power suddenly overtook my body. Then, with a ‘strength beyond my own,’ I declared to my mom with great conviction seven life-changing words in response to her repeated desire to bear my pain. I said, ‘You don’t have to; Someone already has.’”
From the dark abyss of debilitating mental illness, Josie summoned the strength to testify of Jesus Christ and of His Atonement.
She was not healed completely that day, but she received the light of hope in a time of intense darkness. And today, supported by a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and refreshed daily by the Savior’s living water, Josie continues on her journey toward healing and exercises unshakable faith in the Master Healer. She helps others along the way. And she says, “When the darkness feels unremitting, I rely on the memory of His tender mercies. They serve as a guiding light as I navigate through hard times.”

“Missionary work?” Sue Ann Yazzie, a 17-year-old Navaho from Shiprock, New Mexico, brushed long, black hair from her shoulders and smiled. Her warm, brown eyes sparkling, she said, “The best way to get someone interested in the Church is to be friends with him.”
A member of the Church for two years, Sue Ann talked about her conversion: “Even before I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believed that when we die we will be able to see friends and relatives who have died before us. I lost faith in the church I was attending when the minister said, ‘If you think you will be able to see your dead ancestors when you die, you’re mistaken.’ It was then that I asked the Lord which church was true. I promised I would keep the commandments if he would help me.”
Sue Ann wanted to attend high school off the reservation. When she was asked to participate in the Indian education program in Richfield, Utah, she accepted. In Richfield the Indian students live in a dormitory and attend local schools.
When one of the employees in the dormitory invited Sue Ann and several of her friends to a family home evening, she wasn’t really interested. “At the time I wasn’t sure if I liked the Mormon church. I didn’t know very much about it. But I went just to keep my friends company. That was when I first became interested in the Church. I liked what I heard.
“Later, when I read the Book of Mormon, many of the parts seemed familiar. When I was younger my grandmother told me many of the Navaho legends. It was from her that I first heard the story of the great white god, who will one day return,” she said.
Sue Ann wants to share the gospel with as many people as she can. Recently a friend of hers, Elouise Meyers, finished the missionary discussions and was baptized. Sue Ann explained, “I had an appointment with my bishop and decided to take a buddy with me. I took Elouise. I knew she didn’t know much about the Church. While we were waiting for the bishop, the missionaries walked by. I asked them if they were teaching anyone that night. They answered, ‘No.’ ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you teach my friend?’ They set up an appointment.”
For David Wojnar, 22, from Springfield, Massachusetts, a good friendship played an important role in his conversion to the Church. Now a missionary serving in the Utah Salt Lake Mission, Elder Wojnar talked about the role of friendship in missionary work.
“When I graduated from high school, I decided it was time to move away from home. I got a job in Virginia and moved in with an old friend. One of my roommates was a Latter-day Saint. We soon became good friends. We did things together, and we could talk about anything. He had a sincere interest in me. We were friends first, and being friends probably helped more than anything else,” Elder Wojnar explained.
“Eventually he asked me to go to a young adult activity with him. They were putting on a play. The young people came up and made me feel welcome. They all were excited about meeting someone new,” Elder Wojnar said. “They were different from anybody I had run around with before. There was a different spirit.
“When I became involved in the activities and started attending church, the members made me feel special and important. They never put me down because I was a member of another church.”
At that time, Elder Wojnar still wasn’t ready to commit himself to baptism. “My other roommate, my friend from Massachusetts, was taking the discussions and was almost ready for baptism. When the missionaries came, I always found an excuse to leave. Most of the barriers I had were just fear and not knowing what would happen. I was determined to serve the Lord, and I just needed time. No one seemed excited or upset about the hesitancy that I was experiencing. My friend was patient and didn’t give up on me. He was still my friend, and eventually I did make the commitment,” Elder Wojnar said.
“Being sincere is one of the most important aspects of missionary work,” Elder Wojnar explained. “If you’re sincere and a true friend, people will respond to the gospel. It’s not as important for members to teach the doctrines as it is for them to plant the seed. Being a good example is also important. It means more than just living the principles. It means going out and showing the results of living the gospel. Don’t be afraid to let people know you’re a Mormon. I’m tickled pink whenever I can tell anybody I’m a Mormon,” Elder Wojnar concluded.
Patience is an important part of missionary work. Both Cindy, 15, and her sister, Tina Doxstater, 14, were involved in Church activities for two years before they were baptized. Cindy explained that she was impressed by the closeness of Mormon families and by the Church activities that her friends took her to. But she wasn’t ready or sure about making a commitment.
“The members of the Church accepted us for what we were,” she said. “They didn’t push, and that helped.” Cindy’s friends didn’t give up on her. When one of them said, “Why don’t you take the missionary discussions?” She said, “Yes.” With the encouragement of their friends and a science teacher at school, Cindy and Tina were baptized this year. The science teacher, Larry Anderson, baptized them.
Violet Wilson, 18, from Kellogg, Idaho, had also been involved in Church activities for several years before she joined. She said that an important influence in her joining was the members making her feel like she was one of them.
Cragg Rogers, 21, from San Diego, California, was first introduced to the Church when his parents gave him a survival trip for a graduation present. There were 37 Mormons and three non-Mormons enrolled in the program. They spent 28 days in a southern Utah desert.
“It was really a spiritual trip,” Cragg recalled. “From the first I noticed there was something different about the Mormons. Whenever we came up against hard circumstances, they would pray about it. We were out in the middle of the desert, with almost no food or water, and they held church on Sundays. They even had me give a talk, if you can believe it. In the general misery of a survival trip, everyone helped each other. There were no airs. That survival trip turned my whole life around,” Cragg said.
It was two years after that first introduction to the Church before Cragg finally joined. The spirit of the LDS friends Cragg had made on the survival trip left a deep impression.
“The spirit I felt on that trip was on my mind, and I couldn’t get rid of it,” Cragg said, smiling. “I finally decided to get into it and really find out what it was about. The members were more than willing to help.”
Referring to missionary work, Cragg said, “The best way to influence someone is to live what you believe. Be yourself and don’t try to be what you think someone else would like you to be. Those people who lived the way they should brought me into the Church. I’m grateful for them. I hope I can do the same. I may get turned down 40 times when trying to interest someone in the gospel, but the one success makes it more than worthwhile. I’m sure the people who helped me were also turned down many times,” Cragg concluded.
Being a true friend, having respect for other people’s values and beliefs, exercising patience, being yourself, setting an example, and avoiding forming member cliques that shut out or look down upon nonmembers are some of the important techniques these recent converts recommend in member-missionary work.
Sue Ann Yazzie said something else that applies to missionary work: “Missionary work? My advice is to get busy.”

A cold wind blew and Little Squirrel shivered when something white flew by. “What is that?” Little Squirrel asked.
“Snow,” said his mother.
“Snow?” questioned Little Squirrel.
“Yes,” replied Mother Squirrel. “Winter is coming soon.”
Little Squirrel caught a snowflake and held it in his paw. It was cold. Then suddenly it was gone. Little Squirrel looked around. But he could not find it. “Where did it go?” he cried.
“It melted,” said his mother. “But don’t worry, there will be more snowflakes soon.”
Just then snow began to tumble out of the sky. “Hurry!” urged Mother Squirrel. “We must finish storing seeds and nuts for later.”
Little Squirrel ran after his mother. At first he had helped her store seeds and nuts in the burrow, but now he wanted to hide some outdoors. Little Squirrel found an acorn and took it to the gooseberry bush. He dug a deep hole, put the acorn in it, and filled the hole with dirt. He patted the dirt with his paw to smooth it.
Then Little Squirrel found a hazelnut that he buried next to the wild strawberry patch. Little Squirrel buried some maple seeds under the dogwood tree and a small ear of corn near the fence post. Last of all Little Squirrel found two walnuts. He loved to eat walnuts, so he ate one. Then he scampered to the bank of a rushing brook and buried the other walnut.
When Little Squirrel had finished, he found his mother. The wind began to howl and Little Squirrel shivered.
“Time to go inside,” said Mother Squirrel. They scampered into their underground burrow where it was warm and snug and safe from the howling wind. Mother Squirrel wrapped her tail around herself, and Little Squirrel wrapped up in his tail too. Then they went to sleep.
Days, weeks, and months went by. Soon the air became warmer and the sun melted the snow. The sap flowed from the trees, and birds began to sing. Both squirrels began to stir in their burrow. It was spring at last. Little Squirrel and his mother sniffed the clean, fresh air.
“I’m hungry,” said Little Squirrel.
“Me too,” said Mother Squirrel. “Let’s eat some of our stored seeds.”
Little Squirrel shook his head. He wanted to go find the seeds and nuts he had hidden outdoors. First he ran to the gooseberry bush, where he dug several holes. He looked all around, but he could not find his acorn. In its place was a tiny plant. Where did that come from? he wondered. It wasn’t there before.
Then Little Squirrel ran to the strawberry patch. The strawberry plants were in bloom, and there was a strange new plant growing among them. It was growing right where Little Squirrel had buried his hazelnut.
Next Little Squirrel ran to the dogwood tree, but he could not find the maple seeds. He did notice some tiny new plants. Little Squirrel was getting hungrier, so he ran to the fence post. All he could find there were some bright green shoots. Finally Little Squirrel ran to the bank of the brook to look for his walnut, but it was not there.
Little Squirrel went back to the burrow. “Oh, Mother,” he cried, “I can’t find any of my seeds. And I buried them so carefully.”
“Are you sure?” asked his mother with a smile.
“Yes,” said Little Squirrel. “I’ll show you.” So Little Squirrel took his mother to the gooseberry bush, the strawberry patch, the dogwood tree, the fence post, and back to the brook. “See,” he said.
Mother Squirrel smiled again and said, “You have been a good gardener without even knowing it. The seeds you buried in the earth have sprouted and will grow bigger and bigger. Someday they will make many more seeds for you to eat.”
“But I don’t want to wait for these seeds to grow. I’m hungry right now!” complained Little Squirrel.
“Yes, I know,” said Mother Squirrel patiently. “Come with me. I have found some good wild lettuce. Then I will help you find some other seeds while you wait for yours to grow.”

Take 24 youths, add 176 hours of energetic activity, combine with 21 gallons of paint, and you have one freshly painted house, seven tired adult leaders, and one happy homeowner.
The housepainting was one project developed and completed by the youth of the Mt. Pleasant (Utah) Second Ward. The recipient of the work was 80-year-old Hugh Barton, who had been born in the house in 1895.
The old home took on a new appearance last May when members of the Aaronic Priesthood scrubbed away loosened paint and applied the first coat of new paint. On the following Saturday they put a second coat of cream-colored paint on the transformed house. The Laurels provided refreshments, helped add the white trim to doors and windows, and cleaned the windows in addition.
After completion of the project, the workers posed in front of the two-story home with its grateful owner.

After weeks of lockdown due to the COVID-19 pandemic, 14-year-old Kuhio Maraetefau, from Tahiti, decided to organise a camp for his friends, for their first post-quarantine activity.
“I chose this camp project because it was an opportunity for young people to get out of their comfort zone, to get away from the city and get closer to nature,” he said.
“I oversaw planning the project, establishing the activities and menus, and assigning the tasks and responsibilities to involve each young participant.”
Kuhio came up against many challenges as he planned the camp. But, he says, he learned a lot along the way.
“Frankly, there is a lot to plan and think about when setting up a camp project,” he says.
“I couldn’t handle everything about organising the outing. Fortunately, with the help of my parents, we worked out all the important details. And my bishop, Louis Sandford, was there to help me make this camp happen.”
The workshops he arranged helped campers learn camping techniques such as cooking over a wood fire, tying knots, and building camp tables.
But even when everything is planned to perfection, unexpected difficulties sometimes arise, like rain—which came, beginning on the first night.
“What moved me most is that even though I am young, I can achieve great things through prayer,” Kuhio reflected.
“We were united in prayer morning and evening to show our gratitude to our Heavenly Father. I learned to better appreciate the creations of God and enjoyed getting to know the young people and adults who participated.”

It seemed like any other early school morning for the Pleasant Grove (Utah) High School security guard, until he noticed a group of boys crowded around a small car in the student parking lot. It looked awfully suspicious. They must be trying to break in, he thought. But as he neared the scene to investigate, he recognized the boys and knew they were good guys, even though they were searching for a way to break into the empty car. The owner of the car had left the radio blaring, and the boys were trying to get in to turn it off.
Why did these popular guys take the time to rescue the little car? That Volkswagen belonged to 17-year-old Shellee Lundgren, a varsity stunt cheerleader.
Why had she left her radio on? Wouldn’t the loud music have been too much to overlook? Not for Shellee—she’s deaf. But even so, sometimes she likes to feel the vibrations of the music on the radio.
It may not be common for a cheerleader to be deaf, but with hard work and the support of others, Shellee is able to accomplish most everything she wants to. And even though Shellee’s hearing loss is not typical of most teenagers, she sure is. Without talking to her, you’d never even guess she has a hearing disability. She’s usually with friends or talking on the phone, she dates, and her long hair covers the hearing aid she wears behind her left ear. She reads lips, so she can usually understand you, but it can be hard to understand her until you get used to the way she talks. But what strikes you most about her is that she hasn’t let her hearing problem slow her down. She’s outgoing and not afraid to try whatever she wants to do. Her philosophy is “Never say I can’t.”
Shellee wanted to dance, so in grade school she started dance and gymnastics classes. She has been competing and performing ever since. Someone signals Shellee when to begin, and then she counts through the rest of the piece. As a child, oftentimes she was more on beat than the rest of the children because she counted. “Most judges never even know I’m deaf,” she says.
Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.
In no way is this kindness towards Shellee a one-way street. Shellee makes it easy to become her friend. Melissa Despain, a former fellow cheerleader, says when she first met Shellee she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to communicate. “But she was really nice about it,” she says. Shellee is more than willing to talk slower, repeat herself, and she always smiles to encourage you to continue trying.
Raychellene Jasper, Shellee’s best friend and fellow cheerleader, can hear, and the two have been known to be inseparable. Raychellene helps Shellee understand all the instructions at their practices. Raychellene says, “She makes me feel unique and special and like I’m needed and wanted. It’s a mutual dependency.”
Shellee is a friend as well as an example. “A lot of people didn’t think I could make the cheerleading team,” Shellee says. But when she did, some kids took it to heart. They thought, If she did it, maybe I could too.
It may seem like Shellee’s got it made. Being deaf hasn’t kept her from dancing, doing well in school, or making friends. However, it has made the gospel harder for her to understand than it is for most teenagers.
Only in the last year has Shellee attended a deaf ward, so until then she had to fend for herself at church. “I never knew how much she was actually getting,” says Janell Frost, one of Shellee’s Primary and Young Women teachers.
Fortunately, Pleasant Grove High School has a deaf seminary teacher whose class Shellee can attend. “Seminary has helped me a lot,” she says. “For example, I didn’t know I would live again after I die. I was so happy because then I knew I would see Grandma again.” Shellee hadn’t been able to grasp that concept until then, although she has always been an active member of the Church.
Reading the scriptures is hard for Shellee because of the vocabulary. She doesn’t recognize words from having heard them in conversation; she has to learn each word individually by looking it up. Words like nevertheless are hard enough to understand when you’ve heard other people use them. How is a deaf person to understand it without help?
Shellee’s seminary teacher is helping to solve this problem with drawings. She has her students draw pictures in their scriptures that go along with the stories so they can have a better idea of what is going on. “It helps a lot,” Shellee says.
In part, Shellee wants to go on a mission because she has had a difficult time understanding the gospel principles. “I want to go on a deaf mission so I can learn more. I want to help those who are lost.”
Whether they are obvious or not, we all have our barriers to overcome—even smart, outgoing, cheerleaders who accidentally leave their radios blaring. But when we work together and keep on trying, those barriers come crumbling down.

Darkness had already fallen for several hours when I pulled into the town where Sisters Hucks and Matson were serving. The hour was late, but I thought I should drop by to say hi since I had to leave early the next morning. The lights in their apartment were on so I guessed correctly that they were there. I was greeted with enthusiasm, and they started an immediate chatter, “Guess what happened with us tonight, president.”
“Tell me, what happened?”
“Well, the ward mission leader has been acting kind of strange all week. He never asked us—he told us to be at a meeting down to the church tonight. We were almost angry at him, and we wondered what was going on. When we got to the church there were a few cars parked but no one in sight.
“We went into the church and could see lights on and hear voices in one of the rooms down the hall. We walked down there and knocked on the door.
“Everything went quiet, and then the doors opened wide.
“To our surprise the room was filled with people, and on the front row looking right at us with radiant smiles was the family we had been teaching. They were all dressed in white baptismal clothes.” Unable to speak further, the sisters smiled at me through their tears.

Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps the lump from my throat.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble petitions to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known good-naturedly as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often lifted his voice in song as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for a hootenanny, and patients joined together with voices raised in song and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name. This new spirit extended into other activities as well.
One of the more dramatic examples was the organizing of a wheelchair olympics.
On the day agreed upon, patients wheeled excitedly from place to place as they marked out a course for the coming events. Wheelchairs were lined up at a starting line, while occupants leaned forward, intently waiting for the starting signal. The signal was given, and they were off in a flurry of wheels and laughter. After a breather and an untangling of wheels, patients were given a chance to challenge another wheelchair. Don looked around, and pointing his finger at one of the chairs, said, “I challenge that chair.”
“Don, you can’t do that,” the astonished attendant replied. “That chair has a motor!”
The competitive young man was undaunted and remained firm; so a course was set and an eager audience waited expectantly for the signal to begin this most unusual race. Soon the signal was given and Don’s hands fairly flew as he propelled his chair toward the finish line. When he had gained full momentum, he ventured a cautious look toward his opponent, only to discover that he was shifting to a higher gear! To complicate matters further, a woven wire fence was stretched a few short feet behind the finish line.
With the heart of a champion, Don ducked his head and gave it everything he had. He crossed the line only inches ahead of his opponent and crashed happily into the wire fence. He was picked up and dusted off amid excited expressions of admiration. He had won!
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special hootenanny was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song rendered in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had touched the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the winds of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

When my sister was single and struggling with dating, she realized she might be making this mistake. So she drew a simple picture of her desired partner:
A stick figure with three—only three—of the most important attributes she wanted in a husband. No height requirements, no six-figure salary quota.
Within several months she started dating her future spouse. He was dedicated to the gospel, hardworking, and honest. Together they are working to create an eternal marriage.

“Where are your new glasses, Adam?” Mother asked as Adam pulled on his backpack.
“I … uh … forgot where I put them,” Adam muttered.
“Here they are,” his older sister called out. “I found them under the sofa cushion.”
“I wonder how they got there?” Mother said. “Please be more careful where you put them next time. You don’t want them to get lost or broken.”
Actually, Adam would have been happy if his glasses got lost or broken. He knew how they got under the sofa cushion. He put them there.
Adam didn’t like wearing his new glasses. They fell off when he played soccer and were always smudged with his fingerprints. Worst of all, Adam was sure everyone at school thought he looked ridiculous in his glasses, like some four-eyed monster.
But Adam’s glasses did make it easier for him to see the blackboard. So when Adam got to school that day, he could clearly read what his teacher had written on the board: Valentine’s Day Party Tomorrow!
Adam frowned. Usually he looked forward to the Valentine’s Day party. He liked eating the cookies and playing the fun games. But this year he had mixed feelings about exchanging valentines.
After school Adam sat at the kitchen table with valentines spread in front of him. He looked at the list of his classmates and sighed.
“Need help addressing the envelopes?” Adam’s mother asked.
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll give any valentines this year.”
His mother sat down next to him. “Why not?”
“The other kids think I look dumb in my glasses, Mom.”
“Did they say that?” Mother asked.
“No. But they look at me funny. And Danielle stares at me. I thought she was my friend. I’m not giving a valentine to her or anyone else. Why should I? I probably won’t be getting any.”
“Well, Adam,” Mother said softly, “even with brand-new glasses, you can’t see clearly into the hearts of others. I think you might be misjudging your friends. But it’s your choice.”
In the end, Adam decided to give out the valentines since they had already been made. He made sure to write his name on a few envelopes so he would get at least some valentines.
The Valentine’s Day party was so much fun that Adam completely forgot about his worries until it was time to go home. On his way out the door, Adam grabbed his valentines bag and stuffed it into his backpack before anyone else could see how empty it was.
At home Adam dumped the bag out on his bed, and his jaw dropped. There was a valentine from every student in class, and two from Danielle.
“That’s quite a haul,” his mother said from the bedroom doorway. “Did you give all those to yourself?”
Adam laughed. “Only four are from me,” he said. “I guess the other kids still like me after all. Danielle even wrote that she thinks I have cool glasses.”
Adam was more careful with his glasses after that. He took good care of them and even got a special elastic band to hold them on when he played soccer. He was sure to wear his glasses every day because they not only helped him see better, they also helped him remember to look into the hearts of his friends.