Gospel Story Finder

1 Agnes tried not to squirm in the narrow bunk so that she wouldn’t wake her little sister, Sarah, lying beside her. She pulled the blanket up over her ears, but even that didn’t keep out the faint tom-tom beat of drums from across the river. Father insisted that the Indians were friendly to the settlers, but Agnes was still afraid. Finally she fell asleep.
2 Agnes felt like she’d only been asleep a few minutes when little Sarah pounced on her, pulling back the blanket and saying, “Up, Aggie. It’s morning—get up!” Mama was ladling hot oatmeal into their bowls. “Your father and Tom have left already to help the new family build their cabin,” she told the two girls.
3 Agnes’s spirits rose at the mention of new neighbors, even though they would live miles away. Maybe there’ll be a girl my age, she hoped, someone to take the place of Emily, far away in Scotland.
Loud banging startled them, and before anyone could reach the cabin door, young Billy Harris burst in. “Mrs. McTavish, it’s Ma. She’s feeling bad, and the baby’s coming. Please come and help!”
4 Agnes quickly helped her mother gather up some things to take, while Billy jumped around, getting in the way. “Now, Agnes,” Mama said, “you’ll have to be in charge until Papa and Tom get back.” Agnes gulped but only said, “Don’t worry about us, Mama. We’ll be OK.”
5 As Mama and the boy set off, Agnes asked, “Now, what shall we do today?” Sarah pleaded, “Play with your shoes! Dance on the tree stump!” Agnes laughed. “Your favorite game!” Sarah clumped up the steps to the upper room and came down dangling the shoes by their laces. The shoes had become a link with the past for Agnes.
6 As Agnes put on the shoes, many wonderful memories of Scotland came back to her. At the door she began to wonder if they should leave the cabin. What if the Indians are watching? Her stomach tightened with fear. Not wanting to frighten Sarah, however, Agnes let herself be pulled outside.
7 But there was no happy spring in her step as she went through a Scottish dance routine on the tree stump. She finally stopped, panting, and took off the shoes and put them on the stump.
Sarah was coaxing for a turn just as Agnes heard a rustle in the brush. She spun, terrified, and was sure that she caught a glimpse of an Indian!
8 Grabbing Sarah’s hand, Agnes ran back to the cabin, then barricaded the door with the stout plank as her father did each night. Sarah cried, “Aggie, we forgot the shoes! I’ll go get them.” “No!” Agnes cried. Then, gaining control of herself, she softened her voice, adding, “Leave them, Love. We can get them later.”
9 The day dragged by slowly. As Agnes did small jobs in the cabin, she kept scanning the clearing through the window, looking for anything unusual. Then late in the afternoon she suddenly realized that her beautiful shoes were no longer on the stump!
Shouts from outside told Agnes that her father and brother were back, and she saw her mother, too, clambering out of the horse-drawn cart. “This is no gilded coach,” her mother joked, “but it saved me a long walk home. Papa found out that I was at the Harrises’ and picked me up. The Harrises have a fine new baby son. We’ll take some dinner over to them tomorrow.”
10 That evening Agnes told the family about seeing an Indian and bringing Sarah inside and about the shoes vanishing. Mama stroked her daughter’s hair and said, “I can see that you have the makings of a fine, strong pioneer woman!”
11 The next morning Sarah looked out the door and shouted, “Aggie! Mama! Look! There are some slippers on the stump. Come and see!” But what Sarah thought were slippers sitting on the stump were really soft leather moccasins with beaded embroidery down the front.
12 Agnes quickly looked toward the river. On the opposite bank she saw a tall, leather-shirted Indian man moving forward out of the trees. Then another figure came into view, an Indian girl waving in a friendly gesture and holding up Agnes’s shoes by their long laces.
It took a minute before Agnes understood. Then she smiled and held up the beaded moccasins and waved back.

Abby tap-tap-tapped her toes on the floor. She was so excited that her stomach felt fluttery inside. She was at a baptism. And not just any baptism—her baptism! Abby, her family, and her friends had all sung a Primary song together, prayed, and listened to Grandma’s talk. Now, all that was left was Grandpa’s talk before she was baptized.
Grandpa walked to the front of the room and winked at her. He set a big bag on the floor. “Abby, we are very proud of your choice to be baptized today,” he said. “Baptism is a day full of gifts. You are giving the gift of an example to your siblings.” He smiled at Abby’s four younger siblings.
“You’re also giving God promises,” Grandpa said. “And He is giving you promises. But there is one other big gift that you get today.”
Grandpa stooped and reached into the bag. He pulled out a soft white blanket and handed it to her. “This is a gift from me and Grandma. But it ’s also a reminder of the gift of the Holy Ghost that you’ll receive today. When you use this blanket, I want you to think about how the Holy Ghost feels. The Holy Ghost can comfort you like a soft blanket. It can also guide you and tell you what is right.”
Abby pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She smiled at Grandpa. As he finished his talk, she noticed how the blanket felt. It was warm. It was comforting. It helped her feel safe.
Finally, it was time for Abby to be baptized. She walked into the warm font water and took Papa’s hand. She peeked at her brothers and sisters and smiled at them before she closed her eyes.
Papa’s voice was loud but calm as he said the baptism prayer in French. “Je te baptise au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit. Amen.”
The warm water rushed over Abby, and then, just as quickly, she was pulled back up. That was it. She’d been baptized!
Abby hugged Papa tightly and climbed out of the font. She changed out of her jumpsuit and pulled on her dress. When she stepped out, Maman (Mom) and her friends Isobel and Florence were waiting for her. They helped tie the bow on the back of her dress and comb her wet hair.
“We’re so proud of you,” Maman said.
Florence smiled at Abby in the mirror. “I always love watching baptisms.”
“Here, you left this on your chair.” Isobel handed Abby her new white blanket.
Abby held the blanket close as Maman and her friends talked and laughed. The blanket was warm and comforting, just like Grandpa had said. But she didn’t just feel warm on the outside. Inside, Abby also felt good and safe. She knew in her heart that she had made the right decision and that Heavenly Father was happy.
This warm, happy feeling was a lot like her blanket. It had to be the Holy Ghost!
Abby smiled at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t wait to be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost so that she could always feel this way. It was going to be the best gift ever.
This story took place in France.

After high school Gary was offered scholarships in all three sports. He was probably best in basketball, but baseball was his first love, and he intended to make it his career. So friends and teachers were surprised when Gary went off to Diablo Junior College to play football. He did it partly out of friendship. A former high school coach had called three days before DJC’s first game and said, “Hey, Gary, how about coming over to play for Diablo? All three of my quarterbacks are injured, and I’ve got nobody to start.”
Gary had gone, but he had time for only three practices before the game. “We had some good breaks,” he recalls, “and we ‘creamed’ the other team.”
In spite of this brilliant beginning, Gary was repeatedly ambushed by injuries and was able to play in less than half the games during his two years at Diablo.

It was 11 p.m. when I heard my father’s car door close outside. He was home a little early tonight. Dad was a college professor with a full load of night classes to teach, so his normal arrival time wavered somewhere between 11:30 p.m. and midnight. And since I left for my early-morning seminary class before sunup, I usually only saw him for a few flurried minutes each night. That is, if I saw him at all.
Tonight I was brushing my teeth when he popped his head through the bathroom doorway. “How are you?” he asked. Through a mouthful of toothpaste I mumbled a response, then asked how his day had been.
“Great,” he said boisterously. “The plane got in a few hours ago, and the bus dropped us off at the school. After that I came right home.”
Plane? Bus? Was I missing something? He must have noticed my vacant stare, because he quickly added, “I was at a conference in Indianapolis all week.”
He was? Why didn’t I know about this? I realized with a pang of shame that my father had just spent five days on the other side of the country, and I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
As my sister and I got older, it seemed like the whole family got busier until we were, as Mom liked to say, “like ships passing in the night.” We barely had time to blurt out “good morning” before we rushed in separate directions. But even with our classes and after-school activities, my sister and I couldn’t compete with Dad at being busy. His workday was longer than anyone else’s. Even when he was home, he spent hours at the computer, writing textbooks and revising lecture outlines.
Because Dad wasn’t a member of the Church, we only saw him on Sunday mornings over our bowls of breakfast cereal. By the time the rest of the family came home after our Church meetings, he had usually disappeared to his office at the college to get more work done.
I had always thought my family was a regular busy family, and I figured that feeling out of touch with my dad was just a part of such a high-speed life. Until that night over the bathroom sink, I never really considered the idea that we might be too busy.
A few weeks later, the missionaries from our ward came to my house for dinner. Dad, of course, was missing in action, but after we had eaten, the missionaries began to ask us some questions about Dad’s feelings toward the Church. Had he ever taken the discussions? Had he read the Book of Mormon? Did he ever come to Church with us? My mother and I answered the questions as best we could. Then the elders said that they’d really like the chance to teach my father the gospel, and they wanted to enlist our help.
Although I was usually enthusiastic about thinking up ways to help share the gospel with my father, I leaned back into my chair and frowned. “What can we do?” I asked skeptically. “We hardly ever see him.” I explained to the missionaries about Dad’s overly hectic schedule, and they nodded understandingly.
Finally one of the missionaries, who also had a nonmember father, said, “My dad was the same way when I was in high school. He was such a workaholic that I felt like I never saw him, and we just drifted farther and farther apart. I got even busier after I joined the Church.
“I just decided,” he went on, “that it was important for my dad to know that I loved him, that my joining the Church didn’t make me love him less. Since I didn’t see him very often, I started leaving him notes. Nothing special. I just wrote a quick note telling him that I loved and appreciated him, and I made sure I put it where he’d find it.”
“Did it work?” I asked skeptically.
He smiled and shrugged. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
It was a challenge I couldn’t refuse. That night, after I was in my pajamas and Dad still hadn’t gotten home from work, I pulled out a pad of sticky notes and wrote a quick message: “Dear Dad: I hope you had a good day. I love you.” I signed my name at the bottom and stuck the note to his computer screen, knowing Dad almost always made a stop at his computer before he finally got to bed.
The next morning when I plodded into the bathroom still half asleep, I noticed a piece of yellow paper clinging to the mirror. “Dear Melody,” it read. “Thanks for the note. I love you too. Love, Dad.”
I smiled, something I rarely did at 5:30 in the morning.
For the rest of that year before I went away to college, I left notes for my father a few times a week. Nothing elaborate, just a few lines to tell him what was going on in my life, to wish him a good day, to tell him I loved him. He almost always responded with another note attached to my bathroom mirror or my bedroom door.
As the weeks went on and our note exchange became a regular thing, it became easier to put into words how I really felt about my dad. I realized that even though I didn’t spend as much time with him as I wanted to, I really did love him. And I realized that even though he worked a lot, he really loved me too. Having a true friendship made us more eager to do things with each other, too, like trips to museums or into the city on Saturday afternoons.
Over the years I kept a few of the sticky notes from Dad. I even taped one to the mirror in my dorm room at college just to make it feel like home. When I finally went back home for Christmas, I noticed that Dad had done the same. A piece of yellow paper with the words “Dad, I love you. Melody” was firmly attached to the top of his computer desk.
My father never joined the Church. But when he died suddenly several years ago, the yellow sticky note was still on his computer desk, right where it had been for five years. In the weeks after his death, I felt grateful that I had found a way to communicate with Dad even when we were both at our busiest. I didn’t have to wonder whether he knew that I loved him. I knew that he looked at my words every day.

I carried my patriarchal blessing with me during service in the Navy in World War II. I had grown up in Taylorsville, Utah, sheltered and shy, the product of a tranquil pioneer community. I now entered a harsher life, where oaths and profanity were common, where some men made bragging about sexual exploits part of their daily ritual. But again, my patriarchal blessing served as a beacon. Its promises gave me hope that I could stay clean, that I could survive the conflict and live to serve in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.
Throughout my mission in Europe, a phrase in my patriarchal blessing about preaching the gospel in power reminded me I was on the Lord’s errand and therefore I should speak with authority. When I returned home and began searching for a wife, I knew I must find someone who would help me be worthy. After all, my patriarchal blessing made reference to the joys of a righteous posterity. Today, I am thrilled to go to the temple with my six children and their companions, and I do find joy and rejoicing in my posterity.
There is one sentence in my patriarchal blessing that has always intrigued me. It says, “You shall see great progress in the work of the Lord; for Zion shall be the head and not the heel.” This phrase has repeatedly come to my mind in recent times as we all have observed the growth and progress of the Lord’s Church throughout the entire world. I can truly say that my patriarchal blessing, though short, has been a guide to me during my entire life. Your patriarchal blessing can do the same for you, if you read it often and chart your course by it. In these challenging times, when you are faced with temptations and pressures to compromise your beliefs, a patriarchal blessing can be the source of great strength that will instill faith in a loving, personal Heavenly Father.
A patriarchal blessing is not having your fortune told. It is a source of guidance as you grow in maturity and spirituality.
As with all blessings, the fulfillment of your patriarchal blessing depends on worthiness and staying close to the Spirit.
Your blessing is sacred and personal. Don’t read it in Church meetings or public gatherings.
Receive your blessing in an attitude of humility and prayer. You might also choose to fast.
The blessing is given to you, but a few family members may be present.
Read your blessing often. Pray for understanding, and it will help you chart your course through life.
Patriarchal blessings are not just for the future. The experience of receiving one is a blessing itself, an experience of learning first-hand how important and wonderful you are in the Lord’s sight. Just the same, you may have some concerns.
I’m not sure if I’m old enough or ready enough for a patriarchal blessing.
Why not talk it over with your parents or your bishop? Ask them if they think you are old enough and if you’re ready.
Can my parents tell me about their own patriarchal blessings?
If your parents have received their blessings, ask if there are portions they would feel comfortable sharing with you. You will probably find you are one of the blessings they were promised. For example, if they were promised righteous posterity, you are an important link in that chain.
What if my parents aren’t members of the Church or don’t support me in Church activities?
Check with your bishop or patriarch—they may have suggestions about how to appropriately include them.
I don’t feel worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
If you feel unworthy, become worthy. Put your life in order. Talk to your parents and to your bishop if necessary. But also remember that we’re all learning and growing. One of the important reasons for obtaining your patriarchal blessing is to receive guidance and strength.
I’m afraid the Lord will reveal what he expects of me, and then I’ll be obligated.
Actually, the Lord has already revealed many things he expects of you: righteousness, obedience, compassion, honesty. You’ve been taught about them all your life. And you’ve already made commitments—at baptism, each time you take the sacrament, when you receive the priesthood. Remember a patriarchal blessing is an expression of the Lord’s love for you personally. More than anything else, it will help you understand through the Spirit your own marvelous potential and some of the great blessings the Lord has in store for you as you keep his commandments.

Chea’s story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At the time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues. “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten in 1979 when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is eight, and Dani, age six.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would come to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “He would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
Smiling, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his new-found knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his big smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chea, it sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at a private learning center. Director of the center Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a water pitcher that cannot be filled.”

Gene has learned a lot about aiming high by following the example of his mother.
“When she was 16 she contracted polio. Doctors said she’d never walk again, or that if she did walk, she’d never have children. But she worked her way from braces to crutches to a cane. And she went ahead and had four sons. I’m the youngest.”
Even though his mom is currently confined to a wheelchair, the doctors are now saying she should be able to walk again.

Our doctrine and our belief in eternal families strengthen and bond us. I will never forget the promise of my maternal Grandfather Harris, when we children were living on his farm near Payson, Utah. He gave me the tragic news that my father had died in faraway Denver, Colorado. I ran into the bedroom and knelt beside the bed, crying my heart out. Grandpa followed me and went to his knees beside me and said, “I will be your father.” That tender promise is a powerful example of what grandparents can do to fill in the gaps when families lose or are missing a member.

It was past her bedtime, but Mia wasn’t in bed. She was sitting on the floor of her room, thinking about something Sister Duval had read in Primary: “The time will come when no man or woman will be able to stand on borrowed light.”*
“A testimony is like a light inside of us,” Sister Duval had explained. “And we each need our own. Then we can be strong when life is hard and Satan tempts us.”
Mia leaned her head against her bed. I want a testimony that the gospel is true, she thought. But how exactly did you get a testimony? She knew that praying was part of it.
“I’ll pray,” she decided. She would pray and wouldn’t stop until something happened to let her know the Church was true. She was ready to pray all night if she had to!
She got on her knees. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “I want to know if the Church is true. I want to feel it in my heart and just know.”
Mia waited. She didn’t feel anything except for the soft feeling she usually felt when she prayed. What was she doing wrong? Where was her testimony?
She had been on her knees for what seemed like a long time when the door to her room opened a little and her dad peeked in.
“I saw the light under the door,” he said. “Are you up reading again?” Then he saw tears on Mia’s cheeks. He knelt down and put his arm around her. “What’s wrong?”
She was quiet for a minute. Then she asked, “Daddy, how do you get a testimony?”
Daddy hugged her tight. “That’s a good question. Wanting a testimony is one of the first steps.”
Mia felt the lump in her throat start to go away. She had taken the first step already.
“Getting a testimony doesn’t usually happen with one prayer. And even when you have a testimony, you need to keep working on it.”
“But where does a testimony come from?” Mia asked.
“A testimony comes from the Holy Ghost,” Daddy said. “Have you ever felt warm and good during family home evening or at church?”
Mia thought about that. “When you gave me a special blessing before school started, I felt good.” She thought some more. “And I always feel warm inside when I hear President Monson talk in general conference. And when I’m nice to my friends or when I’m reading my scriptures, I feel good then too.”
Daddy smiled. “Those feelings are the Holy Ghost speaking to you. He gives you those feelings when you do something that’s right or when you hear something that’s true.”
“I feel warm and happy now,” Mia said. “Is that the Holy Ghost?”
Daddy hugged her again. “Yes. He’s telling you that the things we’re talking about are true. And that’s how you get a testimony.”
When Mia went to bed later, she didn’t think she had a whole testimony yet, but she still had that good, warm feeling that what Daddy told her was true. She knew this feeling was just the beginning.
Mia snuggled into her warm blanket and closed her eyes. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for helping me have a testimony. And thank Thee for my daddy.”

Or choir member Kathleen Mickelsen’s experience—an experience repeated in one form or another night after night for many choir members, but this one occurred in St. Petersburg (then known as Leningrad): “Halfway through the concert, my eyes were drawn to a woman in the audience—and I noticed her eyes were drawn to me. She just melted at our singing of ‘Love So Amazing, So Divine,’ a song about Christ on the cross. We kept looking at each other through the rest of the concert—and I sang the songs as my testimony to her with all my heart.” After the final encore, while the choir members waved to the audience as they filed offstage, the woman and Kathleen forged their way through the crowd to meet, embrace, and emotionally communicate—through words, if possible, though language barriers generally made that difficult. If not, they would speak through tears, long, warm handclasps, and soulful expressions of “thank you” indigenous to each language and nation.

One warm summer afternoon a tiny girl reached on tiptoes to ring a doorbell. After a moment the door swung wide and there stood a beautiful twenty-year-old princess with golden hair and large, expressive blue eyes. To a small child she might have been Cinderella. But this princess was taller, more regal than any pictures of the cinder girl. And she was as real as her name—Sally Peterson.
“Elizabeth!” Sally smiled down at her little visitor. “How wonderful to see you! Come in! Come in!”
“I just brought you this,” the little girl beamed, as she thrust forward a letter, then turned happily and walked down the stairs murmuring, “Now that wasn’t one bit scary.”
It wasn’t scary. And it shouldn’t have been. Sally was her special friend. As Junior Sunday School chorister, Sally had taught songs to Elizabeth and many others like her over a period of five years. But now she wasn’t “Sally our song-leader”; she was Miss Utah of 1972. And one small girl expressed the feelings of many:
Dear Sally
I love you
Love
From Elizabeth

Recently a professional assignment required me to travel out of the country. But I felt such a foreboding about the trip that prior to leaving I sought a priesthood blessing. I was warned that the adversary would attempt to thwart my mission and that physical and spiritual danger lay ahead. I was also counseled that this was not to be a sight-seeing or a shopping trip and that if I would focus on my assignments and seek the direction of the Spirit, I would return safely home.
Well, the warning was sobering. But as I proceeded, pleading for direction and protection each step of the way, I realized that my experience wasn’t all that unique. Might not our Father have said to you and to me as we left His presence: “The adversary will attempt to thwart your mission, and you will face spiritual and physical danger. But if you will focus on your assignments, if you will heed my voice, and if you will refuse to reduce mortality to a sight-seeing or a shopping trip, you will return safely home”?

That winter I decided I had to become like her. I tried ballet. I tried drama. I started doing many of the things in which she was interested. Nothing seemed right for me, and I became more frustrated. Although I had regularly prayed, I now developed an even greater need to communicate my thoughts with God. I spent many hours on my knees asking that I might gain peace of mind and understanding of DeNeece and my feelings toward her. It seemed my prayers were finally answered through DeNeece herself. Because of her deep concern for others, she sensed my growing struggle. She knew she needed to help me, so we walked and talked again in the snow.
“Michelle, I am glad you’re you. I’m grateful that you have shared your special talents with me. Help me to become more patient and understanding like you. Help me learn to be close to people on a one-to-one basis. You have so many of the refined qualities that I desire to have someday. Discover how special you really are; then be the best of what you can be. Don’t try to be another DeNeece; be a Michelle. Your gifts and talents will flourish, and we can grow together.”
I was very surprised to find that she desired some of the traits I had. She helped me see that I was trying to mold my ball exactly like hers, yet after many months of uncertain effort, my snowball was still quite small.

Elder James B. Kunzler
I must say it was really nice not to worry about all that holiday rush everyone else worried about. Spending all our time during the season teaching of the Savior’s life and plan for all his children here on this earth sure put things into perspective. It is a blessing to spend time in the mission field during Christmas even though you are away from home.
Members were a great source of strength to me during the holiday season. They all tried to do what they could to make the time away from home easy on us as missionaries.
I think the highlight of our missionwide conference was when all the missionaries received letters from home. Sister Anderson, the mission president’s wife, had them sent months in advance to read before the closing testimony meeting. The whole building was filled with tear-streaked faces, and I must admit I shed a few myself.

An experience I had when I was 15 years old was foundational for me. My faithful mother had valiantly tried to help me establish the foundations of faith in my life. I attended sacrament meeting, Primary, then Young Men and seminary. I had read the Book of Mormon and had always prayed individually. At that time a dramatic event occurred in our family when my beloved older brother was considering a potential mission call. My wonderful father, a less-active Church member, wanted him to continue his education and not serve a mission. This became a point of contention.

In a remarkable discussion with my brother, who was five years older and led the discussion, we concluded that his decision on whether to serve a mission depended on three issues: (1) Was Jesus Christ divine? (2) Was the Book of Mormon true? (3) Was Joseph Smith the prophet of the Restoration?

As I prayed sincerely that night, the Spirit confirmed to me the truth of all three questions. I also came to understand that almost every decision I would make for the rest of my life would be based on the answers to those three questions. I particularly realized that faith in the Lord Jesus Christ was essential. In looking back, I recognize that, primarily because of my mother, the foundations were in place for me to receive the spiritual confirmation that evening. My brother, who already had a testimony, made the decision to serve a mission and ultimately won our father’s support.

At a recent extended family home evening, our grandchildren were having a wonderful time. A six-year-old grandson became very upset when his father said it was time to go home. So what did this dear boy do? He came to me and said, “Grandfather, may I have your permission to disobey my father?”
I said, “No, sweetheart. One of life’s great lessons is to learn that happiness comes through obedience. Go home with your family, and you will be happy.” Though disappointed, he dutifully obeyed.

My husband’s brother, John*, was being transferred out of state. It was hard to accept the fact that he, his wife, Annie, and their family were leaving. We had spent a lot of time together and had grown quite close.
After John’s family had been gone a few months, my husband, Ron, called to see how they were doing. They had adjusted well and were enjoying their new area. My husband owned a small business and let his brother know the door was always open if he ever wanted to move back and work with him. At that point in the conversation John’s wife, Annie, spoke up and told Ron in no uncertain terms that they were not interested. She apparently said some unkind things about Ron as well as his business.
Ron came home and shared this conversation with me. Although he tried to appear as if it didn’t bother him, I could tell he was deeply hurt. I was enraged and wanted to call Annie immediately and set her straight.
I didn’t call, but once I had allowed myself to be offended, I opened the gates to a flood of foul thoughts. I began finding fault with Annie and gossiped about her with other family members and friends. In essence, I allowed pride to creep into my heart and take root, while charity withered away.
Just as an infection can spread and cause deterioration and pain to the physical body, pride can do the same to the spirit. Although my husband had long forgotten the incident, my heart remained infected. My thoughts were focused on how hurt I was. I was on edge with my family and quick to see the worst in every situation. I had no desire to love and serve others because I was caught up in myself.
After several months we heard that John and Annie were coming to town for a family wedding. I would finally have to face her. I dreaded seeing her, but there was no way around it. As the wedding day approached, my anxiety mounted. I didn’t like the way I had been feeling, and I knew it was wrong. I prayed often for the Savior to help me overcome my negative feelings. Eventually, good thoughts about Annie started to fill my mind.
When I saw her at the wedding, we exchanged shallow greetings. I tried to avoid her the rest of the evening, but I watched her. And as I watched her I realized how much I missed her. My heart began to ache for the peace of forgiveness, and I was overcome with love for Annie.
When the evening reception was nearly over, I found myself sitting alone with Annie. We still hadn’t spoken since our first greeting. I looked at her, and the Spirit filled my heart. I reached out and put my hands on her cheeks. With tears in my eyes, I said, “Annie, I have missed you so much.” We hugged and cried and rejoiced in the peace that comes through forgiveness.
I don’t remember if we ever said we were sorry or if we explained our earlier feelings. All that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the love we felt and our desire to forgive. I didn’t realize until afterward what a huge burden I had been carrying. Pride is a heavy load and an unnecessary one. Feeling the Savior’s perfect love, however, was a sweet and humbling joy.

When I was baptized, I was already too old for Primary. Even so, I attended it for two years. I did hold the priesthood, but the branch was small and the Primary teachers were so good that I went there. I loved it and was grateful that the teachers didn’t tell me that I couldn’t attend because I was too old. I remember three outstanding teachers. Olga Ramos, Lida del Bosque, and Irma Torres were their names. All three cared a great deal about us children. They diligently taught us and had activities for us. They were young adults then. Now they are married women with grandchildren. I am very grateful to them because it was through their teaching that I learned the gospel.

I hated school. There was too much homework. It was too hard, and my grades were bad. I thought dropping out was the best thing to do, so I did.
With no high school diploma or GED, I couldn’t get a job. I couldn’t get into the armed forces. I was really having a hard time.
I decided to get my GED, and it took me seven years. Now I know that dropping out was a stupid idea.
Finish school. You’ll be glad you did.
Blake Combe, 25Orofino, Idaho

My cousins Ella and Hans and I like to play with our neighbors across the street. One weekend our friend asked Ella why she could never play on Sundays. When Ella told her that we went to church on Sunday, our friend asked if she could come too. The next Sunday our friend and her little brother came to church with us. They had never been to church before. We sat by our friends in Primary. It was our class’s turn to say the prayer and give talks in sharing time, and our friends wanted to help! During sacrament meeting, I explained that the bread and water remind us that Jesus died so that we can be with our families and Heavenly Father again in heaven. Then I asked my friend if she wanted to come back again next week, and she said yes. We know that Heavenly Father and Jesus love everyone, not just the people who go to church.