Gospel Story Finder

The night before my daughter’s college graduation, I was far from falling asleep. I’d come to Rexburg, Idaho, to celebrate this big milestone with her. As I lay quietly listening to her sleep, my heart was heavy with worry. My divorce was about to be finalized, and then I would have 30 days to find a new home and move. The family home would be sold. Rentals were sparse, and the homes I had seen were either too expensive or already under contract.
Knowing I had done all I could do to secure a rental home, I turned my concern over to the Lord. I’ve always been a woman of faith—fervently believing in God’s goodness and mercy. When I was young, my mother and grandmother assured me, “God is fully aware of your needs. Turn to Him. Trust Him.”
I knelt down and pleaded with God to provide an answer. As tears streamed down my cheeks, I surrendered: “Heavenly Father, I need a home for my family. I’ve done all I can do. I can’t control the housing market, and I need a place to live!”
I continued to humbly pray for what I urgently needed: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me find a home within the school boundaries that is safe and within my budget. Please also help me find a landlord who knows I will make my payments despite having no credit history as a single woman.” I closed my prayer knowing that “with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that “not every blessing predicated on obedience to law is … timed according to our expectations. We do our best but must leave to Him the management of blessings, both temporal and spiritual.”1 This is precisely what I chose to do.
When morning came, I was impressed to text Brother Johnson. He had been a source of comfort during my divorce, and I hadn’t followed up with him as I had promised. I grabbed my phone, shared an update, and was just about to finish my text when I was prompted to ask him, “Do you know of a rental in the area?”
To my surprise he replied, “Yes. My sister is looking for a new renter. Let me reach out to her.”
Within a few hours, Brother Johnson sent me his sister’s number. She and I were able to get in contact that very day. As our visit closed, she said, “You’ve told me all I need to know about you. I want you to be my renter.” I was overcome with gratitude for God’s goodness and His divine intervention in my behalf. The rental home was located in a beautiful area and was in my son’s school boundaries. And it was within my budget to the exact dollar!
These events couldn’t have been orchestrated by anyone other than God. He was aware of my need and opened “the windows of heaven” (Malachi 3:10) to reassure me of His presence and goodness.

Some of you older men may remember the Rose Bowl football game of 1929, when a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the goal of his opponent. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own team, preventing a touchdown. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player. He lived to be eighty-four, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

I sat teary-eyed and confused, the knot in my stomach wrenching my insides like it had for so many days. Why wasn’t it working? I’d prayed and pleaded with Heavenly Father; I’d paid my tithing and studied my scriptures faithfully. But nothing had changed.
I’d felt this way for three months. My parents were getting a divorce, and we were selling our house. I knew those things must be the reason for my confusion. All I wanted was to be calmed from the constant hurt inside, from the pain and anger that were wearing me out emotionally and spiritually. I felt like I was always trying to fight it off, but I never seemed to get any help.
I reached for my Book of Mormon with only the slightest bit of hope and opened it to the place I’d marked days before. I recognized the title through tear-filled eyes: Enos. It was a short book, so I decided to read the whole thing. I read eagerly, searching for some encouraging words.
As I came to the last verse, my heart filled with joy when I read: “And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. And I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father. Amen” (Enos 1:27).
The knot inside me slowly disappeared and I sighed with relief. My Heavenly Father had answered my plea. What more could I ask for than to know that one day, if I obey and love my Heavenly Father, I can rest with him in peace.

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

Rosalie Lund began playing the violin when she was five. “I always liked playing. I always wanted to be a great violinist.”

So why would she take 18 months off to serve a mission, especially with such a promising musical future?

It’s a question Sister Lund became familiar with before she left in December of last year to serve in the Canada Vancouver Mission. She was performing for the Ballet West orchestra in Salt Lake City, and many nonmember musicians wondered what she was doing.

“Several of them thought I was crazy to go on a mission, especially in the prime time of my life,” Sister Lund recalls. “They were saying, ‘You’re going to do what?’”

“Knock on a lot of doors and tell people about the beliefs of my religion,” was her typical response. When the musicians talked about her potential and all the great things she could do musically if she stayed, she was quick to point out all the great things she planned to do as a missionary.

Sister Lund had played with numerous orchestras and symphonies, including the BYU Philharmonic and the Utah Symphony, while growing up in Bountiful, Utah. Sure it was the “prime time” of her life. And that’s why she decided to serve a mission.

“I had to do what I felt was right. I have had a very strong feeling that I needed to go on a mission. So here I am,” she says. “But I’m learning and teaching about Jesus Christ. He is the source of everything good. If there is any truth or beauty in music, it comes from Jesus Christ. So in a way I guess I am still continuing my music study.”

Sister Lund remembers her last performance with Ballet West before she entered the Missionary Training Center. Everyone was talking about practice schedules and what was next, something she wasn’t going to be a part of. “I wasn’t very sad, actually. I knew I’d be missing out. But in a way I felt like they were missing out,” she says.

There were also the inevitable questions about the potential loss of skill while she is gone, especially since mission rules prevented her from taking her violin to Canada.

“I’m sure I’ll get rusty. I’ve had many friends—also violinists—who went on missions and they came back and they were rusty. And I guess if the Lord wants me to play the violin, I’ll be able to get back into it.”

“For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it too.

Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is six-feet-two inches tall, and at the time he was a lean 200 pounds.

“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on and the coaches stuck me at outside linebacker. I was still only 205 pounds, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.

That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 250 pounds. The sport he’d taken up for fun was suddenly his ticket to college. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for BYU. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.

“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “There was nothing that was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”

And that included the glamour of playing big-time college football.

Says Elder Moleni, “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”

And now just three months short of the completion of his mission, Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and an outside linebacker.

“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’ve had a successful mission.”

When Ashley Rabon told his parents that he was going out “with a Mormon girl,” he assured them he wasn’t going “to join.” But after the wheels were set in motion and Ashley, who was at college at Appalachian State in Boone, North Carolina, at the time, began taking the missionary discussions, that plan changed.

“After the missionaries committed me to baptism during the second discussion, I called home and told [my parents] I was going to get baptized,” says Ashley. “They weren’t too thrilled with the idea.”

A year later, when Ashley started to feel he should serve a mission, things with his family really got tough. “They were not happy about it at all. I told my dad, and my dad was probably angrier than I had ever seen him in my life,” says Ashley, who is currently serving in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission. “My mom begged and begged me every day not to do this.”

But Elder Rabon was ready to serve. “Every time I had a dispute with my parents, especially with my father, the first thing I would do was go to my room and pray that the Lord would soften their hearts,” he says.

For a while, the contention remained. “I have the most wonderful family you’ll ever meet. But every time I told my parents I was going on a mission, there was an instant waterfall (tears) from my mom and my dad went straight to fury. I just knew that everybody has their things they have to go through to go on a mission.”

Although his mission call had already come, and although Elder Rabon was committed to serving, it didn’t make it any easier with his nonmember parents. “It was really difficult. I was just thinking about how my family was going to be while I was gone,” he adds.

Then, when it seemed that he’d end up leaving without his parents’ support, they suddenly reversed their stand. Elder Rabon describes the day before he went into the MTC: “My dad comes home from work, and he’s walking down the hall toward me with tears just running down his face. He puts his arm around me and says, ‘What can I do to help you?’”

Elder Rabon’s father went on to detail how much he was going to miss him and how he was having a hard time dealing with his son’s imminent departure. Hearts had been softened. “Since I’ve been [a missionary], I’ve received very spiritual letters from my family that I didn’t expect,” he says.

As Elder Rabon makes his way around his area on the east side of Salt Lake City with his companion, he says he’s still amazed that he’s actually a missionary. Three years ago he knew next to nothing about the Church. And today he’s teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. “I know if you have faith in the Lord and you do what he asks you to do, he’s always going to see you through. This is where the Lord has really blessed me.”

Spencer W. Kimball was baptized in Arizona on March 28, 1903, in the tub used to clean off the bristles and dirt from slaughtered hogs. The tub was also used as the family’s bathtub. It was large enough for only one person, so his father stood outside the tub, which some people felt was not a correct way to baptize. To be sure that Spencer was properly baptized, he was baptized again, when he was twelve years old, in the Union Canal.

Sister Jill Berrett, a full-time missionary in the Vancouver mission, tells of an investigator who toured the meetinghouse at the invitation of her 18-year-old friend. “While she was on the tour she became so excited she wanted to take the lessons right away. Her friend gave her a Book of Mormon, and another friend invited her to Young Women camp. She felt so loved and so involved that she began referring to the ward as ‘her ward’ even before she was baptized.”

Illustrations by Adrian Ropp
I was almost 12 years old when the Twin Falls Idaho Temple was dedicated. I was so excited when my older sister asked me for the first time if I wanted to start going to the temple regularly with her and her friend.
I was happy when my younger brother Tanner turned 12 three years later because I could finally invite him to attend the temple with me.
Each morning that we went, we would help each other get up and go, and when we were tired Tanner would make jokes to help us wake up. After going to the temple, we would take some time to talk about how we’d felt in the temple and what we’d thought about.
Going to the temple with Tanner became the spiritual highlight of my week. Through our regular temple visits we became better friends, which strengthened me more than I would have imagined when some trials came my way. Our two older sisters had left for college and our ward had just been split, leaving Tanner and me as some of the only active youth in our ward.
Tanner and I spent hours calling and inviting less-active youth to church and Mutual. It often felt like a hopeless effort because no one ever came no matter how many girls I tried to befriend.
Our parents tried to help. They would bear testimony to us when we were discouraged, and they let us talk out our frustration when we came home upset. But even so, we didn’t suddenly have more friends at church, and wanting to go when I’d be the only young woman there was getting harder and harder. Our temple visits started becoming less frequent because of our busy school schedules.
I spent a lot of time reading my scriptures and pleading with the Lord to help me be strong. I was lonely and tired—tired of being alone, tired of my efforts not making a difference, tired of struggling spiritually and emotionally.
During this time, I worked as a lifeguard at the city pool. I liked being there a lot more than I liked being at church because my co-workers were my friends and were always excited to see me. One day I decided that I wouldn’t go back to Mutual since work was more fun and more helpful for me financially.
I didn’t think it was a big deal until I noticed myself lowering my standards. I didn’t say anything about my friends’ swearing, and one day I was shocked to hear myself accidentally swear when I never had before. I even watched an inappropriate movie one night at a party with my lifeguarding friends. I felt terrible and wondered what I was doing.
Meanwhile my parents had told me how much more lonely Tanner had become since I stopped attending Mutual. Every week he would ask me, “Hey, are you going to come to Mutual tonight?” When he would get home from Mutual, he would go straight to his room and read his scriptures for a long time. He wasn’t talking as much anymore, and when I asked if he was OK, he just said, “No,” and walked away.
One night he came home crying because he had felt so alone.
That’s when I decided that I needed to go back. It didn’t matter how hard being alone was for me; Tanner needed me.
Tanner had been taking a family history course at church, and I decided that I wanted to take it with him. We wanted to start going to the temple more regularly again, and now we would be able to find names ourselves.
We enjoyed taking the class together on Sundays. After church, we’d search for names together. The coolest thing about taking our own names to the temple was that we had found them together, and even better, we were able to support each other at church and even enjoy church because we were doing the Lord’s work.
Tanner’s diligence in attending church and Mutual was a powerful example to me. I had a testimony of the gospel, but he helped me gain a testimony of attending church meetings and activities.
Together we were able to comfort one another and use our testimonies of the temple to help each other be strong in the Church. Youth attendance at church and Mutual never really got better, but Tanner and I became stronger and more able to bear our burdens as we helped each other press forward.
I’m so glad that I invited him to come to the temple with me. While I’m sure it helped him, I know it rescued me.

Last year I had a similar experience. A young man I met in a high school musical always had something negative to say about the Church. I would argue and Bible bash with him, but I soon found that this was the wrong way to handle it. Instead I started telling him what we believed and stopped telling him he was wrong. He gave me the bit about our not being Christians, too. I just told him that we do worship Christ and explained the real name of the Church to him. People will respect you more and listen to you if you are open about your beliefs. Try it; it really works. That young man is one of my very best friends now. Good luck!
Amy Coleman, 16Newcastle, California

An interesting example that I was closely associated with and which I have referred to previously was one in which several young adults became peacemakers in their homes.
A very wise bishop called several young people into his office and said to them: “I would like you to help me in an experiment. I would like to prove the impact and influence of one member on the spirit of the family. For one month, I would like each of you to be the peacemaker in your home. Don’t say anything about this to your family, but be thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Be an example. Where there is quarreling or bickering among members of your family, do whatever you can to overcome these faults by creating an atmosphere of love, harmony, and helpfulness.
“When you are irritated—and irritations arise in almost every family—control yourself and help the others to control themselves. I would like to see every home in our ward be ‘a bit of heaven on earth.’ At the end of the month, I would like you to meet with me again and report.”
It was a challenge for these young people, and they met the challenge in a wonderful way.
When they reported back to the bishop, remarks such as these were made. One young fellow said: “I had no idea I would have so much influence in my home. It’s really been different this last month. I’ve been wondering if much of the turmoil and strife we used to have was caused by me and my attitudes.”
A young lady said: “I guess we were just the normal family with our selfishness causing little daily conflicts. But as I have worked with my brothers and sisters, a lot of this has been eliminated, and there has been a much sweeter spirit in our home. I believe you really have to work at it to have the spirit of peace in your home.”
Another young lady reported: “Yes, there has been a much sweeter and cooperative and unselfish spirit in our home since I began this experiment, but the biggest difference of all has been in me. I’ve tried hard to be a good example and a peacemaker, and I feel better about myself than I have ever felt. A wonderful feeling of peace has come over me.”

I can’t believe that my parents named her Angela! They’re both teachers, so you’d think that they’d know better than to call the terror of the kindergarten an angel. Being her eleven-year-old brother is hard. I have to baby-sit her on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The other days I have soccer or my first-aid class for Scouts. That and my homework keep me “legitimately” busy until suppertime.
The thing is, Angela has a vivid imagination. She’s always pretending to be a world-famous astronaut or world-famous ballet dancer or something else “world-famous.” She also likes to talk a lot, which drives me bonkers. And she loves animals. You’d think they were people, to listen to her.
Last Tuesday Mom was just leaving for a class as I walked in the front door after school. She gave me a quick kiss and said good-bye. I sighed and headed for the kitchen. It was too quiet! Angela was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a gooey peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Except for the grape jelly around her mouth, she looked like one of those kids in a TV commercial. But she didn’t fool me! I looked around the kitchen for signs of damage. I didn’t have to look far. Max, our sometimes-troublesome mutt, was under the table, having a great time finishing off the grape jelly—right out of the jar.
“He was hungry, too, Jeff. How could I eat in front of him?” Angela asked as I glared at her.
I shooed her next door to play with her friend Carrie so that I could clean up. Carrie has a swing set, and I figured it would help if Angela wore off a little energy. I used some wet paper towels to mop up the rest of the grape jelly, then curled up with my latest book, Invader from the Unknown.
Not even five minutes later I heard Carrie screaming at the top of her lungs. “Angela’s stuck! She’s going to fall! Hurry, Jeff!”
I tore out of the house and over to Carrie’s swing set. Angela wasn’t making a sound, but she had a panicky look on her face. She was hanging upside down from the swing set by one foot.
As soon as I helped her down, she gave me a mischievous grin. “The swings were gone, so we’ve been practicing for the Olympics. We’re going to be world-famous gymnasts.”
I gave Angela a threatening look. “You’re going to be a world-famous prisoner if you keep it up. One more caper like that, and you’ll stay in your room until Mom gets home.”
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’ll be really good now. Carrie and I will have a tea party for our dolls.”
A few minutes later, all was quiet. Keeping one ear tuned for trouble, I stretched out on the couch with my book again. The alien ship had just set down on planet Earth, and billows of smoke were rising from the craft. …
All of a sudden I realized that there was real smoke and that it was coming from the kitchen! I made it there in record time. Carrie was hightailing it out the door for home, and Angela was staring sadly at a cookie sheet with several little black mounds on it.
“I did it just like Mommy did the peanut-butter cookies the other day,” she told me, “but I didn’t know what number to put the oven on, so I just turned the knob as far as it would go. I guess that was wrong, huh?” Seeing the fury on my face, she added quickly, “I turned it off as soon as I saw the black smoke.”
I looked at the clock, and my anger turned to panic. Mom would be back soon! “Angela,”—I spat out the ultimate threat between clenched teeth—“if you don’t help get this kitchen cleaned fast, I will never give you a piggyback ride again!”
Angela’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the sponge. She started wiping the counter, making big doughy streaks in the flour she had spilled while making the cookies. While we worked to get the worst of the mess cleaned up, Angela talked a blue streak about how she and Carrie were going to be world-famous cooks. I looked at the black blobs in the garbage can and had to admire her optimism. I was awfully glad that I had my first-aid class the next day, though. I didn’t think I could take another afternoon like this one.
“Angela, how about another snack?” I figured food would keep her quiet, and I didn’t know how much more of her jabbering I could take. I opened a can of little hot dogs. The food didn’t slow her down a bit; she was still talking a mile a minute. I growled, “Angela, if you don’t stop talking while you’re eating, you’re going to choke.”
All of a sudden, Angela got very quiet. She had a funny look on her face, and she was turning blue!
Without thinking about it, I reached over and whacked her on the back. Nothing happened. Then I remembered the Heimlich maneuver. It’s to help someone who has something caught in his throat and can’t cough it up. I’d just learned it last week in first-aid class.
I was scared. I’d only tried the maneuver on the dummy there, and I knew it should only be used in a real emergency or the person could be hurt badly. But Angela looked like she was going to pass out any minute. I heard my voice saying, “Don’t be afraid, Angela. I know what to do. I’m going to stand behind you like this. …”
I put my arms around her in a bear hug from behind, right below the rib cage, as the instructor had demonstrated. I made a fist with my left hand, thumbside against her stomach, and grasped the fist with my other hand. Taking a deep breath, I gave a sudden squeeze.
Angela made a funny choking sound, and the meat popped out onto the floor. She started breathing and crying at the same time and wrapped herself around me like a pretzel. That was OK with me—I was so glad to hear her breathing again that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d hung on all day.
Now both Mom and Angela think I’m terrific—or, as Angela says, “a world-famous hero!” And Mom said that as a reward for my heroism I don’t have to do the dishes for a week.
I’ve decided that Angela isn’t such a bad kid after all. She’s just different. “Unique,” Mom says. But then so am I. Unique, I mean.
And I’ve decided something else: Angela can have all the piggyback rides she wants—this week anyway.

When I was younger, my dad was bishop for six years. Almost every Sunday I would sit with him just because I loved him. Three years ago my dad died. I am still sad, but it isn’t as hard as it used to be. I believe that my family can live together in heaven. Thank you, everybody who has helped me. I love you. I love the Friend magazine too. It is my favorite thing to read.Rebecca Rose H., age 11Arizona

While going through my e-mails one morning, I noticed a name I could not place: Enrique Jorge Dias. The subject line read, “Saludos [greetings] from a golden contact.”
I had no idea what the message might be about, and I considered hitting the delete key. Curiosity got the best of me, however, and I opened it. It was written in Spanish.
As I read, I learned that when Enrique Dias was 18, he was living in Adrogué, Argentina, where I served as a full-time missionary more than 30 years earlier. One morning as he was walking through the center of town, I stopped him and handed him a pamphlet about the First Vision. My companion and I, in accordance with instructions from our mission president, often spent mornings handing out pamphlets on the sidewalks of Adrogué. We probably spoke with hundreds of people, though we seldom got their names. Most of our conversations lasted no more than 30 seconds.
More than three decades later, there was no way I could remember speaking to a young man, but he remembered me. A few weeks before I received his e-mail, I had posted my name on the Argentine Mission Web page, where Brother Dias had found it.
In his e-mail he explained that he took the pamphlet home and showed it to his mother, who encouraged him to learn more about Joseph Smith. By the time he tried to find the missionaries a few months later, I had been transferred to a new area.
Enrique received the discussions and was baptized and confirmed. I labored in Argentina for another 20 months but never heard anything about his baptism.
The brief conversation we had shared in the street that morning long ago had transformed his life and the lives of many others. Two years after his baptism he was called on a mission to northern Argentina. Afterward he married and continued faithful in the Church, serving in a variety of callings, including bishop, counselor to two stake presidents, and high councilor. He added that his oldest son had served a mission in La Paz, Bolivia.
Words cannot express the joy that came to my heart from reading that e-mail message. My mission was filled with many gratifying moments, but this long-delayed news from Enrique Jorge Dias made all of my memories of serving as a missionary even sweeter.

I was a teenager when the missionaries brought the gospel into my home. I remember listening to their message and thinking that the Father and the Son appearing to 14-year-old Joseph Smith and an angel leading Joseph to golden plates sounded too good to be true. The missionaries also said that there was a living prophet on the earth. That also sounded too good to be true. But I noticed positive changes in our home as the missionaries taught our family. Soon I joined the Church.
Changes in my own life, however, didn’t come immediately just because I was baptized. I began attending church on Sundays, but other than that, I still did the same things I was doing before. It wasn’t until I was 17 years old that I made a promise to the Lord that I would read at least 10 pages of the Book of Mormon every day.
One of the first things I read was that the Book of Mormon was “written to the Lamanites,” and I was taught that the Lamanites “are among the ancestors of the American Indians” (Book of Mormon, Title Page and Introduction).
I am proud of my name and of my heritage. Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me. I was eager to continue reading.
I never missed a day. As I read, I marked in red all the great truths everyone needs to know. Then I marked in yellow the promises the prophets made to the descendants of the Lamanites. As I did so, their words seemed to fly off the page!
After reading the last page, I got on my knees and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true, if Joseph Smith was a prophet, and if the Church had a living prophet. As I prayed, I felt the Spirit powerfully witness to me the truth of these things.
“Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me.”

I served as president of the Fiji Suva Mission. One day on the island of Kiribati I was walking with two elders when a man came up to us. He was drunk. I wanted to chase him off, but he saw my name tag and called me by name. “President Tefan, I would like you and your missionaries to come to dinner at my home.”
I thought, “Uh-oh, maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” I turned to the elders and asked, “How do you feel? Would you like to accept the invitation?” They said that they would like to go. I felt impressed to accept his offer.
The following night we all had a nice Chinese dinner—chicken, fish, other meats, and noodles. The missionaries were happy because it was a change from their daily menu of fish and rice. At the end of the dinner, I thanked the man and said, “Now I have a gift I would like to offer you. Would you like these missionaries to teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?”
He said he wasn’t interested but the missionaries could teach his wife and 18-year-old son. Three months later the son was baptized. One year later the wife was baptized, and her husband started attending church. He asked me for a blessing to help him stop smoking and drinking, and he was able to quit. The last time I visited that family, the son had been admitted to Brigham Young University–Hawaii on a full-tuition scholarship and had also received a mission call to Hong Kong.
When I think back on my experience with that family, I’m glad that I didn’t chase the “drunk man” away but instead followed the prompting of the Spirit to accept the dinner invitation, open my mouth, and ask him to hear the gospel.

Two days later, the Willie company had to travel the most difficult part of the trail, going over Rocky Ridge, in a freezing storm. The last of them didn’t reach camp until 5:00 the next morning. Thirteen people died and were buried in a common grave.
On November 7, the Willie company was nearing the Salt Lake Valley, but that morning there were still three deaths. Two days later, the Willie company finally reached Salt Lake, where they had a marvelous greeting and were welcomed into the homes of the Saints.

The warm spring sun sparkled on the melting snow, and icicles wept as Liv and Ivar gazed out the window at the rolling white ridges. From the wooden tower they could see their lonely ski tracks winding through the fir saplings.
“I feel as though we’re the only people left in Norway,” said Ivar solemnly.
“Looking at the mountains makes it seem that way,” Liv agreed a little uneasily. “But we know it isn’t so. Papa and Mama will soon be back from their skiing tour to Hornfjell. Let’s go back now so we can be at the hut before they arrive.”
Ivar was only six, and Liv had not intended to bring him so far. But the sight of the fire-watcher’s tower in the distance had tempted them to continue just when they had been going to turn back.
“Remember, we are the only family in the area this vacation,” Mama had warned Liv before she and Papa had left that morning. “That means you have to really take care of yourself and Ivar. I think twelve is old enough to do that.”
Her stomach growled, and Liv wished she had brought some sandwiches. Papa never went anywhere on skis without food and extra clothes in his backpack. “It’s best to be prepared for emergencies,” he always said. Thinking about Papa, Liv wanted to hurry. She hated to have him see that she had gone exploring unprepared.
“We may be the only people around here, but we are not the only animals,” said Liv as she stopped to fasten her skis. “Look at all the mouse tracks.”
“Where are the mice?” Ivar asked.
“They live in tunnels under the snow,” explained Liv. “They eat moss and seeds and sleep in grass nests. In the spring they come out and enjoy the sun.”
Ivar squatted and stared at a hole in the snow.
“Is it warm down there?” he asked.
“I think so,” said Liv. “The snow is like a blanket that keeps the wind and cold away.”
As Liv pulled Ivar’s cap down over his ears, she said, “Let’s go back along the north edge of this ridge. If we stay out of the trees we can go much faster.”
The snow was hardening in the late afternoon cool, and every kick gave them a long glide as they sped along.
“Look how long my shadow is, Liv,” called Ivar. “I’m a giant—a hungry giant.”
“We’ll be home soon,” she called back.
But Liv was pushing away fear. It seemed to her that they had skied farther now than on the trip to the tower. Maybe she had been wrong to take a different trail above the trees. They could be going astray.
“Let’s climb to the top of the ridge and see if we can see the lake by our cabin,” Liv suggested as she turned to face her brother. But Ivar was not behind her. He had been skiing more and more slowly until he was far behind.
“I can’t climb that hill,” Ivar sobbed when he caught up. “I’m too tired and I’m hungry.”
“I know you’re tired, but we have to get home before dark. I have a piece of chocolate I’ll give you at the top.” Liv’s heart was pounding, but she forced her voice to sound calm.
Slowly zigzagging up the short slope and urging Ivar along, Liv willed that the summit show them the way home. But when they reached the top, all she could see was another snowy ridge, and then another.
With shaking hands, Liv took out the chocolate bar and broke it in half. Ivar gobbled his piece in two bites, but she put hers back into her pocket. They might need it later.
Liv tried to think, but her mind was racing, leaping from idea to idea: They were not going to find the lake before dark. They were lost. It had already turned cold, and the slushy snow would soon be ice. As long as they exercised, they might keep warm enough, but how much longer could Ivar go on? “Let’s get off this ridge. The wind is coming up.” Liv’s voice wavered as she fought back tears.
Branches caught at their clothes, and buried stumps tripped them as they picked their way down through the trees. When Ivar fell, he lay listlessly in the snow until Liv pulled him up by the arm and set him on his skis again.
At the bottom of the hill there was a meadow, and as the last light faded, Liv thought she could see a shed on the other side. Despair ran through her like ice water when the shed turned out to be nothing more than four posts and a roof to protect hay from rain. A few armloads of last summer’s hay lay scattered about.
Ivar was shivering. He was silent except for an occasional whimper. Like a little mouse, thought Liv sadly.
Of course! Like a little mouse! Suddenly she knew what to do. “I’m going to make a mouse house, and you can help,” she announced with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
She yanked a loose shingle from the hay shelter. Finding a sapling bent almost double by the snow, Liv began digging under it as fast as she could. The branches would provide support for the roof of a tunnel.
“Bring that hay over here, please,” she called to Ivar.
Ivar slowly gathered an armload of hay and shuffled over to Liv. When he saw how the snow was flying, he hurried for the second load. The more he hurried, the warmer he got.
When the tunnel was deep enough, Liv stuffed the old hay inside. “Now,” she said, “the ‘mice’ are going to crawl into their warm grass nest.”
Ivar chuckled, and the two of them wiggled feet first into the snow cave. Liv pulled hay over the top of them, and they curled up together. It wasn’t exactly toasty, but Liv knew that at least it wasn’t going to get any colder.
After an eternity of holding the gently snoring Ivar, Liv heard the skreek, skreek of skis on icy snow. She wriggled out of the tunnel and peered across the meadow. There, not ten meters away, was a looming figure with a bright lantern attached to its forehead.
“Papa!” cried Liv bursting out of the cave in a flurry of snow and moldy hay.
“Thank goodness! There you are at last.” Papa sounded angry, but when Liv told him what they had done to keep warm, he started to laugh and she knew everything was all right.
As they hugged each other, Ivar popped out of the hole. “Did you know mice live under the snow, Papa? Liv did.” Ivar danced with excitement.
Papa put down his heavy pack. He had brought a small tent, warm sleeping bags, plenty of gjetost (goat cheese) and kneipbrod (brown bread).
“How did you find us?” Liv asked when they were settled inside the tent.
“I followed your tracks. They froze solid before the wind could cover them. Since no one else is around here, I knew they were yours.”
Later, when Ivar was sleeping, Liv whispered, “Are you cross with me, Papa, for being so foolish?”
“No,” he said softly. “You broke the safety rules, but you saved Ivar and yourself by using your wits.”

The small farmhouse appeared dreamlike in the predawn Florida mist that enveloped it and the surrounding swamplands. A large white ibis resting atop a darkened tree shape started at the sound of a screen door banging closed. A young girl ran from the farmhouse toward an as yet invisible landing on the edge of the swamp. She was crying and carrying a large doll with a broken right leg.
Cassie Gunnerson climbed into one of three wooden boats, untethered the rope that secured it to the pier, and shoved off into the gray silence. Using a long pole, she pushed with angry, tearful grunts against the soggy bottom of the shallow water.
The ibis blinked its eye, and the eleven-year-old girl was gone, swallowed up by the mist.
It wasn’t long before Cassie’s twelve-year-old brother, Nathan, and their parents, were up and searching for her. “We got in a fight, Pa,” Nathan sheepishly admitted as he and his parents scoured the mangrove thickets on the outer edge of the field. No one bothered to call to Cassie because she had been born deaf. “Cassie dropped the spyglass you gave me into the water yesterday while we were fishing, because …” Nathan’s voice trailed.
“Because why?” his father gently but firmly probed.
“Well,” Nathan continued somewhat hesitantly, “I guess because I cut her line. And that’s because,” he added defensively, “she kept splashing her feet in the water and scaring away the fish!”
“You haven’t told us why she ran off,” Nathan’s mother prompted him.
Nathan’s eyes fell, then lifted slowly. “I really liked that spyglass.” His look shifted to his father’s, hoping to find some kind of sympathy. But what he saw was deepening concern. “With it I could see things in the marsh nobody knew were there,” Nathan continued. “Little things like cooties and skater bugs and cucumber beetles and potter wasps and …” Anger festered inside Nathan as he tried to justify what he was about to say. “I broke Cassie’s doll,” he declared, “because of what she did to my spyglass!”
“Do you realize how long your sister saved for that doll?” Nathan’s mother questioned sternly. “How much it meant to her?”
“I guess about as much as my spyglass,” Nathan retorted.
Father rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Do two wrongs make a right?”
Nathan’s mother stared toward the swamp. “Cassie’s boat is gone!”
The swamp was deep, a maze of twisting waterways in a jungle of trees and vines. What made matters worse was Cassie’s being deaf. She couldn’t hear them call for her.
Father rested a calming hand on his wife’s arm. He turned to Nathan. “Son, I’ll take my boat; you take yours. I’ll carry my rifle; you take my Colt Dragoon. Whichever one of us finds Cassie first will fire three shots, is that understood?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Father’s eyes focused on Mother. “You stay near the house, in case Cassie shows up here first. Grandpa Sawyer’s pepperbox pistol is in the root cellar. If she does come here, fire three rounds to let us know.”
Nathan navigated his small boat through the lily-pad-laden backwater with his long pole. His eyes scanned the densely brushed islands and the countless waterways between the huge cypress trees for any sign of his sister’s boat. To his right, on some goldenrod that protruded above a log wrapped with Spanish moss, he observed a tiger swallowtail butterfly. To his left, a harmless rat snake rested in the fold of a dead tree. Directly above him on an old, dilapidated walkway that spanned two small islands, a gray squirrel chattered loudly and shook its bushy tail at him. And less than fifty yards in front of Nathan a sandhill crane waded looking for food. The young boy found himself thinking that he would gladly trade all these wondrous sights for a glimpse of his younger sister.
The boat scraped against hidden roots of cypress trees and groaned like Nathan’s conscience. He gazed into the smooth, glassy water and stared at his reflection. Then he disrupted his image with a swish of the pole—he didn’t like what he saw.
The thrashing of brushwood on one of the nearby small islands caused him to lift his eyes with a start. There, in a little clearing high atop dry ground, Nathan witnessed two male white-tailed deer contending with each other. They pushed against each other with their heads and curved antlers. Finally the fight ended when one of them tired and ran away. “I guess Cassie got tired of fighting and ran away, too,” Nathan muttered. “It was a stupid argument,” he added as he continued on down the winding, watery corridor. “Why do people who love each other fight so much? And what if something’s happened to Cassie and I didn’t tell her I was sorry!” Nathan’s pace quickened, scanning the shadows with unblinking scrutiny.
Nathan searched all day, meandering in and out of a maze of waterways. He was a few miles from home when it started to rain. He steered his little boat under the protection of an overhanging tree limb. His eyes welled up. He hadn’t heard any gunshots. Cassie hadn’t been found, nor had she returned home. He gazed through the gray curtain of falling rain. “Cassie!” he screamed, knowing full well that she couldn’t have heard him even if she was sitting right beside him. He bowed his head and beseeched his Heavenly Father to help him find his sister. He knew that Heavenly Father could hear him even through the pounding rain.
A few moments later the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, and Nathan continued his search. A great horned owl stared out of the mossy shadows with its bright yellow eyes and hooted as the little boat moved quietly by.
A short time later Nathan’s dugout floated into a clearing. He felt prompted to stop and listen. He heard someone whimpering! Rapidly poling toward the sound, he saw a small boat harbored along the shore of an island. Then he saw Cassie. She was sitting in a patch of goldenrod, her face soiled and drawn, her hair tangled. She looked very lost and very frightened. Relief washed over Nathan.
A moment later Nathan was standing before his sister. She was relieved to see him, but her reaction was dulled by leftover hurt. He glanced at the broken doll in Cassie’s boat, then at a paint-root plant in a tuft of grass. He picked some seeds from it and crushed them on a smooth rock. He dabbed his index finger in orange dye from the seeds and wrote “I love you” on Cassie’s arm. After a long look at her arm, then at Nathan, Cassie leaned forward and hugged her brother.
Smiling through his tears, he took his father’s Colt Dragoon from his boat and fired three rounds skyward.

There is a choice account of how this practice was carried out in the early days of the Church. History has recorded the testimony of Elder William Farrington Cahoon, as he filled his assignment as a teacher to the home of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The account is as follows:
“Before I close my testimony … , I wish to mention one circumstance which I never shall forget: I was called and ordained to act as a teacher to visit the families of the Saints. I got along very well till I found that I was obliged to call and pay a visit to the Prophet. Being young [only about seventeen years of age], I felt my weakness in visiting the Prophet and his family in the capacity of a teacher. I almost felt like shrinking from duty. Finally I went to his door and knocked, and in a minute the Prophet came to the door. I stood there trembling, and said to him:
“‘Brother Joseph, I have come to visit you in the capacity of a teacher, if it is convenient for you.’
“He said ‘Brother William, come right in, I am glad to see you; sit down in that chair there and I will go and call my family in.’
“They soon came in and took seats. He then said, ‘Brother William, I submit myself and family into your hands,’ and then took his seat. ‘Now Brother William,’ said he ‘ask all the questions you feel like.’
“By this time all my fears and trembling had ceased, and I said, ‘Brother Joseph, are you trying to live your religion?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“I then said ‘Do you pray in your family?’
“He said ‘Yes.’
“‘Do you teach your family the principles of the gospel?’
“He replied ‘Yes, I am trying to do it.’
“‘Do you ask a blessing on your food?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“‘Are you trying to live in peace and harmony with all your family?’
“He said that he was.
“I then turned to Sister Emma, his wife, and said ‘Sister Emma, are you trying to live your religion? Do you teach your children to obey their parents? Do you try to teach them to pray?’
“To all these questions she answered ‘Yes, I am trying to do so.’
“I then turned to Joseph and said, ‘I am now through with my questions as a teacher; and now if you have any instructions to give, I shall be happy to receive them.’
“He said ‘God bless you, Brother William; and if you are humble and faithful, you shall have power to settle all difficulties that may come before you in the capacity of a teacher.’
“I then left my parting blessing upon him and his family, as a teacher, and took my departure.” (Juvenile Instructor, 27 (15 Aug. 1892): 492–93.)

Melanie, Wendy, Tony, and Matthew Hardman are working hard to follow in the footsteps of older siblings Andrew, Daniel, and Katrina. This family from the Eight Mile Plains Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake, isn’t shy about sharing the gospel, or the high standards it embraces, with others.

Both older brothers have served missions, and older sister Katrina recently led an effort to have an offensive advertising campaign removed from her university campus.

“I collected signatures to have offensive posters removed,” says Katrina, 19. “I met many good people during this process, and one of them came to church with me.”

Melanie, who is the next in line for university study, will join Katrina, Daniel, and Andrew at the Queensland University of Technology. She is 17 years old, and is looking forward to participating in institute.