Gospel Story Finder

Perhaps I can illustrate how understanding the Father’s plan and the Savior’s divine mission empowers us to face life’s challenges.
In the summer of 2020, I started feeling pain in my left shoulder, and I could not figure out why. The pain wouldn’t go away, so finally, in late October, I visited with a doctor. He looked at an X-ray and suggested a CT scan. The next evening, the doctor called me at home—likely not a good sign—and told me that the CT scan had identified metastatic disease in my shoulder. In other words, he said I had cancer. He also said it appeared to have traveled to my shoulder from somewhere else in my body.
I got up from my chair, walked into the other room, and told Anne Marie I had cancer. That evening, our lives changed. Everything seemed to change.
I reached out to my father and asked if he would give me a blessing. He is 95 years old. We gathered as a family at my parents’ home. All our children joined us. It was a miracle that they were all in town. We were careful to wear our masks, except for in this picture.
Photograph by Busath Photography
I had hoped that, in the blessing, my father would strike the spot and command the cancer to be gone. But that is not the blessing he provided. He blessed me that the cancer would be identified, that there would be a course of treatment, that I would follow the course of treatment, and that I would be made whole.
From the moment he and my sons took their hands off my head, a feeling of peace settled on me. I knew that peaceful feeling came by the influence of the Holy Ghost.
For the next month, medically speaking, I could not see past the end of my feet. I knew I had cancer in my shoulder and in at least one other place in my body. I did not know what kind of cancer it was or how pervasive it was. I just did not know very much at all.
But this I did know: my father, accompanied by my four sons, had pronounced a blessing upon me by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood. I had great faith in the power of that blessing. I also had faith that the blessing was in keeping with the Lord’s will.
Throughout the month of November, the medical tests continued. As we waited for the results, Anne Marie and I talked a lot about the future and our faith in our Heavenly Father’s plan. We discussed the possibility that perhaps my stay in mortality would be a bit shorter than anticipated. But regardless of which side of the veil I would be on, it did not change our love for each other or our marriage or our family. It did not change our gratitude to Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ, and for the blessing of participating in this wonderful mortal experience.
In our prayers as a couple, we prayed that my life would be spared. But if the plan was that I be called home at this time, we would accept that as well. I also prayed that I could learn what the Lord wanted me to learn from this experience. I remembered Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles saying on one occasion that the Lord gave him cancer so he could teach the people with authenticity. 1 I continue to ponder that.
As we waited for the diagnosis, I continued to feel at peace. I was very grateful for my father’s blessing. Spiritually speaking, he did strike the spot and make me whole. He healed me spiritually.
During all this, I felt the faith and prayers of friends, family, and loved ones. It is quite something to realize that your children, their spouses, and your grandchildren are praying for you with great faith. The missionaries and the Saints with whom we served in the Spain Barcelona Mission are also exercising their faith and prayers in my behalf. What greater blessings could there be? These prayers of faith and support from so many have created a giant tsunami of love that has been overwhelming to me.
At last, the diagnosis came. I have cancer in my right kidney, which has metastasized to my left shoulder. The cancer had already been in my shoulder for a year or so and therefore even longer in my kidney. For some reason, unknown to me, there is no cancer in my brain or lungs. The Lord is very kind. There is a course of treatment, I am following it, and I trust that in a year or so I will be made whole. “But if not” (Daniel 3:18), I am willing to accept the Lord’s will for me.
Now, I am not the only one with health challenges or worries or heartaches of different kinds. Like you, I have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Like you, I have faith in Heavenly Father’s plan. And like you, I have faith that “all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).
Our faith does not necessarily remove our trials. But it does give us the power and perspective to navigate those trials successfully.
Our Savior, who is our example in all things, has taught us how to endure adversity faithfully. Most poignant is His experience in Gethsemane:
“And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,
“Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him” (Luke 22:41–43; emphasis added).
The Father didn’t remove this cup of suffering, but He also didn’t forsake His Beloved Son. He sent an angel to strengthen Him, and with that strength the Savior was able to carry out the infinite Atonement.
Likewise, when we face challenges, the Father does not always remove the burden, but when we submit to His will, we can count on Him to give us strength equal to the challenge.
I testify of Jesus Christ, the true source of lasting peace (see John 16:33). Because He overcame the world, He provides the strength for us to meet every trial the world can give us. He provides eternal perspective through His restored gospel and comfort through the influence of the Holy Ghost. Indeed, the gospel of Jesus Christ is the answer to every issue we face in life.
“Peace I leave with you,” the Savior said, “my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
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One of my favorite places to go to is my grandma’s house. She lives in Colonia Juárez, a little town in northern Mexico. When my family visits Grandma, we get to milk the cow and play in the hay. We can go for walks up the mountain to the irrigation ditch, and we get to water the garden.
When it’s really hot, a man comes around pushing a little cart and shouting “Helados! Helados!” Helado means ice cream in Spanish, and sometimes if we’ve been good, Dad buys us some so we can cool off. There’s another man who drives an old truck with a little freezer in the back that’s full of paletas (Popsicles), and they’re the best I’ve ever tasted.
But the thing I enjoy most at Grandma’s is playing by the river. It’s usually just a little stream, but when there’s a lot of rain in the mountains, the river fills up and goes to the top of its banks and almost runs over the bridge.
When the river’s just little, my two big brothers, Alma and Aaron, take me down to the river to play. We hide in the willows, throw rocks in the water, or look for water skeeters. And sometimes, when we have permission, we walk across the swinging bridge.
Now a swinging bridge isn’t like any other bridge. You can’t drive a car over it, because it’s just for walking on. It’s made with boards on top of steel cables that stretch across the river. When you walk across the bridge, you have to hold on to the side cables because the boards move up and down and sideways. The bridge squeaks a lot, too, when it moves. When you get out in the middle of the bridge, it’s real scary because the bridge is moving and the water is way down below.
My brothers and I like to hold hands as we walk across the swinging bridge. We laugh when it sways back and forth and bounces up and down and tickles our tummies.
The first summer I can remember spending with Grandma, I played so hard that I was glad to go to bed at night. But the first night I couldn’t go to sleep. There was an awful noise coming from the river. It sounded like a whole bunch of people screaming. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared!
I asked Alma what the noise was, and he and Aaron laughed. They said it was just frogs croaking their heads off. Well, I’d heard frogs before, but I didn’t know they could make such an awful noise. I was still scared, and I started to cry. I cried until my dad came in to see what was wrong.
Dad lay down by me and told me that it was just the frogs. He told me not to be afraid, but I was still scared, and I said I didn’t want to stay in Mexico anymore. I wanted to go back home to my own bed where there weren’t any frogs screaming outside my window.
Dad and Mom let me sleep with them that night. Their room is on the other side of the house, and I couldn’t hear the screaming over there. When Dad put me in their bed, he asked me if I’d said my prayers. Well, I hadn’t because I’d been so tired that I’d forgotten all about my prayers. I knelt down by my dad and asked Heavenly Father to help me to not be afraid. After that I went right to sleep.
In the morning I’d forgotten all about the frogs, because they don’t scream in the daytime. The first thing I wanted to do was to go down to the swinging bridge. We went down there and were walking across the bridge when we saw two boys below us, catching things by the river. They had just put something into a can when they heard the paleta truck coming. They dropped their can and ran up the road to meet the truck.
I wanted to know what they’d put in their can, so I ran the rest of the way across the bridge and down to where they’d dropped the can. Lying in the dust, all dirty and dry, was a little frog. It was breathing hard, and it looked like it might die. I picked it up and took it back to the river and washed it off. Then I put it in a can of water with some moss and rocks in the bottom. I decided to call the frog Wilbur.
I took Wilbur back to the house to show my mom and dad and grandma. When I told Dad that I was going to take Wilbur home to Arizona with me, he said that Wilbur would be happier in the river by the swinging bridge because that was his home.
“You know, Janet,” my dad said, “Wilbur is one of the frogs that was singing last night.”
“Singing? That didn’t sound like singing to me.”
“That’s how frogs sing,” Dad said. “They sit down by the river and wait for mosquitoes and fat flies to go by. Then they stick out their long sticky tongues and catch those flies and mosquitoes for their supper. When they’re full, they sing because they’re so happy.”
“Will Wilbur sing for me?”
“If you put him in the river where he’s happy. He isn’t very happy in a little can of water.”
Well, I didn’t want to let Wilbur go, but I wanted him to be happy. So I let him loose by the river, under the swinging bridge, and he hopped away.
That night I could hardly wait to go to bed. I wasn’t tired. I just wanted to listen to the frogs sing. I wanted to listen real hard and see if I could hear Wilbur singing.
Dad came to tuck me in and asked if I was still afraid of the frogs. I shook my head and smiled and said, “Not anymore. I like to hear the frogs sing now. I’m listening to see if I can hear Wilbur.”
He smiled and said, “Heavenly Father answered your prayer.”
“How did He do that?” I asked.
“Well, you asked Him to help you to not be afraid. He helped you find Wilbur, and if you hadn’t found Wilbur and seen what was making all that noise, you might still be afraid.”
I could see that Dad was right. I knelt by my bed and thanked Heavenly Father for Wilbur and for all of the other frogs that were singing by the river. As I was saying my prayers, I thought I heard Wilbur singing best of all.

In 1937 my wife and I were touring in Europe. In France I sat at a banquet table of the Rotary International Convention in a fashionable hotel. The large, spacious banquet room held hundreds of people. The many waiters moved about the tables, and at every place besides plenteous silver utensils, line napkins, and fancy serving dishes were seven wine glasses. No one was watching me. The temptation nudged me: Shall I drink it or at least sip it? No one who cares will know. Here was quite a temptation. Shall I or shall I not?

Then the thought came: But I made a firm resolution when a boy that I would never touch the forbidden things. I had already lived a third of a century firm and resolute. I would not break my record now.

Remember, O youth of a noble birthright, that “wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.) The unrighteous may pretend to be happy and may seek to entice others into such a way of life because misery loves company, as you know, but you will never see a happy sinner. Even the discontent of good people is traceable to such shortcomings as they have.

A casual observer may feel that an unrighteous person is successful and has everything he needs, and for a fleeting moment it may even seem so. But gross sin produces a deep emptiness. Thus the wicked seem to do more of the same in order to reassure themselves and to try to fill the void. When you see a life filled with desperation, there is transgression in it. We may pity such people, but it is wrong and naive to envy them!

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I arrived at the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I went down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion. “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, to receive instructions for the day.
In the meeting several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, medical charts to complete, medications to administer, bandages to change, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself. I had no choice but to start on the work.
In the midst of all the activity, a voice came over the loud speaker in the hall, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I told the brethren conducting the meeting that Mrs. Whitmer needed to be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished getting her ready than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my work period was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had run to work that morning, I ran back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to finish, the call light went on in room 4. I thought, “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.

But Elder Jesus Ramon, from Elche, Spain, the only member of the Church in his family, says, “I cried when I got my mission call to Utah. I wanted to serve my people in Spain; share the gospel message with them. I also wanted to be closer to my family and help bring them into the Church. But I prayed and knew that the call was from the Lord through President Spencer W. Kimball, and that Utah was where I should be.”

Now he is glad that he was obedient to the call. “I have seen a great deal of progress in the attitude of my family toward the Church. They are now attending church because of the change for the good they have seen in my life, and because they like the members. I feel that one of the blessings of serving a mission will be to see my family come into the Church.”

Although Elder Ramon is serving an English-speaking mission, he often is the first contact with Mexicans or South Americans living in his area of Zone Eight.

I was sad when I found out that my ballet exam was to be on a Sunday. My friends in the class couldn’t understand why we chose not to do things like that on a Sunday. They even offered to take me to the exam after our church meetings. I knew that the right choice was not to go, and Mum and Dad said Heavenly Father would bless me for keeping the Sabbath Day holy. At my next lesson after the exam day, my teacher gave me a medal. She felt I deserved it even though I didn’t do the exam. It is good to choose the right. I felt happy inside.

About two years ago MacLeans Geo-JaJa, a professor in the McKay School of Education, asked me to help with the Inner City Refugee Project, which is designed to meet the needs of refugees settling in the Salt Lake area. In the process I met Bob and Amy Wylie, humanitarian service missionaries who devote nearly constant attention to serving individuals from diverse cultures and religions.

I was so touched by what I learned of their work. While conversions to the Church do occur as a result of their efforts, Bob and Amy follow Elder Henry B. Eyring’s admonition to love and serve those who are not of our faith before we consider sharing our testimonies (see “Let Us Raise Our Voice of Warning,” Ensign, January 2009, 5–9). Amy and Bob serve and love these refugees because they think of them as brothers and sisters who have needs. Because this is their motivation, the service is heartfelt and sincere.

When he was fourteen, Joseph’s family moved to Manchester, New York, where they were soon caught up in the religious excitement of the period. Some of them joined the Presbyterian church, but Joseph could not decide which church was true.
One day he read James 1:5: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him.” He decided to follow this advice.
It was a spring morning in 1820 when Joseph walked to a woods near his home to ask God which church was true. He later wrote about what happened, saying, “I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
“… When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (JS—H 1:16–17.)
When Joseph asked which church he should join, Jesus answered that he should join none of them.
Joseph’s family believed him when he told them what he had seen and heard, but others in the community began to persecute him because he would not deny that he had seen a vision.
Three years later, on the evening of September 21, 1823, the Angel Moroni appeared beside Joseph’s bed while the young man was praying. Moroni told Joseph, among other things, about a record written upon gold plates and hidden in a hillside. He said that Joseph was to translate it. The angel appeared to Joseph three times that night, each time repeating the same message. The next day Joseph went to the place he had seen in the vision, and there he found a stone box containing the plates.
Joseph was not allowed to take the plates and translate them until four years later. When word got out that Joseph had some gold plates, the persecutions against him increased and many people attempted to steal the plates. But Joseph always managed to keep them safely hidden.
On May 15, 1829, a part of the plates Joseph was translating was about baptism for the remission of sins. Curious, he and his scribe, Oliver Cowdery, prayed about it. John the Baptist appeared to them and conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon them and told them to baptize each other. Joseph baptized Oliver, and then Oliver baptized Joseph. They then ordained each other to the Aaronic Priesthood. Later they received the Melchizedek Priesthood from Peter, James, and John, the ancient apostles.
On April 6, 1830, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was formally organized. Its membership grew rapidly. In 1831, Joseph and his wife Emma moved to Kirtland, Ohio, where many of the new members were gathering. While there, Joseph prepared for publication the revelations he had received so far. This Book of Commandments was later expanded and published as the Doctrine and Covenants.
On March 27, 1836, Joseph dedicated the Kirtland Temple. Only two years later he and other faithful followers were forced to flee to Far West, Missouri, because of persecutions.
When the Saints first arrived at Far West, they were accepted by the local citizens. But as their numbers and political influence grew, mobs persecuted the Saints and burned some of their homes. Governor Boggs sent thousands of troops to Far West with instructions to kill all of the Saints if necessary to restore peace. The Saints were forced to give up their guns, and mobs entered Far West and ransacked their homes. The Saints were then told to leave the state before the next spring or be killed.
Meanwhile Joseph and several other Church leaders had been taken prisoner. After spending about six months in various jails without being legally charged with any offense, the guards allowed them to escape. They fled to Quincy, Illinois, where many of the Saints had gone after being driven out of Far West.
In May 1839 Joseph directed the purchase of a large piece of swampland in Commerce, Illinois, and a great many Saints began to move into the area. Commerce was later renamed Nauvoo.
Nauvoo grew. The swampland was drained and cleared, and buildings were completed. Among other things, Joseph oversaw the building of a new temple, edited a newspaper, ran a store, and served as mayor of the city and head of the Nauvoo militia.
Once again the neighboring communities came to resent the Saints because of their strength, prosperity, and political influence. The Nauvoo Expositor, a local newspaper, added to the Saints’ trouble by printing lies about the Church leaders.
On June 10, 1844, a group of men under orders from the city council destroyed the newspaper’s press. Joseph and some of the other brethren were charged with inciting a riot, but were later found not guilty.
Governor Ford wanted Joseph to be tried again at Carthage, Illinois, Joseph felt that if he went there, he would probably be killed, so on June 23, 1844, he rowed across the Mississippi River to avoid arrest. In a letter, Emma pleaded with him to return and surrender. Joseph also learned that some of the Saints were calling him a coward for leaving. “If my life is of no value to my friends,” he said, “it is of none to myself.” He returned to Nauvoo, and on Monday, June 24, he and the others charged in the case went to Carthage to surrender.
When they got to Carthage, they were released on bail until a circuit court judge could hear the case. Joseph and Hyrum went to talk to Governor Ford. While there, they were rearrested on charges of treason.
Joseph and Hyrum were again jailed; John Taylor and Willard Richards went with them.
On June 27, 1844, shortly after 5:00 P.M., a mob rushed up the jail stairs to the room where the prisoners were being held. The culprits tried to break through the door, but were unable to. Shooting through the door, they hit Hyrum, who fell, saying, “I am a dead man.”
Joseph went to the window where he was shot twice from inside the building and twice more from outside. He fell out of the window to the ground and died. John Taylor was shot four times and lay under a bed, severely wounded. Willard Richards was not injured during the shooting.
After the martyrdom, John Taylor wrote, “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it. … He lived great, and he died great in the eyes of God and his people; and like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood …” (D&C 135:3).

From the time the Aldous family enrolled in his school, Master Kim had been watching them closely. There was something about them that made them stand out from other people. “I was impressed by the support they gave each other,” he says. “And by the emphasis they put on family and personal growth and development.”
Eventually the Aldous family invited Master Kim to church. He began taking the missionary lessons and was baptized.

Razafindravaonasolo’s father was called as the branch president. One day he met with me and encouraged me to prepare for a mission. I didn’t think I could serve, but he reassured me that I could. I accepted the call to serve in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission. I am married now and I have two kids. I am grateful for my family, and I have had more experiences than I can share that have helped me know that this Church is true.
After joining the Church, Rakotomalala (right) served in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission, and Razafindravaonasolo (left) served in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Kinshasa Mission.

Some years ago, when I was much more fit and foolhardy, some friends and I decided to climb Gannett Peak, the highest mountain in Wyoming. Surrounded by the Wind River Range, this gorgeous, towering granite pinnacle rises nearly 14,000 feet, emerging at its summit from a permanent glacier that must be crossed to reach the mountaintop. After a long backpack trip along the trail, we camped and spent the night. Early the next morning we hiked the rest of the trail to the foot of the mountain, where we would begin our mountain assault, equipped with gaiters, crampons, ice axes, special climbing ropes, and carabiners—those oblong metal rings connected to a safety rope that snap to one’s harness. Although we were merely novices, we were determined to get to the top. After a little practice with our equipment and some vigorous climbing, we found ourselves on the steep and treacherous slope of the glacier that guards the mountain summit.

For safety’s sake we roped ourselves together in two-man teams to cross the glacier. The lead person in the team cautiously moved forward with the protection of the line tying him to the person situated behind him on a secure surface. I was roped to my wife’s brother, Miller Gardner, whose nickname is Mo and who is 6’4” and weighs 230 pounds. He moved just ahead of me across the treacherous glacier. Gradually I fed out the rope that would conceivably stop any fall. When we reached a snow bridge that spanned a deep crevasse, to maximize the protection I sank the ice axe to its hilt into the glacier, looped the rope around the upper handle of the axe, and fed out the line a little at a time as Mo moved across the cornice.

Suddenly, without any warning, the snowy cornice gave way, dropping him through the surface and leaving him dangling from my safety rope beneath the collapsed snow bridge. Holding firmly on to the rope to stop it from playing out any further, I could see at once the terrified look on his face and the great abyss that extended hundreds of feet below him. I struggled to retrieve him from this dangerous and precarious position. Only my hold on the other end of the line kept him from plummeting to a certain death on the hard surface far below.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable length of time, another member of our party reached our position and helped lift Mo back to safety. Afterward we sat together silently, exhausted, and soberly pondered what might have happened had we not roped up, had the rope not held, or had we not been able to draw Mo back to a place of safety. Life seemed extraordinarily precious to us after that moment of grave and threatening danger.

Mrs. Bowman shook the box and placed it on her desk. “All right, boys and girls,” she said smiling. “We’ll start with Natalie. Remember, pull only one name out of the box, and be sure not to let anyone know whose name you have!” She laughed and nodded toward Natalie Johnson.
Roger sat with his chin in his hand, watching. As his classmates unfolded their slips of paper and read the names they had drawn, they giggled, covered their mouths with their hands, and took their seats once again. It was fun for them, but Roger felt his stomach churning and turned his head to look out at the gray afternoon.
Snow hung on the pine trees like huge wedges of whipped cream, and the afternoon sky was filled with white dots hurtling toward the ground. Roger wished he could give snow as a gift this year since there was so much of it. And it didn’t cost a cent.
“Roger? … Roger!” Mrs. Bowman was saying. “Time to pick a name.”
Roger turned his head and, unfortunately, in doing so his hand bumped his loose-leaf notebook and sent it clattering to the floor. As he bent to pick it up, he heard quiet snickering throughout the classroom. He knew his face was going red again, so he stood quickly and shrugged, trying to force a smile.
The front of the room looked a mile away and he felt sure everyone was staring at him. How he wished he could disappear.
There was only one slip of paper left. He unfolded it and saw that Marsha Gray’s name was written on it. Roger glanced at her, which was a mistake.
Ned looked quickly to where Roger glanced, then pointed a finger and shouted, “Roger got Marsha’s name!”
Roger hurried back to his seat.
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Bowman called. “Now clear your desks. The dismissal bell will be ringing very shortly. Have a nice weekend, and remember, there’s a limit of one dollar on your gifts.”
“Oh, boy!” Clancey Jones muttered. “What can you get for a dollar?”
Roger put Marsha’s name in his pocket and wished he had a dollar. The dismissal bell rang and everyone began getting ready to go outdoors in the snow. Roger pulled on his brother’s old boots, stuffed the tattered bottoms of his jeans into the tops, and slipped into his frayed jacket. He zipped it up, then pulled on his gloves.
Once outside, he felt free and comfortable again. The snow fell clean and fresh on his face and hair, and he stood for a minute, breathing deeply. Then someone clapped him on the back and he turned. “See you in Primary, Roger!” Carl waved as he raced toward a parked car.
“OK,” Roger called and waved. Then he cut across the school yard and into the woods. He felt at home with the familiar path that led down a slope, across the stream, and up through the meadow. A squirrel clung to the side of a tree and watched silently as Roger passed. At the stream, Roger knelt and watched the rushing water slip by snow-covered rocks, bubbling and gurgling its way toward the river. The snap of a twig made him look upstream to where a deer tiptoed toward the sparkling water. He watched quietly as the deer lowered its head and drank, then Roger smiled as it turned and sprinted into the woods, leaving only tracks in the snow. Roger glanced back at his footprints and smiled to see the man-size tracks his oversize boots left behind.
“Mom?” he called as he stepped into the warm, yeasty-smelling kitchen. “I’m home!”
“Shh …” she cautioned. “Your father’s asleep.” She rumpled Roger’s hair and smiled at him warmly. “How was school?” she asked.
He shrugged. “We picked names for the Christmas gift exchange, and I got Marsha Gray’s.”
His mother ran her hand over her long brown hair. “Oh, Roger, we don’t have money for gifts this year. Your brother’s been working hard, but we’re barely able to make ends meet, what with all the medical expenses for your dad.” She took Roger’s face between her hands and looked deeply into his eyes before she said, “Maybe we can think of something to do.”
Roger looked at the floor and nodded, “I understand, Mom. I thought I’d make her something on my own. I wasn’t going to ask for money.”
“I wish I had it to give you, Roger,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, did you find a home for Mandy’s kitten? Or should I get your brother to do it?”
Roger sat down and pulled off his boots. “Not yet, Mom, but I’ll take care of it. I promise.” Mandy only had one fluffy kitten, and it seemed rather special to Roger. He hated to give it away.
The weekend was full of chores—chopping wood, feeding the goats, shoveling paths in the snow, and playing in the barn with the kitten.
Sunday morning Roger went to church with his mother and brother. Then later that afternoon he talked with his dad about making a gift. But nothing seemed right. As he was heading for his room upstairs to think, his mother called after him.
“The kitty, Roger. Did you talk to anyone at Primary?”
Suddenly Roger had an idea! He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before! “Yes, Mom,” he smiled down through the railing. “I have—I mean, tomorrow I will.”
“That’s a good boy. I know it won’t be easy for you, but—”
“It’s OK, Mom, honest,” he replied with a grin.
The following morning he ran in easy strides along the path toward school. Today he had a smile on his face. In the classroom, gaily-wrapped presents were stacked beneath the tiny tree.
The morning passed quickly and as the noon bell rang, Roger hurried to Mrs. Bowman’s desk. “I have to go home for a minute,” he said.
“But you’ll barely have time,” she replied quietly.
“I have to get my gift,” he explained.
She glanced around the room, then, with a smile, nodded. “All right,” she said, “but hurry. We’re having the gift exchange right after lunch.”
Roger raced along the path and burst into the barn. In a corner he knelt beside Mandy and put her kitten into a box. “Sorry, Mandy,” he whispered patting the mother cat. Then he hurried back to school. As he placed the unwrapped box under the tree, Ned looked at Marsha’s name printed across the top and pointed to the holes poked in the sides.
“That’s your gift!” Ned called to Marsha. “Red-faced Roger didn’t even wrap it.”
Marsha’s mouth turned down and she lowered her head in embarrassment.
Roger felt his face turn red and his stomach churn. He looked away. Maybe my gift isn’t such a good idea after all, he worried. Suddenly from out of the box there came meowing noises. Mrs. Bowman looked toward it then looked back at Roger.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked with a smile.
Roger slumped further into his chair and his face had an even redder glow. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.
Mrs. Bowman closed her book. “Well, we’d better have the gift exchange now,” she said. “I think you should be first, Marsha.”
As Marsha lifted the lid of the box, Roger looked out the window, wishing the day were over. Then he heard a loud “Oh!” He turned to see Marsha smiling as she lifted the kitten from the box. The whole class crowded around her desk to get a closer look.
“Do you have more kittens?” Ned asked.
“No, Mandy only had one,” Roger replied.
Roger glanced at Marsha. Her face and eyes sparkled with surprise and pleasure as she cuddled the soft kitten in her arms. Then she turned to Roger and said quietly but warmly, “Thank you.”
Roger grinned with relief. He knew his face was red again, but for once, he really didn’t mind.

Luke looked out his bedroom window and thought about Dad. Dad was in the army and had been gone for months. Luke missed him every day. He wondered when Dad would be able to come home.
Then he remembered the talk he was supposed to give in Primary on Sunday. His stomach did a gigantic flip-flop, and it felt like he had swallowed a bag of rocks. He didn’t want to be nervous, but he was. If Dad were here, he could help.
At bedtime, Mom came in his room to say good night. “Love you forever,” she said.
“Mom,” Luke said, “I wish Dad could help me with my talk, but he’s too far away. I wish I could be brave like him.”
Mom sat next to Luke and pulled the covers around him. “I know,” she said. “I wish he could be here with us too, but he has a really important job to do right now, and when he’s done, he’ll come home. He loves us very much. Do you remember what he always tells us?”
“‘With a prayer, Heavenly Father is always there,’” Luke said.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“Can we say a prayer?” Luke asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Would you like to say it?”
Luke got out of bed and knelt down. He thanked Heavenly Father for prayer and asked Him to protect Dad. Then he asked Heavenly Father to help him with his Primary talk and to help him be brave enough to give it.
When he got back in bed, Luke felt better. He knew he didn’t have to be nervous anymore. He was glad he knew how to pray to Heavenly Father. He gave Mom a big hug.
“I know Heavenly Father will help me be brave when I give my talk on Sunday,” Luke said.
“Brave like Dad?” Mom asked.
“Brave enough.” Luke smiled, and Mom smiled back.

When you have talent, people sometimes tell you it will take you straight to the top. But in Joselén Cabrera’s case, her talent took her all the way to the bottom of the world—Antarctica. And along the way she learned that worthy dreams are worth pursuing, and with those dreams there will be people to help when they are needed.
When she was 14, Joselén won a drawing contest sponsored by the Asociación Civil Antarkos in her native country, Uruguay. The prize: a trip to Antarctica for her and her schoolteacher, with a group of other students and teachers. Her father and the woman who taught her art helped show Joselén how to finish the drawing she had envisioned.
Her trip was an exciting three-stage journey: first, a military transport flight from Montevideo, Uruguay, to Punta Arenas, Chile, then an overwater flight to the Chilean base in Antarctica, followed by an overland trip to the Uruguayan outpost, Artigas Antarctica Scientific Base, some 3,000 kilometers from Montevideo. Several nations have scientific bases clustered on King George Island off the coast of Antarctica.
Joselén’s drawing and her account of her trip were featured in a national magazine, Uruguay Natural.
Antarctica was not quite the way she had imagined it, Joselén says, smiling. Her drawing showed penguins and ice. It was summer when she visited—snow in patches on barren ground and few penguins. But that gave her the opportunity to see a few more of the sights. She enjoyed hiking along the coast, where she saw Collins Glacier, the Drake Passage, and Lake Uruguay, from which her country’s base draws fresh water. She was also able to visit other bases.
The trip was a dream come true for Joselén, who is now 19 and a member of the Colonia Suiza Branch, Colonia Uruguay District. Since the trip, she has made other dreams come true as well. One of those was to complete her Personal Progress experiences and receive her Young Womanhood Recognition. Joselén wears her medallion, she says, so that she will remember what she has achieved and what she can become as a daughter of God. Now that Joselén has finished her secondary schooling, she plans to study architecture at the university level.

Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.

In 2009, shortly after Bro Beharrell’s passing, June records. “I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, but instead of shedding tears, I thought, ‘I am going to the market on Saturday, and I am going to collect for the Severn Hospice just as Gordon would have done.’”
From 2009, June continued to collect donations in Shrewsbury Market by sitting in the hall entrance from 9 am until 2:30 pm almost every Friday and Saturday, whatever the weather or temperature. In the winter, when the cold wind would blow through the entrance, June would take a rug to keep warm. In 2020, amidst the COVID-19 national lockdown, June was not able to collect in the market, so her family helped her set up an online fundraising account which proved very successful.
Now that things have been returning to normal, June has returned to the market to continue collecting donations. Kate Gittins, Shrewsbury’s market hall manager said: “The market’s customers love her; for some, she has become their confidante, for others, particularly those visiting the market for the first time, she provides a warm welcome with her charming smile and generosity of spirit.” The Shropshire Star reported that “her fundraising over the years has helped to fund the general running costs of the hospice and enhanced the care of thousands of people over the years.”

by John Jarvis

It was the first day of spring in the Rhone Valley in southern France, and the young people of Avignon celebrated with an exploration trek to an authentic castle—St. André.

Hanging on a cliff face, St. André overlooks the Rhone River in the small, medieval city of Villeneuve les Avignon. Crossing the “Bridge of the Kingdom” from Avignon to Villeneuve brought the car caravan of young Latter-day Saints into the old, narrow streets where the width of each car barely fit between the ancient walls. Members, friends, and missionaries enthusiastically greeted the magnificent guard towers of the castle entrance. With slits in the stone for archers and guard stations at the top of the towers, it was easy to understand why few would-be conquerors were able to withstand the rain of arrows and boiling oil to win the castle.

“My ancestors could have been soldiers here,” said Cathy as she explored the ins and outs of the fortress-castle that was built in 1360. The only entrance to the castle is between the guard towers where enormous wooden doors can be lowered to seal off the entrance.

Entering the castle courtyard, the group felt as though they had stepped back in time. Inside was a small village complete with bakery, homes, and stone chapel, all abandoned now. They thoroughly explored the castle including the dungeon. The group was impressed by the medieval French devotion to God. They discovered that the castle was actually built on the ruins of a 10th century abbey.

“It’s great to get out,” said Sylvie, “especially with other young people who believe as you do. There is always such a good feeling when we are doing things together.”

After the castle had been thoroughly explored, fun-loving Michele broke out the soccer balls she had stowed in the cars. In France, the only thing a group of young people like better than a good soccer game is two good soccer games. They organized the matches on the large, grassy plain just below the fortress.

It was an ideal day, and good company made it an exciting youth activity. From the castle high on a cliff overlooking the Rhone River Valley, some young members of the Church in France had learned something about their heritage and each other.

Let me tell you about the day I was baptized. It was July 15, and it was a very hot day. A woman was also baptized that day. The baptismal font had been handmade by the missionaries, and it wasn’t much to look at.
We were confirmed right after we were baptized. First, the sister was confirmed by Elder Lloyd. I sat down with the other members, closed my eyes, and quietly listened. Elder Lloyd confirmed her and then began to pronounce a blessing on her. However, Elder Lloyd stopped talking, so I opened my eyes and looked at him with an intent gaze.
Even today I can clearly remember that scene. Elder Lloyd’s eyes were overflowing with tears. And for the first time in my life, I experienced being enveloped in the Holy Spirit. And through the Holy Spirit I gained a sure knowledge that Elder Lloyd loved us and that God loved us.
Then it was my turn to be confirmed. Again it was Elder Lloyd. He placed his hands on top of my head and confirmed me a member of the Church, bestowed the gift of the Holy Ghost, and then began pronouncing a blessing. And again he stopped talking. However, I now understood what was happening. I truly knew through the Holy Ghost that the missionaries loved me and that God loved me.

One Sunday in the summer of 2002, I woke up thinking of my mother, who had recently passed away. I was visiting my old home ward in Pacific Palisades, California, USA, where my mom had worshipped for almost 50 years.
I knelt in prayer to tell the Lord how much I missed her and to ask for a spiritual experience that day.
That afternoon I planned to attend the rededication broadcast of the Nauvoo Illinois Temple at the stake building in Santa Monica, California. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to be admitted to the session. I returned to my car and headed back onto the freeway.
As I drove, I heard a voice say, “Randi, go check on Mary!” Mary is a dear friend of our family and a devout member of another faith. She and her daughter Natasha lived next door to my Aunt Ruby for more than 25 years. Because they had no family nearby, they became part of ours. After my aunt passed away in 1984, my mother often dropped by to visit Mary, always bringing a small gift or something she had baked.
At first I ignored the prompting. I couldn’t just drop in unannounced, and I didn’t have my cell phone to call her. Suddenly the voice came again, louder this time: “Randi, go check on Mary!” This time I heeded the counsel, although I barely had enough time to make my exit off the freeway.
When I arrived at Mary’s, she greeted me but looked ill. I could tell she had been crying. I asked her what was wrong. She responded that she had been quite sick and in pain from a neck injury. Also, she was extremely low on food. She said she had been too ill to walk to the pharmacy or the market.
When I asked her why she hadn’t called someone in our family, she said, “I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to send someone to help me.”
I told her that Heavenly Father had heard her prayers and sent me. We hugged, and then she told me something I’ll never forget. She said, “When you arrived on my doorstep, I saw your mother’s face, not yours.”
I immediately felt my mother’s sweet spirit near me, and I felt prompted to serve just as my mother would serve. Her life, after all, was filled with serving others.
I hope that I never forget the importance of heeding the voice of the Spirit and the example my mother set for me of serving others.

Consider his micromanagement in the life of a dear friend of ours in St. Gallen, Switzerland. Despairing, lonely, and purposeless, she knelt in her room one spring afternoon in 1988 and cried out in anguish to her God that unless he showed her some reason and purpose for living, gave some indication that he heard her prayers, she saw no reason to live any longer and would take her own life. You mantics can guess the rest, for it is a classic instance of divine micromanagement that is repeated many times daily among the children of men. Scarcely twenty minutes later, Elders Albright and Gubler were at her door. Though they were weary after tracting for several hours without success, something in Sister Annalore’s face sparked that ineffable something called the Holy Spirit and led the elders to scuttle their standard door approach. Instead, Elder Albright said, “The Lord has sent us to tell you why you’re here on earth.” Stunned, Sister Annalore had just heard the very words of her prayer repeated in American accents. She invited the elders in and received all they taught her as a direct message from God. Startled into new awareness by the Holy Spirit, which rolled over her in waves of light, she caught in an instant the vision of the plan of God and of her role in the plan. It was as if she had always known these truths but had misplaced them momentarily. Instantly transformed, she was baptized the following week. She is currently a temple-going Young Women president in her ward, intent on keeping vital the presence of the Spirit in her life.