Gospel Story Finder

Brothers and sisters, there is one final experience I would like to share with you today. It is a simple one and not nearly so dramatic as the first two. It is about what an old and wise man taught a young new missionary from a faraway land in an exchange that lasted only a moment or two.
Each morning as we left our fale we would pass this man sitting on the ground outside his home, always making something or working on something. I'm guessing he was in in 80s. We would greet him kindly as we passed by to go about our work. My companion had been in this area for several months before I arrived and had already shared with him a few gospel lessons. The man was pleasant and friendly, but he wasn’t really interested.
One morning as we passed by and said “hello” as we always did the man motioned me over to him. I looked at my companion and he nodded and walked on for a distance and then stopped to wait for me. The man patted the ground and asked me to sit by him. When I did he looked into my eyes for what seemed like a long time and then he asked, “Tell me young man, why are you always in such a hurry?” I smiled and explained that we were missionaries and we were anxious to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with as many people as we could. There was much work for us to do and so we needed to be about it.
His only response was a pause, and then to ask me again, “Tell me young man, why are you always in such a hurry?” I tried to answer him with the same basic message, but in a slightly different way.
Again, his only response was a pause and to ask me a third time, “Tell me young man, why are you always in such a hurry?”
By now I found myself wondering why he kept asking the same question. I wondered if I just wasn’t being clear enough in my explanation to him. As he looked and saw the confusion apparent on my face, there was a hint of a smile. He put one hand on my knee, leaned close to me and almost in a whisper, he said, “You better slow down or you will miss those things that are most important in life!”
I tried to be polite. I thanked him, wished him well, and then I caught up with my companion and together we commenced another day of missionary work.
At the time, I thought to myself, “He just doesn’t understand!”
What I learned during the rest of my time in those islands, with those people, and in all the years since was that I was the one who didn’t understand.
These loving, caring people became my teachers in a thousand ways and in their kindness they taught me that our relationship with God, the Father, and His son, Jesus Christ, were of paramount importance. They taught me that our relationships with each other were fundamental and critical to our earthly and eternal happiness.
They taught me that we must invest in these relationships as our highest priorities. Sometimes to do that in the most appropriate and effective of ways meant that we need to slow down enough, to ponder, to think, to pray, to worship, and to nurture friendships, to cultivate family time, and to enjoy the journey along the way.

During her Peace Corps service, Martha recalls wanting an understanding of eternity and her place in God’s plan. She had inborn faith in a loving Father in Heaven. “I began feeling spiritual promptings telling me to set my house in order,” she remembers. “But when and for what reason was not clear.”
As Martha continued to lose herself in service, she began to awaken spiritually. She occasionally became discouraged, but remembers that she felt very close to God. “I relied on his Spirit to strengthen and direct me,” she says. “During this time, I had a dream similar to the one I would later recognize when I read the Book of Mormon—that of the rod leading to the tree of life. Other dreams assured me that my Heavenly Father would lead me from darkness into the light.
“I began reading my Bible daily but did not understand it,” she says. “I didn’t know what my next step should be—I just trusted the Lord. Then my mother became ill and I returned to Atlanta to care for her. I still continued to search the scriptures.”
While Martha stayed at her mother’s home, two missionaries came to the door. “We are here to teach you the restored gospel of Jesus Christ,” they said. After the first lesson, Martha felt grateful for additional knowledge, but she wasn’t inclined to join this “true church.” But by the third lesson, she began to receive answers to her prayers. She felt strongly that she was being led to this church where she would find people who would love and accept her.
On 1 May 1983, Martha Poston was baptized. She recalls that “my soul hungered and my mind and spirit were athirst, and God didn’t fail me.”

Another time when I felt really hopeless, I went to my room and said a prayer that Heavenly Father would let me know that everything was OK—that I was OK. I was worried about mistakes I’d made in the past and wondered if life would ever get easier. Then I opened up to Isaiah; that’s just what I do when I’m feeling down. And here’s what I read, first thing: “Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:18–19). And I was so grateful, I just cried. In those verses, I felt God telling me not to stay focused on the past but to move forward with faith. He had miracles in the works for me, and I would know them when I saw them.

Later, after I started dating the wonderful guy I’d end up marrying, I reread this scripture and, of course, I cried. Again. God had done “a new thing” and truly had made “a way in the wilderness.” And I did know it.

As the youth of a branch in Samoa planned a combined Aaronic Priesthood/Young Women activity, they decided to make a special effort to invite other youth who were not active in the Church or were not members of the Church to this activity. They would have a brief fun run followed by food and entertainment, and each young man and young woman was encouraged to bring someone with them. They referred to the activity as “saving the one.”
The day of the activity came, and one by one the youth arrived, accompanied by less-active and nonmember friends. Before the opening exercises began, someone looked around and asked, “Where’s Alex?”
Alex and his mother had been baptized some time before, but they both had not attended church in quite a while. But all of the youth remembered him and started asking, “Where’s Alex?” They wondered if anyone knew his address. One of the leaders told them that Alex lived up the hill not far away. Then the young men sprang into action.
Three priests and one of their leaders ran up the hill to get Alex. Minutes later, the rest of the assembled youth could hear sounds of joy and laughter coming down the hill. The priests were returning—with Alex.
As the evening went on, Alex and the others laughed and had fun together, and they also prayed together as things drew to a close. When they parted, they said their good-byes, adding, “Until Sunday.”
When Sunday morning came, Alex was at the leader’s doorstep, ready and excited to go to church. When he arrived at church, he was greeted warmly by everyone, especially his fellow quorum members, who were very happy to see him there. Their seemingly small and simple efforts to “save the one” had had a great effect on Alex, who then attended church and was able to feel the Spirit more strongly.

All of us must speak and act in the name of God in moments when our unaided judgment will not be enough without inspiration. Those moments can come upon us when there is not time to make preparation. That has happened to me often. It did many years ago in a hospital when a father told me and my companion that the doctors had told him that his critically injured three-year-old daughter would die within minutes. As I placed my hands on the one spot on her head not covered with bandages, I had to know, as God’s servant, what He would do and say.

The words came to my mind and my lips that she would live. The doctor standing by me snorted in disgust and asked me to get out of the way. I walked out of that hospital room with a feeling of peace and love. The little girl lived and walked down the aisle into a sacrament meeting on my last day in that city. I still remember the joy and satisfaction I felt from what I had said and done in the Lord’s service for that little girl and her family.

The difference in my feelings at the hospital and the sadness I felt as I walked away from that door as a deacon came from what I had learned about the connection of prayer to priesthood power. As a deacon, I had not yet learned that the power to speak and act in God’s name requires revelation and that to have it when we need it requires praying and working in faith for the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

That experience made it somewhat easier for me to make a difficult decision just one year later. Again Christmastime had come. We were preparing for the oven a gigantic turkey and anticipating the savory feast that awaited. A neighborhood pal of mine asked a startling question: “What does turkey taste like?”
I responded, “Oh, about like chicken tastes.”
Again a question: “What does chicken taste like?”
It was then that I realized my friend had never eaten chicken or turkey. I asked what his family was going to have for their holiday dinner. There was no prompt response, just a downcast glance and the comment, “I dunno. There’s nothing in the house.”
I pondered a solution. There was none. I had no turkeys, no chickens, no money. Then I remembered I did have two pet rabbits. Immediately I placed them in a box and handed the box to my friend with the comment, “Here, take these two rabbits. They’re good to eat—just like chicken.”
He took the box, climbed the fence, and headed for home—a Christmas dinner safely assured. Tears came easily to me as I closed the door to the empty rabbit hutch. But I was not sad. A warmth, a feeling of indescribable joy, filled my heart. It was a memorable Christmas.

A bright orange sun was sinking low on the horizon as we parked our van near our campsite. There were nine of us on the Scout outing plus our two leaders. I was 14 and was nearing Eagle rank.
Like most boys my age, I had exciting plans for the future. Little did I know what terror the next 24 hours held for me and how much my future lay in jeopardy.
Before breakfast the next morning I did my blood sugar testing to see if there was any excess sugar in my system. I’ve been diabetic since I was seven, so it was a daily habit for me to take care of my testing and insulin injections.
The test showed my blood sugar was in the lower range of normal. I prepared a syringe with insulin and gave myself a shot in my leg about eight inches above my knee. It was a daily routine and not much fun, but I was used to it.
“Time to get this camp straightened around,” our Scoutmaster shouted.
We all pitched in and set things in order. Then we gathered near the fire for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, and hot chocolate. I went easy on the hot chocolate figuring a small amount would be okay since my sugar level was low that morning.
It’s hard to pass up goodies all the time. My doctor told me often that the only time diabetics should really have sugar is to bring them out of insulin reactions, and then they need to have it fast.
I felt great after eating breakfast. Along with the other guys, I jumped into the van for a drive along the bay and around the peninsula to the Pacific shore. We hiked in farther than we had planned, and some of the guys went for a swim.
I began to feel something I’d felt a few times before. It was a feeling of tiredness and dizziness, and I knew an insulin reaction was coming on. I’d taken too much insulin that morning and then done more exercise than usual. I had some orange juice in my canteen and drank it right away hoping there would be enough to correct the problem. I hated being different and didn’t want to tell anyone about the reaction.
Our Scoutmaster had to hike back to get the van. He gave us instructions about walking the short distance to the campsite and said to walk together. The guys decided to enjoy the beach for a little while longer before heading back. I still had not told anyone about my insulin reaction. The orange juice seemed to have done the trick.
Within 15 minutes, however, I started feeling dizzy again. I wished I had brought some sugar cubes with me like I usually did. I knew I had to get something sweet or the reaction would be worse. I decided to go back to camp to get what I needed.
Leaving the group was a big mistake. We had all been told by the Scoutmaster which direction to go. However, in my confused state I figured it would be quicker to head inland a few hundred yards and then cut directly across to the campfire. It was one of the most foolish decisions I ever made.
Feeling dizzy I headed over the bank of dunes and, all of a sudden, I was alone. There were sand dunes everywhere—miles and miles of sand. I knew I couldn’t wander around or I’d be lost. So I picked a course and tried to stay with it. I worked to keep my fear under control, but I started to shiver even though it wasn’t cold.
As the minutes passed, I became more and more tired. It wasn’t long before I fell, and I didn’t want to get up again. It seemed as though I lay there for a long time trying to fight off sleep. For a while the shivering stopped, and I dozed. When I opened my eyes, I felt frightened again and wondered if I should stay where I was until someone came looking for me. I needed help. All the teaching and training I’d had made me kneel and pray.
“Heavenly Father, please help me. Let me live through this. Please give me the strength to make it.”
I looked around for the highest dune and climbed to the top of it. From up there I was excited to see beach houses that didn’t look far away.
At least four or five dunes lay between me and the houses. When I climbed back down, I couldn’t see the houses anymore. I started wondering if my imagination had played tricks on me—if I had seen the houses at all. My thinking was getting more confused. It had been hours since I’d eaten, and I was in real trouble. The feeling suddenly came over me that I was going to die.
Once again I prayed with more feeling than I ever had before, and a comforting feeling came over me. I could hear a voice saying, “Keep going, Barry. No matter what, you must keep going.”
My feet dragged in the sand, but I felt as if I had help. I slid down the dunes because, if I walked, I knew I’d fall. And, if I fell down hard, I was afraid I might never get up again.
I kept listening to the faint voice that told me to keep moving, and somehow I got to the edge of the dunes. Birds were chirping there, and I saw the houses in the distance. I headed for them.
Dizzy and staggering I fell on the sand. My arms wouldn’t support me, and I fell on my face and felt sand in my mouth. Through the blackness of my fear, I prayed once more with all my heart. And suddenly I heard a seagull call. The sound made me look up. As my eyes shifted from the bird, I saw something moving. The form was fuzzy because my eyes weren’t focusing very well. It was our assistant Scoutmaster, and I called out to him. At first he didn’t see me, and then he turned and ran toward me waving his arms. When he reached me, he gave me a big bear hug and pounded me on the back.
“Gee, it’s good to see you, Barry. You had us scared to death. What happened?” he asked. “How did you get lost?”
“Had to get sugar,” I mumbled. “A reaction … trying to get back to camp.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll help you. Just lean on me.”
He put his arms around me, and I half-walked and was half-dragged, leaning against him. Just as we were both nearing exhaustion, we saw a man by one of the houses. We yelled to him for help.
He called an ambulance then ran to help us. He picked me up and carried me the rest of the way to his house. His wife ran to the kitchen, returning with sugar and some root beer. She got some into me, and then everyone just waited and watched.
Pretty soon I began to come out of the reaction even though I still felt dazed.
The man at the house told us other people had been lost in the dunes. “There are 13 square miles of them out there in this one area alone,” he said. “Barry’s lucky to have found his way out.”
“It seemed like a miracle to me,” the assistant Scoutmaster said. “There were a thousand different directions I could have gone to look for Barry. The chances of finding him so quickly seemed slim. But I seemed to walk straight to him.”
I didn’t say anything as they talked on. I was thinking about my fervent prayers to my Heavenly Father. It was with deep gratitude that I knew those prayers had been answered.

Consider this example from the life of Elder Dallin H. Oaks:
When he was a young man, he looked forward to serving a full-time mission. But one week after he graduated from high school, war broke out in Korea, and young Dallin Oaks was sent into military duty and was unavailable for missionary service.
Many years later, when Elder Oaks was 48 years old, he was appointed to the Utah Supreme Court. At that time, Elder Oaks and his wife, June, made a plan for the rest of their lives. They determined that he would serve for 20 years on the court and then retire at age 68, after which they would submit their mission papers and serve, as a couple, the full-time mission neither of them got to serve in their youth.
Well, it didn't quite work out that way. Just four years later, Elder Oaks was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles--not exactly the kind of thing you plan ahead for. He would still be serving the Lord, just not in the capacity he anticipated. Then, when he was 66, his wife, June, died of cancer. And two years later, he married his current wife, Kristen.
Elder Oaks observed, "How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord--to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do--has carried me through these changes of eternal importance."[9]

While serving as a missionary in the Philippines, I met Maria Jocelyn Castillo, or “Jocey,” as she was called.
We taught Jocey and her cousin Nestor the first discussion. The Spirit was strong, and Jocey agreed to read the Book of Mormon.
On our next visit, we found an excited Jocey and Nestor and about five additional people who were interested. On another visit, we taught another first discussion to Jocey’s sister Julie and some neighboring cousins.
The discussions went great. Jocey read all her assignments and started reading the Book of Mormon on her own. She soon committed to baptism. But as we got closer to her baptism, I could feel some concerns. I knew why. Jocey had only one leg and used a crutch to get around. She also wore a handkerchief on her head. On our third visit, we learned that Jocey had cancer and three years earlier had had her leg amputated. That had only slowed the disease. She started painful chemotherapy, and when her hair fell out, she wore a handkerchief on her head.
We hesitantly invited Jocey to attend church. I say “hesitantly” because Jocey lived about two miles from the church at the bottom of the biggest hill in the area. She had only one leg and not a lot of money for transportation; I really didn’t expect to see Jocey at church.
Sunday came, the meeting started, and 20 minutes later I saw Jocey and her cousin walk through the gate. I could see a wince of pain on Jocey’s face with each step. When she saw me, she smiled. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. I thought of the times I had missed church because my head hurt or I was too tired. I thought of the sacrifice she was making to get to church.
Jocey never missed a Sunday. I knew the cancer was taking its toll as she coughed and tried to cover her pain. When her baptism day came, she told me she wasn’t ready. She wanted to be baptized, but she thought she would be embarrassed to remove her handkerchief with everyone watching. I said a quick prayer and was able to reassure her. She grabbed her change of clothes and a towel, smiled, and said thank you.
I’ve never felt the Spirit stronger than I did at her baptism. Jocey cried, and so did the others in attendance.
Jocey didn’t stop there. She helped the rest of her family, her next-door neighbors, and friends in their conversions. Finally, her mother joined the Church.
But Jocey’s cancer progressed quickly, and she moved on to the next life. It was hard for me to watch her die after becoming such close friends with her. Finally, I realized how blessed I had been to have been able to help this young woman become closer to the Savior.
On the day of the funeral, the members of her ward helped with the service, showing that great love King Benjamin talked about. As they lowered the casket into the grave, Jocey’s mother fainted and was unconscious for about 30 seconds. When she regained consciousness, she looked up and said softly, three times, “Alam ko kung nasaan na siya,” which in Tagalog means, “I know where she is now.” And she calmly walked away.
I learned from Jocey how important the Church is and how much light the gospel can bring to our lives and the lives of our families and friends. I will always remember Jocey.

The jungle heat was stifling. My pack and rifle were almost heavier than I could bear. Being a greenhorn in Vietnam, I appreciated my buddy Moose watching out for me and pointing out booby traps along the trail, but his long strides were hard to keep up with. Finally, Sarge called a halt, and I collapsed in the middle of the trail. As we caught our breath, the men started talking about the showers, clean beds, and real food waiting for us at base camp just a few hours away.
“Four niner, four niner, this is Zulu 23. Come in, four niner,” the radio crackled. We all recognized Zulu 23, the code name of the chopper overhead, which we called “the man upstairs.” The helicopter pilot advised us to get off the trail and head into the swamp, a detour that would take three or four days. Visions of beds and food vanished.
I couldn’t believe it when my buddies grimly pulled their things together, preparing to plunge into the swamp. Angrily I started yelling at them. “Hey, you guys, don’t listen to him. What does he know about the jungle? He never even gets his feet wet. The swamp will eat you alive if the Vietcong soldiers don’t get you first. Let’s stick to the trail.”
Suddenly Moose loomed over me, and I was painfully reminded of why the guys called him Moose. He picked me up by the front of my shirt with one hand. With the first finger of his other hand he punctuated his words against my chest. “Jones, when the man upstairs talks, you listen!” He dropped me roughly, and I followed meekly into the swamp.
Three days later we finally dragged into camp. That’s when we learned that a company of enemy soldiers had set up an ambush on our trail. Because of his vantage point, “the man upstairs” could see what was happening and had saved our lives.

I remember hearing one such story when I was a young man. It was about President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), and I had heard it so many times that I figured I could probably tell it in my sleep.
One stormy night, President Kimball saw a pregnant young mother and her two-year-old daughter in an airport. The mother couldn’t pick up her child because of the threat of miscarriage, so she scooted the sobbing child along with her foot.
Grumpy passengers looked at her judgmentally and said unkind things under their breath, but President Kimball immediately offered to help.
With the mother’s permission, he picked up and consoled the child and gave the girl a piece of gum. Then he kindly spoke to those in line and asked if the young mother could move to the front. The once-grumbling passengers immediately agreed. He spoke with the clerk and got them on the next available flight, ensuring them a safe and much faster trip home.

Not long ago a mother and father from the Republic of Georgia faced a terrifying reality. The doctors told them their baby had a heart condition, and unless he had surgery he would die. Because they did not have adequate facilities in Georgia, the mother and father walked across their country and all the way to Yerevan, Armenia, seeking medical help.

The Armenian doctors examined the child and agreed that the baby needed heart surgery. They knew how to perform the surgery and they had the necessary facilities, but they couldn’t perform the operation because they didn’t have the right tubing. As much as they wanted to help, there was nothing they could do. They told the couple to take their baby home to die.

As you know, the Church—through its Humanitarian Service arm—sends millions of pounds of food, clothing, and medical and educational materials throughout the world each year. As it so happened, Elder and Sister Sangster were serving a humanitarian mission in Armenia, and they had just received a container of medical supplies.

You may have already guessed that tucked away in this container of medical supplies was a box of precisely the kind of tubing needed for this child’s operation.

When the doctors discovered the tubing, they rushed the baby into surgery and performed the operation.

That’s a wonderful story and one that repeats itself daily as a result of the tremendous humanitarian help that is given to many nations in the world. The great welfare effort given by the Church benefits members and nonmembers during times of need. It reaches out to care for others. But what happened later makes it an even better story. One day, soon after the operation, Elder and Sister Sangster heard a knock at their door. When they opened it, this loving mother and father fell to their knees and wept as they thanked the Sangsters and their church for supplying the precious tubing that had saved the life of their child.

Children, you are a force for good in this world. You have a great impact on your parents and all the adults around you. Your expressions of love and your approach to life often make us think of the Savior’s teaching that we need to become as little children. When our five children were young, it was often a struggle to get all seven of us together for family home evening. Then one day, our ten-year-old daughter said, “Dad, rather than giving the lesson first, why don’t we play a game first?” And she was right! That change was what our family needed to eagerly gather together.

Another example of President Kimball’s discipleship occurred one Christmas Eve several years ago. He called and asked if I was busy. I quickly responded, “Not at all. What can I do for you, President Kimball?” He told me that he needed a companion to go with him to the Primary Children’s Medical Center to give blessings to several children from South America, as well as to some American Indian children.
Once there, we went from floor to floor giving blessings to them and to many others. I was deeply affected by the love of President Kimball and by his tender friendship with each child. He exemplified the tender, loving friendship that the Savior would give. It was easy to see how he could say, “The Savior is my friend.”

Annette was excited when she got a part in the musical her city’s community theater was putting on. She sang in two numbers and had lines to memorize! The rehearsals had taken up a lot of her summer, but Annette didn’t mind because everything about being in a play was fun.
There were three other children in the play—two girls and a boy. Because they were in only three scenes, she and the other children had lots of time to explore the theater while they weren’t rehearsing. They looked in prop rooms and costume rooms and watched people building and painting sets. Heather, who was the oldest, had been in plays before, and she knew her way around backstage.
On the night before the play opened, Heather said to Annette, “Come see what I have!”
Annette followed her. She couldn’t wait to see what Heather would show her.
“Look, someone put free sodas here for us,” Heather said, showing her a small refrigerator in a room that looked like an office.
In the refrigerator were some bottles of Annette’s favorite soda. She was really thirsty, and the drinks looked delicious.
“Go ahead, take one,” Heather said.
“I don’t know …” Annette said. She just wasn’t sure about this.
“It’s OK. They mean for us to take them. I’ve come here before to get one. No one said anything.”
So Annette decided it must be OK. She opened a bottle of soda and took a big drink. It tasted wonderful.
“Let’s go finish these in the restroom,” Heather said.
That seemed strange to Annette. But Heather was older, so Annette followed her to the restroom stalls to drink their sodas.
When Annette realized that they were hiding, she began to wonder if they were doing something wrong. Were they not supposed to take the sodas? She began to worry. After the dress rehearsal was over, even the applause couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling in her stomach.
The next day Annette wasn’t excited about going back for opening night. All the way to the theater, she thought about the soda she had taken. Before she got out of the car, she told her mom about what happened.
“Do you think they really were for us?” Annette asked. She hoped her mother would say yes so she could feel better again.
“How do you feel about it?” Mom asked.
“I feel terrible.”
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you did something wrong.”
“But I can’t put the soda back! What do I do now?” Annette asked.
“Well, you can pray and ask for forgiveness. After the performance you can show me where you found the drinks, and I’ll find out who they belonged to. Then you can pay for the drink with your allowance.”
Annette bowed her head right then and said a silent prayer. In her prayer she said she was sorry she had taken something that didn’t belong to her. After the prayer she felt better.
“I’m very proud of you, Annette,” Mom said.
“You are?”
“Yes. Even though Heather told you it was the right thing to do, you listened to the Holy Ghost telling you that it wasn’t. We all make mistakes. But learning how to repent is an important part of growing up. Now, go break a leg.”
Annette laughed. “Break a leg” is what people in the theater say to wish someone good luck.
“I will,” Annette said as she waved goodbye to her mom. While she put on her makeup and costume, she felt happy. She had learned a lot more than how to be a good actress this summer.

“We can show love for others by doing kind things. Do something nice for somebody you love, and leave a heart where they will find it,” Cassi’s teacher told them as she handed three red hearts to each class member.
Cassi took her hearts home. Mommy hadn’t had time to make her bed before church. Cassi made Mommy’s bed and put a heart on the pillow.
“Thank you!” Mommy hugged Cassi. “When you make my bed, I feel happy.” Cassi felt happy too.
Cassi’s dog, Floppy, was whining. He was thirsty. Cassi filled his dish and put a heart beside it. Floppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he drank. He was happy.
Cassie had one heart left. Who else did she love? Daddy, of course, but he was out of town for two whole weeks, and she wanted to do something else nice for someone sooner than that. She thought hard all week. She loved Heavenly Father, but how could she do something nice for Him?
On Sunday, Cassi knew what to do! She took her last heart to church to remind her of her plan. She listened to her teacher. She was reverent during sacrament meeting. And when she went home, she drew pictures of her favorite story in the Book of Mormon, put the last red heart with them, and gave them to Mommy to send to a missionary.

I have a cross-stitched picture of two pinto ponies that I worked on for about a year. It was almost completed when I discovered I’d made a mistake in the color of one of the ponies. Since it was a possible color for a horse’s hide, I didn’t realize my mistake until I saw that the color of the pony clashed with the adjacent colors on the canvas.
I was devastated. I had spent all that time working on the picture, and the thought of taking out all the stitches of the wrong color was almost overwhelming. With tears in my eyes, I opened the trash can and threw the picture in.
I sat down at the table where I kept my sewing supplies to mourn the loss of my pretty pony picture and move on to other projects. But I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t just let go of the project I had worked so hard on. I opened the trash and retrieved the cloth. I found a knot on the back of the offending color and snipped it carefully. Turning the picture over, I began removing the thread.
Sometimes the removal went quickly. Other times I found it wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t sure how to undo what I had done. Sometimes I had to cut the thread one stitch at a time. My son remarked that he was impressed that I would go to all that work to make it right. It was only a cross-stitched picture, after all.
As I removed the stitches, I began to think of repentance and how hard it has been to correct some of the errors I have made. True repentance requires intense desire, labor, and suffering, but it is worth the effort.
As I restitched the horse, I was reminded that repentance allows Jesus’s Atonement to remove the stain of sin from my life and help me begin anew. My “repentance ponies” hang in my home, a gentle but vivid reminder to do what is right, never give up when I fall short, and remember that through repentance, the Atonement will make up the difference.

Luke arrived in 1983, a month after we had moved to Solihull in the West Midlands.
Luke has Down syndrome and was born with a heart defect that needed open-heart surgery when he was 15 months old. We now know that the operation was made possible by the work that President Russell M. Nelson and others did in inventing a machine that made open-heart surgery possible. How grateful we are for that. Luke survived and was miraculously discharged five days after the operation rather than the two weeks that had been expected. He grew up being much loved by his family and Church family. He doesn’t speak, has a hearing challenge and severe learning disabilities, but these didn’t hold him back. He was baptised at the age of 12 and received the Aaronic Priesthood at the age of 15. He now holds the office of a priest. We moved to Malvern in 2013 and he loved fulfilling his priesthood duties in the Worcester Ward.

I received an answer to a prayer when I was very young and living in Pocatello, Idaho. I had a pet rabbit that was very important to me. One day it got out of its cage and could not be found. I was worried that the neighborhood dogs and cats might hurt my rabbit. I looked everywhere, then decided to go behind our wooden shed and pray. As my prayer ended, I instantly knew where to find my rabbit. I looked under a pile of boards and found it. Our prayers can be answered by the Holy Ghost putting thoughts into our minds.

A true story from Palau.
Jewel sat on the bench in sacrament meeting with her parents and brother. She drew pictures of scripture stories. She tried listening to the speaker, but her stomach felt like it was full of nervous butterflies!
Today was Jewel’s first day going to Young Women class instead of Primary. She didn’t want to leave her friends in Primary behind. She loved singing and reading scriptures with them.
But Jewel was turning 12 this year. It was time to move into the Young Women program.
Jewel closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Heavenly Father, please help me to have a good Young Women class.
After the closing prayer in sacrament meeting, Jewel took a deep breath and walked to the classroom. The older girls were already there. There were four of them. They were talking and giggling.
“Hi,” Jewel said.
They smiled. “Hi.”
The teacher came in and welcomed Jewel. Then she started the lesson.
For most of the class, Jewel felt alone. She was nervous to talk because she didn’t know the other girls yet. She would have to be in Young Women for a long time. It felt like forever! Would she always feel lonely here?
Then a small voice came to her mind. You won’t be in Young Women forever. You were just old enough to move on and learn more about being a disciple of Jesus Christ.
Jewel felt comforted by the words. She recognized them as the Holy Ghost helping her. Even though she didn’t have many friends in Young Women yet, she wasn’t alone. She had the Holy Ghost.
After class was over, Jewel found her family.
“How was the Young Women class?” Mom asked.
Jewel gave her a hug. “It was OK. I miss Primary, and I don’t know the girls yet. But I felt the Holy Ghost comfort me.”
Mom smiled. “That’s good to hear! And maybe next time will be even better.”
Jewel nodded. She hoped Mom was right.
The next time she had Young Women class, Jewel said hi to the girls again.
“Hi, Jewel,” one of them said. “You should sit by me!”
Jewel smiled and sat by the girl. Her name was Ellie. They talked a lot before the lesson started. Ellie was kind and made her feel welcome.
During the lesson, the teacher asked if anyone had an experience with the Holy Ghost.
Jewel raised her hand. “I felt the Holy Ghost help me when I was nervous to join Young Women,” she said. “The Holy Ghost helps me when I grow and face challenges.”
Jewel was thinking about how the Holy Ghost comforted her when she felt alone. It felt good to share her experience with the girls in Young Women.
After she shared, a few other girls shared too. Jewel liked hearing what they had to say.
Jewel still missed Primary sometimes. But because of the Holy Ghost, she was ready to keep on growing.