Gospel Story Finder

Sonora Dodd devoted her life to honoring fathers, and her strong feelings about fatherhood were passed to her son, Jack. In 1952 one of Sonora Dodd’s proudest moments came when Jack was named “Father of the Year.” Nineteen years later, an even prouder moment came. Sonora Louise Dodd, the woman known as “the mother of Father’s Day,” became the first and only woman ever to be named “Father of the Year!”

Marie looked out the car window as she and her Primary class drove to the nursing home. She hoped none of the girls noticed the tears that filled her eyes.
When Sister Gibson had suggested the talent show for an activity day, it seemed like such a good idea. Every girl had gone to work planning the talent she would share. Marie had tried, but she hadn’t been able to come up with anything to do.
A couple of the girls were playing the piano. One girl was playing the violin, and one was singing. Another was reciting a poem she’d written, and Marie’s best friend, Shelley, was going to do a backflip. Andrea wasn’t performing, but she had made cookies for everybody to have after the show.
The more Marie thought about the talent show, the more she was convinced that she didn’t have any talents. She wasn’t even sure why she had come. Sister Gibson had tried to make her feel better, telling her that she hadn’t yet discovered a very special talent that Heavenly Father had given her. But that was hard for Marie to believe. She didn’t think she’d ever be good at anything.
The gathering room at the nursing home was quiet. There were old people everywhere, and that made Marie even more nervous. She didn’t know what to say to them or how to act. The other girls seemed to feel the same way too. They were huddled together, shyly looking around until Sister Gibson showed them where to sit.
Marie still felt bad as the program started. Then, just after the first piano solo, she heard someone coughing behind her. Marie turned around and saw a gray-haired woman whose body shook with each cough.
Marie stopped thinking about herself and started to worry about the woman. She quietly dug a hard candy out of her pocket and went to the woman. She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and held out the small gift. When the wrinkled hand reached for it and the woman smiled at her, Marie felt happiness and peace.
Marie stayed by the woman for the rest of the program. She held her hand and sometimes told her about what was happening. It felt good to be doing something for someone else, and it kept her from feeling sorry for herself.
When it was time to leave, the woman hugged Marie and whispered, “Thank you for talking to me. You have a real talent for making people feel loved.”
On the way back to the church, Marie was grateful to know that she did have a talent after all. When she served others, she felt Heavenly Father’s love, and she helped others feel His love too. That was a pretty special talent to have.

Christy peeked excitedly through the curtains. Snow glistened in the moonlight.
“Ready to go look at the Christmas lights?” Mommy asked. “You need to put on your hat, coat, and mittens.”
Christy skipped to the closet and pulled her coat off a hanger. She found her hat and mittens. Soon she was wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
Outside, Christy made footprints in the snow. Her breath came out like steam. Mommy helped her into her car seat.
Their van crunched through the snow, making new tire tracks. Christy looked at her house. It looked like a twinkling gingerbread house! She giggled. The whole neighborhood looked magical.
“Look at that one!” Christy squealed, pointing to a house covered in pink lights. “Oh!” she said, pointing to a giant Christmas star sparkling with tiny white lights.
Mommy drove farther and farther. Christy grew sleepy watching the colorful lights. Soon it was time to go home. Mommy drove onto a small road to turn around. The road was piled with snow.
Mommy tried to back up. The tires spun around.
WHIRR, WHIRR!
Snow flew up, but the van didn’t move.
Mommy tried to go forward. The tires spun around again.
WHIRR, WHIRR!
More snow flew up, but the van still didn’t move. Mommy tried to go back again and forward again. The van didn’t budge. They were stuck. Mommy got out of the van and looked down the road.
Christy couldn’t see any cars. She began to feel nervous. What if they had to stay here until morning?
Then she remembered something. Heavenly Father always knows where we are. She felt better.
Mommy got back in the van. She looked worried.
“Mommy, it’s OK,” Christy said. “Heavenly Father knows where we are. We can pray and ask Him to help us get unstuck.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mommy said.
Christy folded her arms and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “would you please send someone to help us get home?”
Christy felt warm inside. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” she thought.
“It’s all right, Mommy. We’ll be OK now.”
Mommy smiled and nodded her head. She still looked worried.
Bright lights lit up the back of the van. A man climbed out of a big truck. He waved as he waded through the snow. “You look like you could use some help,” he said. “I’ll have you out in a jiffy!”
The man hooked a big chain to the back of the van. His truck pulled the van right out of the snow. Mommy could drive again. She thanked the man and started for home.
“Christy, you taught me a lesson tonight,” Mommy said. “Heavenly Father always cares about us. I love you.”
Christy felt thankful and happy. “I love you too, Mommy.”

One autumn I was assigned to a stake conference in a rural area of the Western United States. I arrived on Saturday evening and remained with the stake president and his family overnight. In the morning we started our journey of five or six miles to the meetinghouse, and on our way we passed several farms. It was apparent that the Sabbath day was being observed by the people.
We saw beautiful fields of ripened wheat with machinery standing in the fields just as it had been left the evening before. We saw haystacks partly built, with more hay resting in the fields waiting to be brought in. Some of the grain was harvested and some was yet in the field. The very land seemed to be at rest.
We entered the village, and there too we found a scene of peace and serenity. There was no sound of hammer, machinery, or work of any kind. Instead, we saw people gathering to the chapel from all directions in the valley.
I remarked to the stake president about this unusual sight and inquired whether the home teachers had canvassed the stake and warned the people that a visitor was coming from Salt Lake. “No,” he said, “we’re very pleased with the way our people observe the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Nearly every family in the stake is represented at our meetings every Sunday.” The records upheld his word.
It was a beautiful day—quiet, a soft breeze blowing, warm and pleasant. The hills in the distance were turning to their autumn colors. There were beautiful farms and fields, lovely homes, and a sweet spirit of contentment. The meetings and councils of that day were remarkably peaceful, productive, and satisfying.

Like many people, Pedro sets goals for himself. Unlike a lot of people, Pedro consistently reaches those goals. “If he sets a goal,” his father said, “he doesn’t rest until he has reached it. He fights hard to reach it, and he always gains it. For example, we were talking about what he wanted to do professionally. He said that he wanted to be a lawyer. I made a promise to him that if he worked hard enough to get accepted into Harvard Law School, I would somehow find a way to support him financially.” Pedro knows that fulfilling his dream means getting good grades and learning to speak English well. He is working hard at both.

I have had hard times in real life too. In 2021, I tore my ACL in gymnastics. I was devastated and didn’t know what I was going to do.
I remember sitting in church before my surgery. Someone was speaking, but I wasn’t listening until they said one verse: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). That moment helped me because I knew I needed to pray and get close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ so I could receive Their strength.

Most Sundays our small chapel receives members from other countries who visit us during their vacations. Usually, when they attend sacrament meeting, they sit together as a family in the same row. But one Sunday in March, we had many visitors and among them a family comprised of parents and their two children. Their oldest son, about four years old, walked into the chapel and decided to sit next to me. Teddy, which is his name, greeted me and we chatted briefly. During the sacrament meeting, Teddy asked me with much interest, what the name was of each hymn we sang. Listening to each hymn, he gave a thumbs-up with his small hand that he liked it, while remaining reverent for someone his age. He also played with his book that had drawings of animals, which required him to place stickers and create different animals. At the conclusion of the sacrament meeting, Teddy stood up, gave me the drawings as a gift, put his name on them, hugged me tightly, told me “It was a pleasure to meet you” and said goodbye in the most loving, sweet, and pure way that only a child can do.
In that very special little moment, I could feel the pure love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It came through Teddy’s embrace when I needed it most.
This scripture came to mind from Isaiah 25:4 that says, “For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat.”
I could see that my prayers for comfort and strength were answered through the embrace and love of a child. Just as God showed love and comfort to me as His child through Teddy, we too can be instruments of comfort in God’s hands for someone else.

I used to feel the same way towards a person who had hurt me. I carried a grudge for years. In fact, I had no desire to forgive, except I hated the awful way I felt. Then I remembered that the Church teaches us to pray for those who hurt us. For lack of another solution I decided to give ita try. At firsts felt totally foolish praying for this person to be happy or do well in school, but when I was finished I could feel the grudge I’d held for so long melt away and become replaced with love for that person.
Ana Nielsen, 16King City, California

A true story from the Philippines.
Shia took a deep breath and tried to focus. She could do this. She let the shuttlecock drop from her hand, swung with her racket, and …
Plonk!
The shuttlecock hit the floor right in front of her toes.
Shia huffed and frowned. She missed. Again.
Dad jogged over from the side of the badminton court. “Good try! Maybe bend your wrist more next time you serve.”
“Serving is so hard!” Shia said. She looked over at the other court where her cousins, Analyn and Jovan, were playing. The shuttlecock flew over the net as they took turns hitting it with their rackets. They made it look easy!
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll improve at badminton. It just takes some practice.”
“But I want to be good now,” Shia said.
Dad smiled. “Maybe your team practice tomorrow will go better.”
But the next day, team practice was not better. Shia missed the shuttlecock more times than she hit it. She couldn’t serve it over the net. And during break, she tripped and spilled water all over her uniform.
Layla, the team captain, pointed at her wet shirt and laughed. “You’re so clumsy, Shia!”
Shia felt her cheeks get hot. Then her coach called everyone over to the court.
“All right, everyone, the tournament is in just a few weeks. Everyone partner up!”
Analyn tapped Shia on the shoulder. “We can be partners. I’ll help you practice.”
Layla laughed. “Shia’s the weakest on the team! You’re never going to win if she’s your partner.”
Shia looked at her feet. Layla was right. She was the weakest on the team, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get better.
When Shia got home, Mom was making chicken adobo on the stove. Her baby brother, Tolome, was crying and holding Mom’s leg.
Mom looked relieved to see Shia. “Oh good, you’re home! Can you take Tolome and play with him while I finish dinner?”
Shia didn’t feel like playing right now. But Tolome looked so sad! Shia scooped him up. Tolome kept crying.
Shia set him on the floor and pulled out some craft paper from the cabinet. Quietly, she started folding an origami cat.
Tolome watched her, and slowly, he calmed down. Shia finished the cat and held it up. “Meow!”
Tolome giggled. Shia gave him the origami cat and started folding paper cranes, rabbits, and turtles for them to play with.
“What a good helper you are!”
Shia turned around and saw Mom smiling. “Thank you for helping me today. That was very Christlike of you,” Mom said.
“I’m glad I could help.” Shia looked at how happy Tolome was and felt warm inside. Even if she was terrible at serving the shuttlecock in badminton, maybe she could try really hard to be the best at serving her family.
Over the next few weeks, Shia tried to get better at serving—on the court and at home. She practiced every day after school on the badminton court. She helped Mom with Tolome after practice at home. And she prayed that Heavenly Father would help her prepare for her tournament.
When the day of the tournament came, Shia was so nervous! She and Analyn walked onto the court. Mom, Dad, and Tolome waved from the bleachers. When it was her turn to serve, Shia took a deep breath. She could do this.
Shia let the shuttlecock drop from her hand, swung with her racket, and …
Whack!
It went over the net! She heard Dad cheer. She did it!
Maybe serving wasn’t so hard after all.
Illustrations by Beatrice Costamagna. May be copied for Church use only.

Question: What was Alma’s greatest challenge?
Answer: To help a son who had lost the way. My husband and I looked at each other, remembering the times we had prayed over our children as they struggled to make their testimonies secure. How well I remember the tears that came to one son’s eyes as he looked at his brothers and sisters, then said quietly, “That’s what dad and mom did for me.” He bore his testimony to the family, and at that moment our hearts were full.

When spring came, my deep depression lifted, and I no longer needed medication. We moved to a sunny city. I thought all was well and that I would leave my mental illness behind. But I was not completely healed. Feelings of guilt arose for my previous thoughts, feelings, and urges. I disliked that my teenagers had figured out that I had been suicidal. I felt like I had wasted more than a year of my life.
Also, I was scared—especially when the shorter days in September arrived again. I experienced intense daily flashbacks and feared I would suffer acute depression again. But I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I was led to a wonderful doctor and started therapy. I learned that I also suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). With my doctor’s guidance, I dealt with PTSD.
And then I experienced a miracle. After mighty prayer and seeking to apply the Savior’s Atonement in my life, the Lord removed my feelings of guilt rapidly, distinctly, and tangibly. His voice explained that I didn’t have to carry guilt because my depression wasn’t my fault. Jesus Christ carries that burden for me through the power of His Atonement. I was filled with light and felt hopeful again.
I don’t know all the reasons why I had to face the challenges of life-threatening illness. Although I still carry all the memories, the mental and physical pains are gone. Every day I am grateful for my family, my doctor, and my time here on earth. Because of my illness, I gained empathy and love for others. I grew emotionally and spiritually and gained knowledge that I would not have learned otherwise. I experienced precious spiritual moments with my Heavenly Father and my Savior. My experiences have encouraged me to embrace life.

Several years ago we had four little girls in our home. One evening at dinner one of them said, “I wish we had a baby. A baby would be so much fun. Could we have one?”
We all wanted a baby, so I suggested, “Let’s ask our Heavenly Father if we can have a new little spirit come to our home. Let’s tell Him how we would love a baby and how glad we would be to take care of one.”
Everyone agreed that would be a good idea, and so in our family prayers and in our own secret prayers we prayed that we might have a baby to love in our home.
Seven years went by and sometimes we were a little discouraged, but we never gave up praying for a baby. Then one evening as we were eating dinner, we told our girls that at last our prayers were going to be answered and we would soon have a baby in our home.
We had no boys in our family and so we thought a baby boy would be especially nice. But when I came home from the hospital after the baby was born, I took a big piece of paper and wrote:
5 girls
on it and put it across the front of our house so everyone could see.
The night we brought our baby home we all sat around looking at her even though she was fast asleep. She was a miracle to us—we had waited and prayed seven years for her.

The president of the Cardston Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to go through the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I suggested that they could come down to my office and I would attempt to answer any questions they might have. I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if your are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’’A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, ‘Mother I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.’ This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

Clark was deeply touched when, on a typically marvelous Monson fishing experience, his father asked him to reel in his line for a moment. When the lines were in and the rods set aside in the boat, Brother Monson said, “In about five minutes your brother Tom will be sitting down to take the bar examination admitting him to the practice of law. He has worked hard through three years of law school for this and he will be a little nervous. Let’s just kneel here in the boat. I’ll offer a prayer for him, and then you offer one.”
“That was one of the greatest experiences of my life,” Clark later reported. He was also deeply touched years later when his father turned the car around and drove sixty-four kilometers out of his way to let Clark get a good look at a hawk’s nest. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he would do that. It’s exactly the kind of thing he has done all his life for those he sees in need.”

One day I witnessed evidence of the Spirit and the courage to follow the counsel. It was in a second-grade elementary classroom. The student teacher held the children captive with her story-telling skills. In great detail, she told of a cross old man whose name was Mr. Black. In contrast, the account was given in similar detail of a Mr. Brown, who was kind and thoughtful and loved by everyone. At the conclusion of the story, the teacher asked the children, “How many of you would like to have Mr. Brown for a neighbor?” Every hand in the room was raised. Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked the question, “And is there anyone who would like to have Mr. Black for a neighbor?”

A little boy in a faded green shirt near the back of the room began to raise his hand, bringing a ripple of quiet amusement from the children. Hesitating only briefly, he looked around at his friends and still mustered the courage to hold his hand high and dare to stand alone in his difference. When called on for an explanation of his single vote, he spoke in a soft tone. “Well,” he said, “I’d like Mr. Black to be my neighbor because if he was my neighbor, my mom would make a cake for me to take to him, and then he wouldn’t be that way anymore.” A hush fell over the room. Everyone felt something wonderful that they couldn’t explain. A little child broke the silence like a benediction: “Oh . . . I wish I’d said that.”

We had all made a quick decision about who would be the best neighbor, but only one—just one—had a spirit within, the discernment that allowed him to see what might be.

“Whom are you going to invite to your birthday party tomorrow?” Mom asked as I looked at the purple alligator piñata she was making for me.
Mom always made a piñata for our birthdays. She had made cowboys, horses, elephants, and pirates and stuffed them full of candy and surprises. We would invite our friends over, hang the piñata in our willow tree, and give everyone a chance to break it and grab some of the goodies inside.
“I’m going to invite everybody in the neighborhood.” I grinned as Mom glued big teeth and plastic eyes onto the alligator made of bright, fluffy tissue paper.
“Are you even going to invite Bobby Wilson?” my brother, David, asked.
I frowned and stuffed my fists into my pockets. “I wouldn’t invite Bobby to anything. He’s a jerk.”
“Benjamin!” Mom snapped, turning around and glaring at me. “You know you don’t talk like that about your friends.”
“I wasn’t talking about my friends.” I turned and stomped out of the house. Every time I thought about Bobby, I got mad. He was the worst pest a guy could have. He lived across the street and two houses down in a yellow house that needed painting. The lawn in front was never mowed, and most of the time it had big patches of brown in it because nobody ever watered it.
Nobody liked Bobby. He wore ragged clothes and a too-shiny baseball cap that looked like he’d dragged it from the trash. But the way he looked was only part of it. He was such a big mouth, bragging about all the things he had and all the things he could do.
“Mom’s going to make you invite Bobby to your birthday party,” David teased as he followed me out the front door and onto the lawn under the willow tree.
“I might have to take an invitation to his house,” I said defiantly, “but I’ll hide it in the bushes so he’ll never find it. When he doesn’t show, if Mom asks if I took him an invitation, I can tell her yes.”
We started to giggle, thinking of the good joke I’d play on Bobby.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” a voice called out.
David and I looked up. There stood Bobby, with his stupid baseball cap on his head.
“We’re not doing anything,” I said. “And we don’t plan to,” I added, hoping Bobby wouldn’t decide to stay.
Bobby strolled over and dropped down on the grass beside us. “I sure played a good game of baseball,” he announced smugly. “I hit about ten homers.”
“Ah, come on,” David scoffed. “You never hit a home run in your life.”
“I did so—with the new bat my dad sent me.”
“You don’t have a new bat,” I argued.
Bobby jumped to his feet. “I do too.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Go get your new bat and show it to us, then.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I figure that that’s what you are.”
I wasn’t expecting what happened next. Bobby grabbed me in a headlock and was punching and scratching and kicking all at the same time. I rolled over and tried to break away from him, but he stayed right with me.
“What are you boys doing?” I heard Mom ask.
I jumped up, glared at Bobby, and ducked my head as I turned toward Mom. “We were just messing around.”
“Well, it didn’t look like either of you was having any fun. If that’s the way you’re going to mess around, then maybe you’d better do it cleaning up the garage. That way you won’t get into trouble.”
The rest of the morning David and I stayed in the garage, cleaning up and grumbling about Bobby.
“I’m never talking to him again,” I told David as I swept the garage floor.
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that, or she’ll really make you invite Bobby to your piñata party.”
“I’ll just skip my birthday this year if I have to invite Bobby. And I’ll give my purple alligator away.”
“Hi, Benjamin. Hi, David,” someone shouted.
We looked up and saw Bobby coming up the driveway on his old, beat-up bike. David and I didn’t say anything. We just kept right on working.
“What’re you guys doing?” Bobby asked, leaning his bike against the side of the house.
“We’d be out playing ball if somebody hadn’t showed up this morning and got all smart,” I muttered.
Bobby didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. He came into the garage and looked around. “You still want to play ball?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything, hoping he’d just go away.
“Guess what tomorrow is?” Bobby asked excitedly.
David and I didn’t ask.
“It’s my birthday! I’ll be nine.”
“Your birthday?” David gasped. “You and Benjamin have the same birthday! His birthday is tomorrow, and he’ll be nine too.”
“Be quiet!” I snapped at David.
“My dad’s going to send me a new bike. A ten-speed.”
“Why don’t you stop all your bragging,” I said. “You aren’t getting anything, and you know it. You don’t even know where your dad is. You’ve probably never even seen your dad, so stop telling us about all the great things he’s going to send you. He hasn’t sent you anything so far. And he never will.”
I figured that Bobby was really going to tear into me then, so I threw my dustpan down and put my arms up defensively. But Bobby didn’t charge at me, swinging. He just stared at me for a minute, all sicklike. Then he swallowed once, ducked his head, and backed out of the garage. When he grabbed his bike and wobbled it down the driveway, he was crying.
I had wanted to hurt Bobby—after all, he was the one who had made Mom put us to work. But as I watched him ride away with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, I felt sorry for him. It was the first time I’d ever felt sorry for Bobby Wilson.
David was staring at me as if he couldn’t believe that I’d said what I’d said.
“It serves him right,” I defended myself.
David turned away and started straightening some boxes.
I saw Bobby a couple of times that day in his yard, just sitting under an elm tree, staring at the ground. There was a cold, empty place inside me. I wanted to make it go away. I tried to think of lots of different things—fun things, exciting things—but no matter what I thought or did, that cold, empty place just stayed there.
That night, before David and I turned the lights off in our room, I lay on my bed, staring up at my piñata hanging in the corner. But I didn’t see the purple alligator. All I could see was Bobby Wilson.
“Are you boys going to keep the light on all night?” Dad asked, poking his head into our room. “You’d better get some sleep, Benjamin. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Dad,” I said suddenly, “what makes Bobby Wilson the way he is?”
Dad thought for a moment, then came and sat on the edge of my bed. “Mom said that you had a little trouble with Bobby today,” he mentioned. “What was the problem?”
“Bobby’s the problem,” I muttered. “He’s always acting like a hotshot, bragging about all the things his dad is going to send him and about all the things he can do. Why does he act like that? It makes me want to punch him.”
Dad thought for a long time. “Bobby doesn’t have a lot of nice things. Maybe he’ll never have them. But he wants them, just the same. He’d like a new bike, but the only way he’ll ever have one is to dream about it, to hope that someday his dad, whom he never hears from, will send him the best bike in the world.”
“But he doesn’t even know where his dad is.”
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you didn’t have a dad or mom here all the time? Tonight Bobby’s probably climbing into bed by himself. There’s no one to go in and tell him good night and ask him if he’s said his prayers. He wants those things as much as you do. But the only thing he can do is dream about them and maybe talk as if he has them.”
I lay in bed awake long after David had gone to sleep. It didn’t do any good to close my eyes, because I kept tossing and turning and thinking. It wasn’t until I looked over in the corner and saw the dark shape of my purple alligator that I knew what I was going to do the next day. After that, going to sleep was easy.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” I quavered the next day on Bobby’s front steps. Even though it was pretty late in the morning, Bobby’s mom was still in her robe and looked like she’d just got out of bed. “Is Bobby here?”
She stared at me a while and scratched her head. “I think he’s around in the backyard. You can go look. But don’t bang on the door anymore.”
I thanked her and walked around the house. Everything back there was kind of a mess. For a while I didn’t see anyone. Then I spotted Bobby sitting on a crate with his dumb baseball cap on his head and a cracked baseball bat in front of him. I called to him so he wouldn’t think I’d come to spy on him.
Bobby looked up. “What’d you come around back here for?”
I shrugged. “Just stopped by to see how things were going. I thought I’d wish you a happy birthday. It is your birthday, isn’t it?”
“Sure, it’s my birthday. I was going to have a big party.” He stopped and bit his lip. “I still am. But probably later. Mom isn’t feeling too well. And Dad hasn’t sent my ten-speed yet.”
“He will. Sometimes things just get here late.”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated, then blurted out, “Mom made me a piñata for my birthday. We’re going to break it this afternoon and have a big party.”
“I think I’ll ask my mom to make me a piñata, too, when she gets to feeling better.”
“She doesn’t have to do that. Why don’t you just share mine. There’s no sense in both our moms throwing a big party. Shoot, if your mom’s not feeling well, you can just come over to my place and we’ll have our birthdays together. In fact, you can be the very first one to take a crack at my purple alligator.”
“Do you mean it?”
I grinned. “Sure I mean it. I’ve never had a double birthday party before. Come on. We can help Dad hang the piñata in the willow tree.”
Suddenly we were running together. And I noticed that that cold, empty feeling was finally gone.

Because I live in Shanghai, China, I had the opportunity to go with a school group to Sichuan Province in southwestern China to help build houses for victims of the earthquake that devastated the area a few years ago. We worked hard laying bricks, shoveling mortar, pushing wheelbarrows full of bricks, and handing bricks down “assembly lines” of people. By the second day my back ached, and my gloves were filled with holes. However, the trip was an unforgettable experience for me and strengthened my testimony of my own and each person’s individual worth, one of the Young Women values.
As I worked hard each day, I noticed that my belief in my own worth grew. I felt good about myself because I was doing things to improve the living situation of those less fortunate than I am.
We also had the opportunity to visit a school in the area. When we arrived, a crowd of cute little children came running toward us. When I saw all these wonderful little children, I recognized their individual worth also. They are all beautiful children of God, and I felt strongly that He loves and knows each of them.
Near the end of my trip we had the chance to go to a resort, where we were going to eat lunch. When we got there, however, we found that it had been destroyed in the earthquake. It was the worst destruction I have ever seen. It made me want to cry. The ceilings and walls of the buildings were caved in, the trees nearby had fallen, and there was rubble everywhere. A huge boulder had rolled down the mountain and crashed into the side of one building, causing the ceiling and the wall to cave in. There was a single shoe lying on one of the doorsteps.
As I thought about this and the fact that people had been killed in this disaster, I struggled to understand how Heavenly Father would let this happen. Didn’t He love them? Then I thought back to what we had discussed in Young Women class and realized that yes, He did love them. He knew and loved them each individually. Those who died that day were all children of God. Initially, it made me even sadder thinking about that. But then I realized that these people were in the spirit world and they could return to Heavenly Father again. This thought comforted me and gave me a feeling of peace.
I know that I am a child of God, with great individual worth. We are all children of our Heavenly Father, who knows us personally. He loves us with a love that is deeper and stronger than any of us could ever imagine. This understanding was planted deeply in my heart as I worked with and served among the people who had suffered so terribly in the Sichuan earthquake.

People come to make that crucial choice for many reasons. At first one man we taught could not see the need to be baptized. After all, he had tried to be good all his life. He had committed no serious sin. He had been baptized as a child in another church. But then two things came to his mind. One was that the Savior was baptized out of obedience, having never sinned. The other is that he wanted to make the commitment to the Savior through the authority of the true priesthood, just as the Savior went to John to be baptized.
Another young man we taught chose to be baptized out of a heart broken by the sorrow he felt for his sins. As he came up out of the waters of baptism, he threw his arms around my neck, tears streaming down his cheeks, and said in my ear, “I’m clean. I’m clean.”
Their choices to make the covenant of baptism sprang from a common faith. They knew that if they would keep a covenant to obey the Savior’s commandments, He would keep His covenant with them to lead them toward eternal life. They were ready to come unto Him that they might be changed and led by Him and, in time, become like Him.

Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

On one occasion soon after I became secretary to President Grant I met Dr. James E. Talmage, one of the brethren of the Twelve, as he entered the Church administration building; and in his kindly, sociable way he greeted me with a salutation, “Good morning, Brother Anderson.”
“Good morning, Dr. Talmage,” I replied.
He continued, “How are you this morning?”
And I answered, “Very good, thank you, Dr. Talmage.”
He then made this interesting remark, “Brother Anderson, the Lord says there is none good but one, and that is God.” My answer should have been, “Very well, thank you.” Elder Talmage was a great scholar and one who was very technical as to proper English. He was a member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and other scientific societies, and was also on the board of directors of Webster’s Dictionary.