Gospel Story Finder

Today there is a sister of yours in Australia. Her name is not Esther, but she, too, influenced a man to become great. This couple is doing much good in Australia. After an extended courtship, the fellow thought the time was right to propose marriage. In response to his proposal, his girl friend said, “If you marry me, it will have to be in the temple.” He, a nonmember, said, “What is a temple?” He found out, and months later they were married in the temple. Today this woman of influence stands at his side as the wife of one of our very successful stake presidents.
Her actions, like Esther’s, are helping many Latter-day Saints in the “land down under” to be saved and find their way back to their Father in Heaven because she, too, courageously used her power as a woman to influence for good.

Choir practice was every Wednesday night in the chapel at 7:30 P.M. By that time I was also a forward on the ward M Men basketball team, athletic manager, and captain of the team. Choir rehearsals and league games were often scheduled on the same Wednesday night. This produced conflicts. One night father insisted I attend choir practice and miss a game. Usually, in such cases, I was excused from choir practice. As I look back, the bitter taste I felt during that particular rehearsal has long since vanished. The glorious sounds of Handel resonate through my soul while my basketball prowess has somewhat diminished!

In my years of service as a Relief Society visiting teacher, I have had many spiritual experiences. One of them, several years ago, continues to be gratifying.
My companion and I were assigned to visit the widow Anderson (the name is fictitious) and her two children who were grown but who were both at home because of mental retardation. After several months of pleasant visits with the widow, we had met her son but not her daughter, Laura, who we learned was very shy. We were told that whenever Laura would see or hear anyone coming, she would go to her room.
One Saturday afternoon, after attending a Relief Society seminar, I decided I would stop by the Anderson home for our monthly visit, since earlier calls had not found anyone home. I had been touched deeply by one comment in the seminar. One of the speakers had said, “When you do your visiting teaching, do you make a real effort to serve your sisters or are you just eager to check their name off your list each month after you have been in their home?” That struck me forcefully because after several months of visiting the Anderson family, we had made no real effort to get to know Laura. I had a prayer in my heart that I might find Laura at home that afternoon and have a chance to talk with her.
When I rang the doorbell, Sister Anderson answered and invited me into the living room. Then she quickly excused herself to check something on the stove. There was Laura! She was sitting in a rocking chair with her leg on a footstool.
At first she seemed startled by my presence, but after I stooped down and inquired about her foot, she was calmed.
I felt the Holy Spirit touch me in a quiet, humbling way, and as thoughts came to my mind, I would speak them to Laura. “I wish you would come to Relief Society,” I said. “It would be special for all of us to feel your beautiful spirit.”
“I would love to come,” she replied, “but I have a large growth on my foot. I have hardly been able to wear shoes for months, and I have real pain when I try to walk.”
I looked at her foot again. Yes, there was a large growth. I could see it now, and I could see the difficulty of her going to church or anywhere else without a great deal of help.
Then the Spirit prompted, “Her foot problem is your problem now. What are you going to do about it?”
“Should I take her to the doctor?” I thought, and the Spirit urged, “Yes; now.”
“This moment?” I thought.
“Yes,” was the prompting.
“Laura,” I said, “can I help you with your foot? My husband’s uncle is a doctor. He’s off today, and he lives just across the street from our house. Will you go with me to his home so we can ask him if he can help you?”
Laura looked at me for a few moments with trust shining from her yes. “Yes,” she said. “It will take me a few moments to get ready. Will you help me?”
I helped her get up and walked with her into her room. I was touched by the simple beauty I saw there. How many hours and how many years had Laura sat on that bed, alone with her thoughts and feelings? As I stood in the doorway watching her gather some things together, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost more powerfully than before. I felt as if the Master were standing by me.
Tears came to my eyes. The Lord was actually aware of this act on behalf of Laura! In a flash, the Savior’s life and teachings took on a great simplicity. “Feed my sheep,” he had said. “Love one another.” (John 13:34.)
I checked with Laura’s mother, who was pleased that I would take such an interest in Laura. She had thought the growth an inalterable result of the polio Laura had when she was thirteen.
We went to the doctor. Yes, Laura’s foot ailment was a consequence of her polio, but it could be resolved. He put me in touch with a foot doctor, a member of the Church, who agreed to see Laura in a few days.
After the specialist examined Laura’s foot, he came out to the waiting room. “Are you Laura’s sister?” he asked.
“Well, she calls me Sister Hinze. I’m her sister in the gospel,” I said.
He smiled, understanding. “She told me to come and talk to her sister who was waiting here for her.
“She needs immediate surgery,” he continued. “with that done, Laura should walk almost perfectly for the first time in twenty-five years.
“And Sister Hinze—if there’s any problem with finances, I’ll gladly do the surgery free.” He smiled again, and I knew the Spirit had affected him as well.
Laura had the surgery. Everything went well. My visiting teaching companion and I went to see her the next day in the hospital. Laura looked radiant. She was up and walking around and thrilled at the new prospect of mobility.
Her foot healed rapidly. It wasn’t very long until all the bandages were off and she was free to go anywhere she wanted. By this time we were making almost weekly trips to Laura’s home to check on her progress. One morning as I was talking with her, the Spirit prompted, “Now that her foot is better and she is able to walk properly, you need to help her find something meaningful to do with her time.”
I wasn’t surprised by that prompting, but I was a little overwhelmed, realizing as I never had before how the Lord desires us to strengthen one another and care for one another.
I talked about Laura with her mother. She seemed grateful for my concern and asked for my help. After praying, I discussed the promptings I received with my visiting teaching companion and with my husband. Then we did our homework on this assignment.
There was a special school for the handicapped in a nearby community, and my psychologist husband suggested we ask a friend of his there for help. This friend made an appointment for Laura and me at the school.
When I picked up Laura that afternoon, her mother had bought her a new outfit. The clothes were simple and humble, but Laura looked beautiful. She was also nervous. This was a special day for her, a day of new adventure. She wasn’t sure she could cope with school, yet she wanted with all her heart to succeed.
The school administrators treated Laura royally. She was thrilled as they escorted us around the school and told us about their two-part program: classes part of the day and a work opportunity the other part. Laura would actually earn money! Something beyond her furthest dreams just a few months earlier.
As we sat at the desk to fill out the papers, the director said, “Mrs. Hinze, we are thrilled that Laura can join us here at our school. May I put your name and address on the form to keep you informed of her progress? However, I don’t know what to call you on the form—friend? supporter? advocate? Yes, I think I’ll call you advocate. Laura’s advocate. Is that all right with you?”
Tears of gratitude filled my eyes. “Advocate would be just fine.”

In March of this year, my wife and I had the privilege of taking some invited guests on a tour of the new Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple during the open house prior to its dedication.
As we stood in the beautiful temple baptistry, one of these guests asked an intriguing question. He said something like this: “In our tribal traditions, our ancestors are so important to us—how is it that you connect your families together through the generations?” It was a beautiful teaching moment as we then shared how in a gift of love and service, many faithful members of the Church perform vital ordinances, such as baptisms, on behalf of loved ones who have died. We then took him to the sealing room where we showed him the altar where families are united for the eternities and had him look into the mirrors which face one another—symbolic of the eternal links made between past and future generations.
This good man had many follow up questions and left the temple deeply affected by what he had seen and felt. He eagerly took a copy of the My Family booklet so he could collect names and stories of his own ancestors. With great sincerity he expressed gratitude for being in the temple and left with a new understanding of God’s plan for eternal families and the importance of sacred temples in that plan.
Another guest was so moved by the feelings of peace he had felt while sitting reverently in the celestial room that he asked: “I am a Catholic, but can I still come back to the temple to pray with your members, because I have felt so good in this special place of worship?” We invited him to bring his family as often as he wanted during the open house but explained that coming to the temple after it had been dedicated would require him to be a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

When I was 19 I was called up to the Swedish army. As an artillery signalist, I served in the Eighth Company’s staff and leading platoon.

At 4:00 one January morning, our officers ordered us to get dressed with full equipment and gather outside in 20 minutes. Tired and hungry from the previous day’s activities, I felt like I had barely closed my eyes, and here I was again preparing to confront a new test. I still remember how it felt, stepping from the warmth of the barracks into an indescribable cold.

A huge military bus arrived to pick us up, and we were told we were going to Stockholm for a big test to see if we were qualified to continue our training. Arriving in the city, we were divided into three groups, with different maps and separate destinations.

We walked the streets of Stockholm, fully equipped with weapons, ammunition, and other gear. At each checkpoint we were required to perform a physical test, such as hostage confrontation, street battle, running through tunnels and buildings, and first aid treatment. After every test we barely had time to rest before moving on to the next checkpoint.

The freezing asphalt made my feet numb, and my shoulders ached from the heavy equipment. But I kept going and tried not to complain. Our group experienced bitter weather and difficult trials, but we were still marching as brothers. Along the route, we encountered shocked civilians who laughed, pointed fingers, and shouted at us.

I was tired, cold, dirty, and in pain when we reached our final destination and the bus picked us up. During the trip back to the base, I reflected on the trials my platoon and I had endured and asked myself if this training was worth anything besides the medals awarded at the conclusion. I asked myself if anyone else besides us had gone through trials as we had that day.

Suddenly, I thought of the hardships and sacrifice of the pioneers of the early days of the Church. I recalled the stories of their hunger, cold, and pain; of being mocked; and of walking endless miles—the same things I had experienced that day. The big difference is that I had to endure this for only one day. The pioneers traveled in cold and snow, rain and heat, walking through mud and dust. They walked with little material security, having only faith that the Lord would protect them. The pioneers walked to find Zion because the Lord had a marvelous work for these members to perform.

Suddenly, without thinking, I started to sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30), and right there on the bus I started to feel a difference within me. A great warmth and happiness flowed through my body. I was not active in the Church at that time and I had thought I would never come back, but suddenly a feeling came over me saying, “Come back to church.”

When I got to the base, I called my parents and told them I loved them and wanted to go back to church. The following Sunday was a huge test for me to see if I had the courage to return because I had been away for so long. Going back wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. My family and the other members helped me feel welcome.

I began to prepare to serve a mission and two years later received a mission call to serve in the Cape Verde Praia Mission. When I arrived in Salt Lake City on my way to the Missionary Training Center, I saw the marvelous work performed by the pioneers in building a magnificent temple and planning a beautiful city. I said softly, “Thank you.”

Today, when I ask myself if that military test was worth anything, I answer that it was, in every way, because in that moment of great insight on a bus with a platoon of fellow soldiers, I realized how important the work of the Lord is. It was worth it because I came back to the Lord and am now doing His work and His will.

My companion handed me an envelope and said, “Sister Jones, I think this is for you.” I looked at the return address and was pleased to see my cousin’s name printed neatly in the corner. I had just been transferred to a new city from the other side of southern France and didn’t think anyone back home in the United States was aware of my new address. I opened the envelope and read a short note in which my cousin said that she had recently received an e-mail from her French pen pal after eight years of no contact.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.

During my second Christmas as a full-time missionary, my companion and I were visiting a recently baptized member and her family. After a great Christmas dinner, we shared with them a Christmas message.
We asked the family to draw pictures of things that reminded them of the season, such as stars, presents, nativities, and Christmas trees. We then read some scriptures, including 2 Nephi 19:6: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called, Wonderful, Counselor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” We sang “Once in Royal David’s City” (Hymns, no. 205), watched a movie about the Nativity, and bore testimony of Jesus Christ.
It was a Christmas in simple circumstances, away from our families and the usual Christmas celebrations, but as we bore testimony of the Savior, I felt a deeper love and appreciation for Him and His birth than I had known before. I realized it would be my last Christmas in full-time missionary service to my Heavenly Father, but I understood that His Spirit could testify to me of His Son wherever I was.

I have seen that same heart in the Saints of the Pacific. In a small village on one of these islands, an older man and his wife accepted the invitation of the missionaries to sincerely ask the Lord if the lessons they were being taught were true. In this process, they also considered the consequences of the commitments that they would need to make if the answer that they received led to their accepting the restored gospel. They fasted and prayed to know the truthfulness of the Church and the veracity of the Book of Mormon. The answer to their prayers came in the form of a sweet but ringing affirmation: “Yes! It is true!”

Having received this witness, they chose to be baptized. This was not a choice without personal cost. Their decision and baptism carried with them a high price. They lost employment, they sacrificed social standing, important friendships dissolved, and the support, love, and respect of family were withdrawn. They now walked to church each Sunday, exchanging awkward glances with friends and neighbors who were walking in the opposite direction.

In these difficult circumstances, this good brother was asked how he felt about their decision to join the Church. His simple and unwavering reply was “It is true, isn’t it? Our choice was clear.”

These two newly converted Saints truly had the heart of the widow. They, like the widow, “cast in all” that they could give, knowingly giving of their “want.” As a product of their believing hearts and enduring faith during those hard times, their burdens were lightened. They were aided and surrounded by supportive and ministering Church members, and they were personally strengthened by their service in Church callings.

After they cast in their “all,” the greatest day came when they were sealed in the temple as an eternal family. Like He did the converts under Alma’s leadership, “the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”2 Such is the heart of the widow exemplified in this wonderful couple.

I have an uncle who was continually seeking to improve and increase the gifts and talents he had received from Heavenly Father. Let me share one story from his life that has helped me to see how spiritual gifts and talents are developed and magnified.
One day when my uncle Ben was at work at a copper mine, he noticed an old piece of bent metal lying by a railroad track. He asked his boss if he could have it. His boss said, “Ben, that old piece of metal is worthless. You are wasting your time to even pick it up.”
Uncle Ben smiled and said, “I see much more than an old piece of metal.”
With his boss’s permission, he took it home. In his workshop he heated the metal until it was red hot. Then he was able, with a great deal of work, to mold and bend it until it was straight.
When it cooled, he drew a large knife-shaped pattern on it. With a hot blowtorch, he cut the metal into the shape of a knife. Uncle Ben then began knocking off the rough edges, working hour after hour to cut, grind, polish, and refine that old piece of metal.
Day after day he worked on what his boss had called a worthless piece of metal. Slowly the blade began to take shape and become a beautiful, shining masterpiece.
All it lacked now was a handle. Uncle Ben went to the woods and found an elk antler. Back at his workshop he cleaned, cut, and polished the antler. When he was done, it was smooth and beautiful. Carefully he attached the handle to the knife. What was once an old, rusty, bent piece of metal became a beautiful knife that won several awards.

“Ski down here to the right, Ethan. Remember to keep your ski tips together and the backs apart, and follow me.”
Ethan was nervous. He watched as his ski teacher put his ski tips together and snowplowed a short way down the hill. This was only his second day of skiing, and even though he loved the snow and the mountains, he was still a little scared of skiing. As he looked at the path his teacher had taken, he thought it looked too steep.
“I think I’d rather go this way,” Ethan called to his teacher, pointing off to his left. There was another path that looked much easier. It was flat and straight as far as he could see.
But his teacher shook his head.
“You don’t want to go that way,” he called to Ethan. “It gets a lot harder than it is right there—you just can’t see it.” He pointed again to the path on the right and said, “Go right where I went,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
Ethan faced a tough decision. The path his teacher wanted him to take looked scary. The other path seemed like a better choice. Should he listen to his teacher or do what he wanted to do?
He really wanted to take his own path, but Ethan decided to follow his teacher’s advice. His palms were sweaty inside his mittens as he pushed his skis out into the triangle shape his teacher had taught him and started down the path on the right.
It was easier than he thought! He skied quickly down to where his teacher was waiting.
“Good job, Ethan!” his teacher said as Ethan skied over to him. “I’m glad you trusted me. Do you see that?” he said, pointing up the hill.
Ethan looked at the very steep, rocky, scary-looking hill his teacher was pointing to. “Yes,” he answered.
“That’s the path you wanted to go down,” his teacher replied.
Ethan gulped. His teacher was right—the path on the right was much better.
“Are you glad you listened to me?” his teacher asked.
“Definitely!” Ethan replied.
As they skied down the rest of the hill, Ethan trusted his teacher without worrying. He knew his teacher would tell him the right way to go.
Heading home after his ski lesson, Ethan thought a lot about how scary it would have been if he hadn’t trusted his teacher and hadn’t taken the safer path. His mom was always quoting a scripture about trusting in the Lord instead of in our own understanding. Maybe that was because Heavenly Father’s plan was the safest path—even if it did seem harder at first.
Ethan could remember a few times when he had wanted to do something that seemed easier or more fun than keeping Heavenly Father’s commandments. He decided that from now on he would trust Heavenly Father and follow His path. He felt a warm feeling inside because he knew he would be safe.

When my parents realized my desire to be baptized, they surprised me by agreeing to have the missionaries come for a visit. When they arrived at our home, my parents had a good feeling. After talking for a while, the missionaries invited us to sing a hymn, “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294). As we sang together, my mother had tears in her eyes. Everyone was touched.
This experience softened my parents’ hearts, and a year and eight months after I first met the missionaries, I was baptized. I later served a mission in Utah and have had many wonderful opportunities in the Church.

My patriarchal blessing tells me that I will find enjoyment in completing family history work. As a 16-year-old receiving this blessing, I didn’t think too much of this. I knew that my mum and grandmother had done a lot of work and much of my family tree had already been completed. They also attended the temple often to process their findings, so it was not something I thought I needed to think about.
It wasn’t until I went to university that I set myself up properly with an account on FamilySearch, and even then, it was a couple of years later and after getting married that I realised I could link my account to the work my family had already done, so that I wouldn’t have to manually type my family tree.
In recent years I’ve been trying to do as much as I can to get to grips with FamilySearch and understand its crucial role in doing work for others in the temple. As names have become unreserved, I’ve been trying to save them for my family so when we can go back to the temple, we can continue to do the work.

Take me for example. I had LDS friends since I was 13, and I eventually joined the Church when I was 19. But despite learning a lot about Church culture over those years, I had a hard transition. To me, the Church culture and practices were so different that they seemed kind of weird.
I grew up in a church that in many ways is quite unlike the one you know or are coming to know. At church the ministers and choir wore robes similar to high school graduation robes. During worship service—their equivalent of sacrament meeting—the ministers gave sermons and did all the talking. Every Sunday we all repeated the Lord’s Prayer in unison and always sang the hymn “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” Babies were baptized by having water sprinkled on their heads, but confirmation happened at around 14 years old.
We used grape juice instead of water for the sacrament, and high school kids attended Sunday School with the adults in a class that talked about current issues in society.
Even our building was different from the LDS buildings I had visited. We had a large chapel modeled after Christian churches in Europe, with a high peaked roof and tall, stained-glass windows. There was a cross in the choir loft. A beautiful, tall bell tower stood out front. I loved ringing that bell after church services. It was heavy enough that it could lift a small child off the ground as the rope went up and down.
Our customs and social beliefs were different too. We were taught that it was OK to drink alcohol or smoke. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend as a teenager was OK. In fact, we were taught that you could even have sexual relations before marriage as long as you believed you were in love. We never talked about having a testimony. The first time I saw a fast and testimony meeting—wow! I couldn’t believe how odd that seemed. No one ever stood to share their beliefs like that in my church.
Coming to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wasn’t just about learning new doctrines, such as the premortal life and baptism for the dead; it was a change in culture and lifestyle and expectations. Resolving those differences was a hard road to walk.
The first six months after my baptism were really hard. I almost didn’t make it. Everything was so different, especially because I was attending church without my family. I still struggled with certain doctrinal points, as well as feelings of being estranged from my past.
Fortunately, my friends in the Church were patient, kind, and constant. They took me to activities, invited me to their homes for dinner and family home evening, and prayed with me. That made a huge difference not just in my joining the Church but also in my staying active and finding strength when my testimony wavered. I owe a lot to them for helping me figure things out.

Not far from the Salt Lake Tabernacle lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then a husband. Friends visited, words brought a measure of comfort, but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world that surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the voice of the Lord, which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each commenced a ministry in the holy temple. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

Canby Second Ward
The Primary children of the Canby Second Ward, Oregon City Oregon Stake, enjoyed a missionary activity. They wrote letters to missionaries serving from their ward and accepted the challenge to give a Friend magazine to someone who is not a member of the Church. Returned missionaries shared mission experiences. The children continue to be successful missionaries by being great examples, sharing the gospel, and inviting their friends to Primary.

Before I met Ben, I was nearing the age of missionary service and had seriously considered serving a full-time mission. But then Ben entered my life, and I knew that Heavenly Father had a different plan for me.
When Ben and I got engaged, relatives who knew about my thoughts to serve a mission asked me about my choice, and I would tell them, “I decided that I wanted to pick my own missionary companion—and stay with him for eternity.”
When you’re married, you and your spouse have the chance to participate in the work of salvation together. Ben and I have found great joy in building a Christ-centered home, studying and living the gospel together, serving in the Church, and inviting others to come unto Christ. As we work together to build the kingdom of God, we grow closer, our love deepens, and life is more fulfilling.

Pearl held tightly to the handle of her small suitcase as she and her mother and father walked up the dusty road from the bus stop toward Kibbutz Habbonim. They had arrived in Israel only two days before. Her parents wanted to learn to speak Hebrew and work on a kibbutz.
The sun was beating down on Pearl’s bare head. Her hands and face were wet with perspiration and she wished they could have stayed in Tel Aviv.
“Look, those are banana plants,” her father said, pointing to the tall, large-leafed green plants growing all along the road.
As they walked up over a small hill, the kibbutz lay before them. The tan-colored buildings with red-tiled roofs were clustered close together and surrounded by green fields and orchards.
“We’ll go first to the secretary of the kibbutz and then to the children’s house,” her father said. He lovingly took Pearl’s hand in his and asked. “You’re not afraid to stay there are you?”
Father had explained to her that she would be staying in the children’s house with many other boys and girls while her parents slept and ate somewhere else. She would see them for only two or three hours each afternoon. At other times they would be working on the kibbutz or attending their Hebrew classes while she worked and attended hers. Pearl was still a little apprehensive. “You are nine years old now,” her father continued, “and I think you can learn to live without Mama and me so close.” Then he squeezed her hand and Mama hugged her, worry showing in her eyes.
Later, they went to the children’s house. Cool green vines hung over the front porch, and through the screen Pearl could see small children playing on the floor. The door opened and a tall dark-haired woman smiled down at her.
“So this is Pearl,” she said. “I am Hannah. Say shalom (peace) to your parents for right now and come with me.”
Pearl turned and hugged each of her parents very hard. “We’ll be back this afternoon,” her mother said, smiling encouragingly at their daughter. Then they turned and walked quickly away before Pearl could see the anxiety in their eyes.
Inside, the room was dim and cool. Cribs and small beds lined the walls. Pearl and Hannah stepped around babies and toys as they walked through. Older girls were playing with some of the babies or caring for them.
“This is the room for the very little ones,” Hannah explained. “You will be with children near your own age, of course.”
They entered another room, long and narrow with beds and small chests along the walls. The small windows were open with a light breeze moving the curtains, and the room was bare except for a few pictures above some of the beds.
“Here is your bed,” Hannah said, sitting down on it and motioning for Pearl to sit beside her. Pearl noticed the bed had only one sheet and a woolen blanket folded on top of a thin mattress. “You may put your things in the drawers. Later you will receive clothes from the kibbutz,” Hannah added, and then explained about the bathrooms, the dining hall, the classroom, and some of the rules. Finally she put her hand on Pearl’s arm, and looked at her intently. “Now,” she said, “this is the last time that I will speak to you in English. From now on I will speak only in Hebrew.”
Pearl felt a kind of panic rising within her. “How will I understand you? I don’t know Hebrew at all,” she said.
“You will understand because you will have to understand. You may ask questions in English until you begin to learn Hebrew, but I will answer you in Hebrew.” She smiled at Pearl. “Come,” she said. “I will show you to the classroom for the children your age.”
Hannah pointed it out to her and then left. Pearl was lonely, frightened, and confused. The boys and girls all spoke in Hebrew and sang several Israeli songs, clapping their hands to the rhythms. They paid little attention to Pearl, who longed for the time when she could be with her parents again.
After a meal of simple food in the dining hall where Pearl sat and ate by herself, she was allowed to walk up to the kibbutz store and meet her parents. She hugged them as though they had been apart for a week. Sitting on the cool grass under a large tree, her parents said they felt lost in their Hebrew classes, too, which made Pearl feel a little better. It was wonderful to be with them again.
That night in bed Pearl tried to hold back her tears. Children were sleeping all around her, but she had never felt more alone. Some had said shalom to her and gazed at her briefly, and then resumed laughing and talking with each other. Finally Pearl turned her face into the hard pillow and cried, not caring if the others heard her.
“Baby,” someone said.
“Crybaby! Crybaby!” several others took it up.
They know that much English anyway, Pearl thought bitterly. They are mean and cruel. She stifled her crying, and finally the taunting stopped. Pearl fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep.
For two days Pearl ate and slept and studied and worked by herself. She made no effort to be friendly to the other children, and they ignored her. She felt alive and happy only during the beautiful, quiet time she spent talking with her parents. She had never loved them so much or felt so close to them.
On the third day, as Pearl was making her bed, Hannah came to her, accompanied by a small dark-haired girl.
“Pearl, this is Bella,” Hannah said in Hebrew. “She just arrived from Poland. Perhaps you can be friends.”
Pearl understood the word friends, chaverim. She looked at Bella and wondered if they could be friends. She would not know English, so how could they understand each other? Hannah left and Pearl finished making her bed while Bella silently watched. Then they walked into the dining hall and ate together, but neither made any attempt to speak. After breakfast the girls went to the classroom, but Pearl felt uncomfortable having this strange, quiet girl following her everywhere. During their noon chores she noticed Bella watching, but Pearl tried not to stare back.
The next afternoon after visiting with her parents, Pearl returned slowly and reluctantly to the children’s house. Hannah stood on the porch waiting for her. She put her hand on Pearl’s shoulders. “Pearl,” she said, “I told you before that I would not speak to you in English again, but I am going to do so one more time because I have something to tell you that I want you to understand. Please come with me.”
She took Pearl’s hand as they walked through the kibbutz. The sun was scorching, and Hannah took a small blue cap from her straw bag and put it on Pearl’s head. They walked between the banana plants with their welcome shade and then into a dusty and hot open area. Ahead of them Pearl could see a wall of tall pale green prickly pear cacti.
When they were closer, Hannah motioned for Pearl to sit on a large, smooth rock. She took from her bag an empty tin can, a glove, and a small knife. Pearl watched her curiously. Hannah put on the glove, took the tin can and began knocking green, egg-shaped balls off a nearby cactus. When five or six had fallen to the ground, she rolled them around in the dust with the sole of her sandal, crushing the spines that covered the balls. Then she picked two up in her gloved hand. With the other hand she slit a cross in the skin of the fruit with her knife. She squeezed, and the skin pulled back. She held it out to Pearl, who carefully picked the bright red fruit out of the dusty skin and put it into her mouth. The fruit was incredibly cool and juicy and filled with small seeds that slipped down her throat. Pearl had never tasted anything so delicious, and smiled when Hannah offered her another.
After they had each eaten three, Hannah sat down near her. “In Hebrew, Pearl,” Hannah began, “this cactus is called sabra. You can see that it’s very prickly. The spines protect it so that it can grow large and produce fruit. The fruit is surprisingly sweet and very tender. Didn’t you think so, Pearl?”
“Ken (Yes),” Pearl answered in Hebrew.
“A person who is born in Israel is also called a sabra,” Hannah continued, “and is like this sabra—prickly, sometimes hard on the outside, but inside tender and sweet. You were not born in Israel and neither was I. I came here from England when I was eighteen. I married here, but my husband was killed in the fighting. I was lonely and homesick for the pleasant green of England, but I wanted to serve Israel just as your parents want to, so I stayed here and learned to be a sabra. You must learn this too.
“We live in constant danger from those who would destroy us. We must be strong and ready to fight. You must learn to protect yourself like the sabra so that taunting and ridicule will not reach you because of your prickly spines. But inside you will be tender and sweet, kind and helpful, ready to nourish others. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Pearl answered. She looked at the cactus in front of her. A small bird had pecked a round hole in it and darted swiftly inside to build a nest, unafraid of the sharp spines.
Hannah prepared a few more of the prickly pears for Pearl before they walked silently back to the children’s house. Hannah smiled at her as they parted inside the door. Pearl felt a glow within, in spite of her feeling of guilt for the way she had treated Bella. She lay on her bed for a while, thinking of the sabra and the things Hannah had told her. As she lay there, two girls her age walked through the room. They looked at Pearl and laughed. “Baby wants her mama and daddy,” one said in English, nudging the other.
Pearl smiled and raised her hand in greeting. “Shalom chaverim,” she said. The girls looked at each other quizzically and smiled. “Shalom,” they replied.
Pearl gathered her paper and pencils for afternoon classes. On her way to the classroom, she looked for Bella and saw her standing in the hallway.
“Come on, let’s go to class,” she invited, taking Bella’s hand and pulling her along. “Let’s say the alphabet in Hebrew,” she said, beginning, “Aleph, Beth, Gimel …”
Bella smiled radiantly and said them with her, and together they walked to class.

Just like Esther, Joseph Smith, Joseph of Egypt, and many other scriptural figures, you can have the courage to stop your friends from speaking inappropriately about others. I was going through the same situation, and I had the courage to talk to my friends in a loving and understanding way. In the end, they accepted and understood how important it is to use pure and worthy language! Besides reading the scriptures and praying, fasting helps a lot in those situations. Pray and ask with faith that our Heavenly Father will give you the courage to speak and touch the hearts of your friends.
Paola H., 17, San Salvador, El Salvador

Emo’onahe (eh-moh-oh-nah) decided to share her talent of hoop dancing, which is part of her Native American culture. “One of my friends who went to FSY before me told me that they had this talent show and that I should perform,” she says.

“I was a little bit nervous, so I tried not to focus on the crowd.” But it was kind of hard not to! “I could hear everyone going crazy,” she says. “They were so loud I could barely hear the music, so I was barely able to keep on beat!”

Emo’onahe has worked hard to get good at hoop dancing. She says, “There was definitely a learning curve.” But the more she practiced, the more she learned about herself.

Hoop dancing is a form of personal storytelling. “You start off with one hoop representing your beginning, and then you continue adding hoops to show more things about your life. In my performance, you could see a butterfly, an eagle, and a cowboy,” Emo’onahe says. “When I’m telling my story, I feel like I’m telling the story of those I’ve learned from and experiences I’ve had.”

Emo’onahe is from the Cheyenne and Arapahoe tribes of Oklahoma, and is also Fort Peck Sioux and Assiniboine. She says, “I used to feel so different from everyone else,” and sometimes “that made me uncomfortable.” But hoop dancing embraces individuality. Each dancer creates their own choreography, and “that’s what makes it so unique and personal to you,” she says.

Emo’onahe feels closer to God as she prays, reads the scriptures, and strives to follow Jesus Christ. She also feels closer to God as she strives to improve in her talents. “When I pick up my hoops and dance, I can feel joy.” She recommends: “Find the things you love and find good people who will help you so you can use your talents to strengthen yourself and others. Serving others can help you strengthen your testimony of Jesus Christ as well.”

With a sincere prayer in my heart and my 14-year-old companion at my side, I knocked on Andy’s door. This was our first visit to his home as his new home teachers. We had recently accepted the responsibility to visit him despite his reputation for being difficult. The door opened, and there he stood, dressed in a Japanese kimono.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Irvin, and this is my companion. We are your home teachers and would like to visit with you.”
His wife was sitting at a table behind him, dressed in the same fashion. They were having a Japanese-style dinner.
“I think you can see that we’re having dinner and don’t have time for you,” he said.
“Perhaps we could come back some other time?” I asked.
“Why?”
“So we can get to know you,” I responded.
“Why do you want to get to know me?” he asked. “I don’t want to get to know you!”
I suppose we could have resigned as their home teachers right then, but we didn’t. When we returned the next month, Andy actually let us in. We sat facing a wall lined with empty beer bottles that were arranged in the shape of antique cars. Our meeting with Andy was short, but we learned that he was a retired air force colonel. Our subsequent visits were also short and yielded little results.
One night as I was leaving a Church meeting, I heard a voice within me telling me to visit Andy. “No, thank you,” I thought. “Not tonight.”
When I stopped at a red light, the prompting to visit Andy came again. I thought, “Please, I’m in no mood for Andy tonight.”
As I made my last turn for home, however, the same prompting came a third time, leaving me sure of what I needed to do.
I drove to his home and parked, praying for guidance. Then I approached his door and knocked. When Andy let me in, I saw a Book of Mormon and a book of genealogy on the table. I felt a different spirit in his home; something was different about Andy too. He spoke softly of his love for his mother and his sister, who had compiled the genealogy.
For the first time, he talked openly with me. He told me about pain he’d been feeling in his back, adding that he was going to the March Air Force Base hospital in nearby Riverside, California, the next day. I asked him if he would like a priesthood blessing. Without hesitation he answered in a quiet voice, “I’ll take it.” I called our elders quorum president, who came to help give the blessing.
The next day doctors told Andy he had inoperable lung cancer. After receiving the news, he went to see the bishop. Within a few months, he was confined to his bed.
One evening when I arrived at his home for another visit, his wife ushered me to his room, where he lay in a frail condition. I knelt beside his bed and cradled him in my arms. I whispered, “I love you, Andy.” With all of his strength, he put his arm on my shoulder and, with great effort, told me that he loved me too. Two days later he died.
His wife invited me to the funeral. Besides the four members of his family, I was the only one in attendance.
I’m so grateful I listened to the Spirit’s promptings to visit Andy.