Gospel Story Finder

Najo could not believe his eyes as he looked out his bedroom window.
Snow was everywhere. It covered the bushes and trees. In fact, it covered the whole front yard.
Najo rubbed his eyes after looking at the bright white snow. He had never seen snow before, because it was always warm and sunny in the Indian village where he used to live.
Najo turned away from the window. Quickly he washed and dressed himself and ran downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen.
“Mama!” Najo cried. “Have you seen the snow?”
“Yes, little one,” Najo’s mother laughed. “I have seen it. The boys across the street have seen it too. Look out the front window.”
Najo ran to the front window and looked out. Across the street were four boys playing in the snow.
“The snow is wet,” Najo’s mother said, “and it packs together. The boys are building a man of snow. They will have a big snowman when they finish. Maybe you could help them.”
Najo shook his head. He plopped down in a chair and watched the boys. They were laughing and tossing snow at each other. Sometimes they fell down and rolled around in the fluffy whiteness.
Najo wished his family had never come to live in the city. He missed his old house, but most of all he missed his old friends.
“You will make new friends,” his father had told him encouragingly.
“How?” Najo asked.
“There are many ways. You will find one.”
But Najo had not found a way. In the two weeks he had been in their new house, Najo had made no friends at all.
Najo heard the boys laugh and he looked out the window to see one of the boys put a red cap on the snowman’s head.
Suddenly Najo jumped up. He could make a friend—a snowman friend.
Najo ran to the closet and put on his warm coat and mittens. He pulled on his boots and took his sombrero off a hook.
The breeze outside made Najo’s cheeks tingle. He jumped into the soft, cold snow and scooped it up with his hands. He threw a handful into the air and laughed when it landed on his upturned face.
Najo played in the snow for a long time before he stopped to make his snowman friend. First he rolled a fair-size ball of snow. But when he packed it more tightly to roll it bigger, it fell apart.
Najo stood up and looked over at the boys across the street. It seems easy for them to roll the snow, he thought.
Najo started again. This time he packed the snow even tighter and after a few minutes he had one small ball. Then he shook the snow off his mittens. But inside the mittens his hands were wet from the melted snow and his arms and legs felt tired.
Slowly Najo began rolling a second ball of snow. Again the snow just seemed to crumble. It’s not so easy to build a snowman, he decided.
Finally, the second ball was finished. Najo lifted it up and set it on top of the first ball. It tipped slightly where the snow had broken off.
The last ball of snow was the smallest and Najo was glad. His hands were cold and stiff and his feet were becoming cold and wet.
Carefully Najo set the third ball of snow on top of the other two. What a funny sight you are! he thought, looking across the street at the fine, big snowman the boys had made.
Najo looked at his snowman again and saw large holes where the snow had fallen out. It was small and not very well shaped.
He slipped off his sombrero, walked forward, and put it on the snowman where it completely covered its head.
“Your snowman can’t see!” called a voice from behind.
“The hat is too big,” another voice said laughingly, “or your snowman’s head is too small!”
Najo turned around. The four boys had just come into his yard. “I-I’ve never made a man of snow before,” Najo said softly.
“It’s easier when someone helps you,” the tallest boy said. “But if this is your first snowman, it isn’t too bad. Where’d you get the fancy hat?”
Najo looked at the sombrero. “I made it in the village where I used to live,” he answered.
The boys walked around the snowman, packing more snow on it, while Najo brushed the snow from his coat.
“I wish I had a hat like that,” the tallest boy said. “I’ve never seen one like it.”
“I have another one in the house,” Najo added. “This is my old sombrero. Would you like to see my new one?”
All the boys nodded.
“Did you make the new one too?” one of the boys asked.
“Yes,” Najo replied. “I can show you how to make one if you want me to.”
“That would be great!” the tall boy exclaimed. “Let’s finish rebuilding your snowman, then you can show us your new hat. Okay?”
Najo smiled. “Okay,” he agreed.
After the boys helped Najo complete the snowman, the Indian boy ran into the house, passing his mother in the hallway.
“Why are you in such a hurry, little one?” she asked. “It’s time you stayed in and—”
Najo started up the steps. “Please, Mama. I have to find my new sombrero. Some friends of mine outside—”
For a moment he stopped. “Friends” he had called the boys. Yes, they are my friends, he thought. New friends.
Najo smiled down at his mother. “Some friends of mine are waiting outside,” he called over his shoulder as he ran to get his new sombrero.

Bob:
The mission president called me and said, “Hey, I want you to be the second counselor in a branch.” A year and a half later, I was in the sealing room of the Hong Kong China Temple with the branch president I served with. He was going through the temple for the first time! He and his family had saved money and tried seven times to get to the temple, but there would be an accident, or someone would get sick. Something always came up. After seven years, they had saved only 40 dollars.
Three times on our mission, we were able to help Latter-day Saints in Cambodia attend the temple. We took lots of branch presidents who had been doing interviews for temple recommends but had never been to the temple themselves. At least in Cambodia, a senior couple would assist these families on their way to the temple. They need to have someone with them because they don’t know how to fly on a plane. Many haven’t even ridden on a bus! And now they’ve got to fly to Hong Kong and make their way to the temple. It was difficult for them to do that on their own. We are grateful for the Temple Patron Assistance Fund that helped take care of them.
Lori:
Being a member of the Church in Cambodia can be challenging. As a country, Cambodia doesn’t have a Sabbath mentality. Everybody who comes to church has to make sacrifices to be there.
Also, Cambodia is six percent Muslim and only two percent Christian—the rest are Buddhists. Shifting from a Buddhist lifestyle to a Christian lifestyle is very difficult. Some people still lose their jobs, and a lot of times they are shunned by others in the neighborhood.
Tithing is also a big deal. Buddhist monks will come around every morning and ask for rice or some money, and people are used to that. But to take your paycheck and take a slice of that for tithing is a big deal.
Many have had real trauma in their lives. Because of the Khmer Rouge, a communist regime that ruled Cambodia in the late ’70s, everyone over 40 has a personal horror story. I didn’t meet anyone who hadn’t been affected by it. Everyone had family members who were murdered. Even though they’ve been through so much, I couldn’t believe how resilient they were, how willing to try they were. But behind their resilience, many still have low self-esteem. Many don’t feel like they’re important or worth anything.
It was amazing to see how the gospel of Jesus Christ helped them bloom. When they’d find out that they are not only wonderful but also a child of God, they’d say, “You’re kidding? Now I have something to contribute.”
The Church is really going to blossom in Cambodia. Incredible people have been led to the Church. The Saints there are pioneers, and those who really embrace the gospel are blessed in so many ways because they get to know the Savior. It is really amazing.
We have a lot of members and very strong wards around a place called “Trash Mountain,” which is an open dump where people live. Members there are pickers and collectors. They make their money off of recycling plastic and aluminum that they get out of the dump. They live in teeny little houses that we have been to dozens of times.
Bob:
One day we could hear music blaring, and we noticed a tent was being set up. In Cambodia, that either means somebody is getting married or somebody has died.
Lori:
We found out that a mother of five or six kids had just died. There was no husband to speak of. The children just woke up and realized their mom was dead.
One daughter was just sobbing. Through a translator, she said, “I’m the oldest. I’ve got all these siblings. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
I just scooped her up in my arms. How could I not? This girl just lost her mother. I spoke to her in English and said, “I know you don’t understand me, but I promise you will see your mother again. You are going to be OK. You are not going to be left alone.”
So many experiences like this have given us a special connection with the people of Cambodia.
We felt that love back. The people in Cambodia showed us great kindness. We love them because they are children of God. They are our brothers and sisters.
With some people, I remember thinking, “I can’t wait until I see you in the next life, then I’ll really be able to tell you all the things I feel for you and the love I have for you, and what I admire about you, because I can’t say it now.”
Our mission has blessed us in so many ways. Some people say, “I don’t know if I can serve a mission. I can’t leave my grandkids.” We had five little grandsons when we left, ages five, four, three, two, one. Two granddaughters were born while we were gone. I’m going to save two of my Cambodian missionary name tags and give them to my baby girls so they will know that Grandma wasn’t there because Grandma was doing what the Lord needed her to do.
Bob:
There are many ways to serve the Lord as missionaries. We take to heart what Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said about senior missionary service. He said, “I promise you will do things for [your family] in the service of the Lord that, worlds without end, you could never do if you stayed home to hover over them. What greater gift could grandparents give their posterity than to say by deed as well as word, “In this family we serve missions!’ [“We Are All Enlisted,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 46.]”
“When we found out we were called to serve in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, we wept. We were excited!” Brother Bob Thurston says. “We wouldn’t have picked Cambodia, but what a gift! What a blessing!” Sister Thurston says.
The Thurstons feel a special connection to the people of Cambodia. “We love them, and we have felt that love back,” Sister Thurston says. “People in Cambodia have shown us great kindness.”
Of all the responsibilities the Thurstons had on their mission, they treasure most the opportunity to visit members in their homes.
Sister Thurston remembers looking at those she served in Cambodia and thinking, “I can’t wait until I see you in the next life, then I’ll really be able to tell you all the things I feel for you and the love I have for you.”

Christmas was still a few weeks away, but Truman and his family had already put up the Christmas tree. He was excited as he thought about the presents he hoped to see under the tree on Christmas morning.
A few days later Truman walked into the living room and saw there was one small box under the tree. It was wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow.
Our first present! Who sent it? Was it Grandma?
No.
Is it from one of my cousins?
No.
Truman was confused.
Well, then who sent it?
You’ll have to wait and see. All we can say is that it is a very special gift.
As days passed, more presents appeared under the tree, but Truman kept wondering about that first red present with the green bow. Where did it come from?
On Christmas morning, Truman raced to wake up his brothers and parents.
Wake up! It’s Christmas!
After arriving at the tree, Truman was excited to see the presents underneath it.
Truman, you may open the small box with the red paper and green bow.
Truman was excited to finally see what was inside.
Truman removed the lid and found a few small items. He pulled them out one at a time—a picture of Jesus Christ, a poem about Jesus’s birth, and a star. Truman showed everyone the picture, and Dad read the poem.
I put the box under the tree so we could remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
Truman was happy to remember Jesus.
Dad, you put the box under the tree, but now I know who really gave us this gift.
Who?
Heavenly Father.

After the sacrament had been passed, my brother Robert took out a pencil and paper and began to draw. I worried about Robert, a 16-year-old priest, who should be outgrowing that kind of thing by now. I looked at my mother’s face. She seemed composed, as always. She ignored his behavior in church. “I’d rather have him come to church and draw than stay home,” she had told me once. “Someday something will change.”
She and I both knew Robert would rather have been in the hills this morning waking up in a cold sleeping bag. If we had left him at home he would have gone hiking with Juno, his trusty dog. “I get more in the mountains than I ever did in a stuffy old meeting,” he shouted once to my father.
“Nevertheless, we are a church-going family,” Father had said gently. “And you are part of the family while you live here, and you will go with us to church.”
I stared at Robert’s hands. They were roughened young hands, accustomed to chopping and whittling wood, tying knots, digging tent trenches. The fingernails were chipped off and dirty. He looked like he belonged in the mountains, not in church.
Sometimes I thought I could understand him. He wanted to worship out there where he said God really was. He had never read the Book of Mormon; he made jokes in Sunday School class. And I don’t think he ever heard anything that was said in sacrament meeting.
Robert continued to draw and I was watching and shouldn’t have been. I tried to concentrate on the woman who was speaking. She was talking about her son who had just returned from his mission.
I sat up and my eyes opened. I wished Robert were listening instead of making silly drawings.
I thought at that moment that maybe Robert shouldn’t listen because he might be getting some ideas. But I noticed his hand had paused. He was listening! Now all I could do was pray he wouldn’t hear the wrong message in the mother’s speech, and go out with his dog for several days.
I looked over at Robert. He was listening all right. I wasn’t sure that was good. But the mother continued. Her boy had changed. He had gone on a mission. It had been a miracle.
Robert thought he had heard all of the rest of this before and returned to his drawing. And then it was time for the returned missionary to speak.
Robert was not watching the missionary.
The ward members laughed. Even Robert smiled.
I thought Robert would have loved a similar two weeks in the desert right during testing time at school, though I couldn’t imagine him taking the Book of Mormon.
The chapel was hushed. I felt I was not there in the church, but with the missionary on those blue hills in the rain. And so was Robert.
I could hear my own breathing, and I could feel my own heart beat. The piece of the paper with the drawing on it fell to the floor. Robert moved closer to Mother, and she put her arm around him. It seemed that, sitting there in sacrament meeting, we were in our own circle of light.

After my first year of university studies, I began a project to better understand the Bible. I decided to study the teachings of a few religious groups I had heard were not Christian and then compare them to the teachings of the Bible.
As the next semester began, I started studying The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. One of my classes required laboratory work with a partner, and I prayed for someone with whom I could learn what I needed to learn.
I chose a lab bench, and soon a student approached and asked if I had a partner. He introduced himself as Lincoln. I didn’t remember seeing him at school the year before and asked if he had transferred.
“Actually,” he said, “I just returned from serving as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I told Lincoln I had begun studying his church and had some questions. He happily agreed to answer them.
During the next three months, I asked questions about the Book of Mormon, temples, latter-day prophets, and modern revelation. Although I learned a great deal during this time, I still thought that Mormons weren’t Christians.
One weekend our school lost a big game. Some teachers in the lab vigorously discussed the loss, repeatedly using the Lord’s name in vain. Lincoln approached the teachers and asked them if they would please stop speaking about Jesus Christ that way.
“Does that really bother you?” they asked with some doubt.
“Yes,” Lincoln replied. “Jesus Christ is my best friend.”
At that moment, my investigation of the Church changed from an intellectual exercise to a question of faith. If this religion produced men like this, it was Christian in every way that mattered.
As Lincoln and I left that night, I asked if I could attend church with him sometime. After going to church, I asked him if I could have a copy of the Book of Mormon and if I could meet with the missionaries.
For two years I investigated the Church and spent time with its members. I saw a consistent pattern of sincere men and women diligently striving to be disciples of the Master. On numerous occasions the Holy Ghost confirmed to me that Jesus Christ, whom I had always tried my best to serve, really had restored His Church in our day. It was overseen by prophets and apostles and led directly by Him.
I was baptized and have now enjoyed more than a dozen years of blessings from the restored gospel and its teachings. How grateful I am that Heavenly Father answered my prayer to find a lab partner who would help me learn what I needed to learn.

“Hey, Brother Wallace, why doesn’t the Holy Ghost just tap me on the shoulder when he wants to tell me something?” one 11-year-old asked flippantly. Then he snickered and nudged his friend. Other class members chitchatted among themselves. As a rookie from the Teacher Development class, I knew I’d lost my group. My hand closed over my serviceman’s Book of Mormon in my pocket.

“Well, sometimes we hear, and sometimes we’re not in tune,” I said. “You know, fellas, I was a radioman in the infantry during the Korean War. My walkie-talkie was so heavy on my back that I had to wrap a towel around my neck to cushion it. Since I was a radioman, the enemy knew that if they could knock me out, there could be no communication to the rear. In the same way, if you’re knocked out spiritually, the Holy Ghost can’t get through to you.”

Now they were listening!

Taking the stained, riddled Book of Mormon from my pocket, I let eager class members examine it. I now stood squarely on both my legs—saved by a prompting of the Holy Ghost to put the book in the proper pocket.

Now, some of you may not have a paper waiting for you. It may be a textbook with a math problem hidden in it. Let me tell you about a day in your future. You’ll have a teenage son or daughter who’ll say, “I hate school.” After some careful listening, you’ll find it is not school or even mathematics he or she hates—it’s the feeling of failure.

You’ll correctly discern those feelings, and you’ll be touched; you’ll want to freely give. So you’ll open the text and say, “Let’s look at one of the problems together.” Think of the shock you will feel when you see that the same rowboat is still going downstream in two hours and back in five hours, and the questions are still how fast the current is and how far the boat traveled. You might think, “Well, I’ll make my children feel better by showing them that I can’t do math either.” Let me give you some advice: they will see that as a poor gift.

Randy McGee has imagination. He’s unintimidated as well. He’s also the cheerleader at Thomas Jefferson High School in Washington who had “lost so many school elections” he decided to run for an office he could win! He invented the office of Archduke, and his campaign included the wearing of a red cap and the handing out of a job description with his picture to student voters. The student council admitted that his speech got the most raves at the election assembly, and Mormons in the area appreciated the good publicity in the local papers. As Archduke, Randy spreads good cheer, stirs up goodwill efforts between schools, and acts as chief pepper-upper at games. “As far as I know,” comments Randy laughingly, “I’m the only Archduke in the USA”.

Another “father” who was placed in my life was a member of my stake presidency. President Merrill was always at our stake dances, Young Women camps, and youth conferences.
As I was preparing to leave for college, President Merrill felt I needed some fatherly advice before heading into the world. His voice was gentle and soothing. I could feel his concern. I knew he loved me. He told me he would go as far as the Salt Lake Temple to attend my wedding.
A few years later, I called my father to announce my engagement. He was cold and indifferent. Nothing had changed. I tried not to cry. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer, and the Spirit reminded me of President Merrill’s promise. I wondered if he would remember what he had told me several years before. Did he really mean it? I picked up the phone and dialed his number. President Merrill answered. I stumbled through telling him of my engagement and asked if he remembered his promise to me. “What temple are you getting married in?” he asked.
“The Salt Lake Temple,” I answered.
“Then I will be there,” he said. He drove 13 hours in the snow to be there for me. When I walked into the sealing room with my future husband, he was the first person I saw. He was my father that day!

As I stand here before you at this moment, I cannot help but think back to the day when I, as an investigator of the Church, was confronted with the missionaries’ challenge to prepare for my baptism. This step seemed to be too big for me to take, but because I already had a testimony burning within me of the truthfulness of this work, I knew that withstanding baptism would take away my right to speak to my Father in Heaven again in prayer.
So I accepted the challenge for baptism, with a fearful heart, but I told the missionaries that I would do it only on two conditions: First, that I would never be called to any Church position, and second, that I would never have to give a talk. Without the loving influence and the power and security of the Holy Ghost, which I received by the laying on of hands after baptism to help me, I could not have done anything in my various Church assignments by myself.
We, as members, have the privilege to bear witness of the restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ through a divinely authorized man, Joseph Smith, in these latter days. As I bore this witness to a man just recently while I was serving as mission president in Germany, I saw that he felt very uneasy about my statement, and he, like so many others, responded with a question: “Don’t we all believe in the same God?” This question hurt me. It always hurts me when I see how many people are so indifferent and show such a lack of awareness in this most vital question in man’s life: Can I find thee, my Father in Heaven?
Yes, one could say that regardless of when, where, and in what circumstances we are raised, we all long for our Heavenly Father and desire after him, because we knew him before we came to this earth. But do we, on this earth, all believe in the same God? No—absolutely not! Men have created, in their use of free agency, all kinds of different interpretations of our Father in Heaven and the purpose of our lives.
In our mortal existence there is no place for an uncertain, indifferent awareness of our responsibility and obligation to decide whom we should follow. Either we must attain a knowledge of our Creator and God, who loves us, who wants to bring peace, dignity, light, and happiness into our lives, or by and by we will forget our divine origin and remain in the foggy mists of the deceiver—the adversary, who cannot stand the fact that we, as living souls, did not accept his plan in our premortal lives.
He is fighting, with all of his knowledge, to lead men astray as they exercise their free agency, that he might make them his slaves. We are witnesses that the fear, hatred, despair, loneliness, and ugliness that people experience in their lives are the fruits of the influence of the adversary. It is obvious that his long-range, ungodly strategy to destroy our ability to truly love and have faith is aimed at these latter days before the second coming of the Savior, when a decision is required of every man.
If we do not decide to search out and accept the truth in the only way authorized by God, with all our might, mind, and strength, even when it means changing our lives completely, we will have built our house on sand. The half-truths of men, often mingled with scripture, are sometimes strong enough to fulfill the expectations of the people for a season or for a generation, but they can neither bring them along the path of exaltation and eternal life nor bring satisfying answers to the demanding problems of mankind in these days.
Receiving and accepting Jesus Christ and his plan of salvation in its fulness and its truth means leaving the world and its earthly desires behind and building Zion around ourselves. When Christ walked the earth to prepare the way for his disciples, standing in purity and bearing testimony of the truth, he was a light in the darkness, and the darkness knew him not (see John 1:5). The darkness organized itself to destroy him. Christ knew that this would happen, not only to him but also to all his true disciples. He said, in speaking to his followers, in Matthew 10:22, “And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake.”
When we really follow Christ in his true restored church, it will be manifested in our lives. The fruit will follow. The Holy Ghost will lead us to make uncomfortable decisions, to develop true love and faith by learning to sacrifice and to discipline ourselves. Our abilities will grow and will bring satisfaction and joy and happiness. Through the instrument of an ongoing communication with our Heavenly Father—a constant prayer in our hearts for direction in the many little decisions in our lives—we feel the softness of the yoke of Christ, as he said in Matthew 11:28, 30:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. …
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
We will be led to live our lives his way and not the world’s way.
The men of the world feel secure with the question “Don’t we all believe in the same God?” The answer to the question is “No.” The deceiver has initiated all kinds of philosophies and religions to lead people astray, to make them feel happy and safe in their man-made rationalizing and wickedness. He wants them to forget that someday we all have to stand in the judgment of Christ and report our deeds and words. The Savior said in Matthew 12:36, “But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.”
We are living in the glorious days of fulfillment eagerly awaited by the prophets of old—Enoch, Isaiah, Daniel, Paul, and many others. In our day the works of the deceiver of all the ages are being revealed by Christ through a living prophet. The disciples of Christ—the Saints of the latter days under the leadership of a living prophet, even Spencer W. Kimball—are taking the offensive to show the world the fruits of righteous living in the gospel of Jesus Christ. We testify with the angels that these are the days of warning for the people of the nations of the world, and that the time is near when it will be too late. We testify with the words of Amulek, a Book of Mormon prophet, recorded in Alma 34:32–33 and 35:
“For behold, this life is the time for men … to perform their labors.
“And now, as I have said unto you before, as ye have had so many witnesses, therefore, I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance until the end; …
“For behold, if ye have procrastinated the day of your repentance even until death, behold, ye have become subjected to the spirit of the devil, and he doth seal you his; therefore, the Spirit of the Lord hath withdrawn from you, and hath no place in you, and the devil hath all power over you; and this is the final state of the wicked.”
The saving priesthood powers from above operate only through the principle of the righteousness of men. These powers are working through the innocent and the pure in heart as prophesied since the days of old. Thirty thousand missionaries are sent out to teach with this power, searching for those who are seeking the eternal principles of truth that they have been waiting for during their whole lifetime. Hundreds of thousands of priesthood holders and women witness daily—through their righteous lives, their example, and their testimonies—that they have been sealed by the Holy Ghost with the knowledge that these things are true, that the kingdom of God is in the process of establishment in these days to prepare for the second coming of the Savior.
With great excitement, the disciples of Christ in these last days are learning to accept the word given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in Doctrine & Covenants 58:64:
“For, verily, the sound must go forth from this place into all the world, and unto the uttermost parts of the earth—the gospel must be preached unto every creature, with signs following them that believe.”
This work in these latter days is bringing to pass the prophecy of the prophet Enoch, the seventh from Adam, recorded in the Pearl of Great Price, Moses 7:62:
“And righteousness will I send down out of heaven; and truth will I send forth out of the earth, to bear testimony of mine Only Begotten; his resurrection from the dead; yea, and also the resurrection of all men; and righteousness and truth will I cause to sweep the earth as with a flood, to gather out mine elect from the four quarters of the earth, unto a place which I shall prepare, an Holy City, that my people may gird up their loins, and be looking forth for the time of my coming; for there shall be my tabernacle, and it shall be called Zion, a New Jerusalem.”
My dear brothers and sisters, I bear you my testimony that this is the day of the establishment of the kingdom of Christ on this earth—that nobody will be able to escape the decision to accept God as he really is and not as he has been made to appear according to man-made philosophies. I know that this is the work of the living God, working through a living prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. I say this in humility in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, amen.

This story happened in Finland.
Jonas laughed as he raced his brothers to the living room for home evening. He could still smell the yummy roasted lamb from Easter dinner. And he could still taste the sweet pasha, their traditional Easter dessert.
After the family was sitting quietly, Jonas’s older brother Tristan stood up.
“Happy Easter!” Tristan said. He started their home evening with a song and prayer. Then it was time for their special music program. Everyone had prepared a song about Jesus Christ to share.
Tristan played the guitar, strumming each string carefully. Then his brother Einar played the piano. His fingers moved across the keys. Mom, Dad, and Jonas’s other brothers also played songs. Jonas loved hearing his family’s music.
At last it was Jonas’s turn. He took a deep breath and started to sing.
“At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice, but I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, ‘Love one another as Jesus loves you.’”
As Jonas sang, his heart filled with love. His eyes filled with happy tears. It felt like the Holy Ghost was telling Jonas that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him.
“Thank you all for sharing your talents,” Dad said. He held up a picture. It showed Jesus Christ kneeling and praying next to a tree. “Who knows what’s happening in this picture?”
Jonas raised his hand. “That’s Jesus praying in Gethsemane.”
Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s where He felt all of our hurt and sadness.”
“He went to the Garden of Gethsemane before He died,” Mom said. “After He died, He lived again. This is all part of His Atonement. Jesus did all of this because He loves us.”
Mom turned on a video about the first Easter. When the video ended, everyone was quiet for a minute. Jonas felt Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love again.
“Now is it time for our activity?” Jonas asked.
Mom stood from the couch and went to the cabinet. “Yes! Jonas, will you help me?”
Jonas and Mom got out glue, scissors, and a pile of Church magazines. They spread them out on the floor. Then Mom gave everyone their special Easter journals. “Let’s make picture art of Jesus Christ in our journals for Easter.”
Jonas sat on the floor and opened his notebook.
Dad picked up a pen to write in his journal. “Next to your pictures, you can write down what you will do to follow Heavenly Father and Jesus so you can become more like Them.”
Jonas turned the pages of one of the magazines. He found a picture of Jesus Christ smiling.
Jonas cut out the picture and glued it in the center of his journal page. He thought about all the love he had felt from the Savior that day. Then he wrote, “I will follow Heavenly Father and Jesus by listening to Dad and Mom and helping with chores. I will love my brothers more.” He held it up to show Mom. She read what he had written and smiled.
Jonas would remember this Easter for a long time. He felt Jesus Christ’s love when he sang and learned about Him. And he felt Jesus’s love when he tried to be like Him.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ really did love Jonas. And Jonas loved Them too.
Pasha is a sweet custard dessert. Do you have an Easter treat you eat each year?
Illustrations by Steliyana Doneva

While working on the pioneer film 17 Miracles, my team and I created several scenes to convey this threat of wolves. We brought in a wolf trainer, and one day he left his wolves in a trailer while we looked for some good places to shoot scenes in the heavily wooded outdoor studio. Even though they are “trained” wolves, they are still wolves and can be very aggressive. They have natural instincts to attack and kill.

We returned a couple of hours later and were amazed to see a deer standing less than 15 feet from the trailer. Her ears were out, her eyes alert, and she was staring at the trailer. She seemed mesmerized.

Normally when you see a deer in that wooded area, the deer sees you, bounds off, and disappears within seconds. This time, not so. The deer was so focused on that wolf-harboring trailer that she didn’t even notice us until we were about 15 feet away. She finally noticed our presence and then seemed to come out of her trance and ran off. I asked the trainer if he’d ever seen anything like that before. He hadn’t, and he couldn’t explain it.

The next morning when the trainer approached his trailer to begin the day’s work, to his astonishment he saw close to 15 deer standing in a circle, all the way around the trailer. Like the first deer, they too were transfixed and stared intently at the trailer. Their circle grew smaller and smaller as they each continued to move closer to the trailer. The trainer could hear the wolves inside, pawing and clawing away as they seemed to be saying in wolf language, “Let me at ’em!”

Again the trainer moved very close to the deer before they became aware of him and ran into the nearby woods.

After reading “Is There Life after Young Women?” in the July 1987 issue, I had my first experience in Relief Society. In the article it mentioned visiting teaching, so I gave the Relief Society president my schedule so she could assign me to visit four special sisters in my ward. I know I will probably get more out of my visits with these sisters than they will. I have a feeling that I won’t be sitting dormant long, because my best friend (who also is my mother) has told me that the Relief Society president can’t wait to put me to work. It makes me feel so wanted. So ready or not, Relief Society, here I come.

When Leonie’s husband joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1965, she had little interest in the faith. Years later, her view of her husband’s church began to soften, and Leonie accepted lessons from faithful sister missionaries in Rockhampton, Queensland.
In 1968, although she still didn’t have much of a testimony, she decided to be baptised on her husband’s birthday, as a gift to him. It was probably not a great reason to take up a new religion, but Leonie said that joining the Church was one of the best decisions she ever made.
When she passed away in 2012, Leonie had been a diligent member of the Church for over 40 years. Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren share precious memories of Leonie as they continue to be blessed by her legacy of faith.

Michelle pushed her hair from her face and quickened her pace into the biting wind. Her shoes tapped lightly on the sidewalk and echoed faintly through the night air. Every now and again a car passed by, but other than that she was alone. Alone … at last. How strange—wasn’t aloneness what she was fighting? No, she thought, aloneness and loneliness are two entirely different things.
Michelle couldn’t help but think of the contrast between this deepening silence and the boisterous laughter that was probably going on in her apartment with her five roommates and their friends all talking at once about their plans for the weekend. She loved visitors, but once in awhile, like tonight, she felt an overwhelming need to be by herself.
Just where was she headed, Michelle wondered? Oh, sure, she had goals. Right now she was an art major, and eventually she wanted to do artwork for a living. She had always enjoyed recreating those things she thought beautiful. But somehow, at this moment, she wasn’t completely satisfied. A deepening sense of isolation and loneliness had been taking hold of her, despite the fact that she was constantly around other people. It was as if she were an outsider, or perhaps a cameraman, watching everyone else laugh and joke with one another, but she herself was unable to take an active part in the fun. And since nobody seemed to notice, she was finding it harder and harder to step outside her own mind into the world next to her.
And she had her long-term goals, too. Yet there were times when she resented the emphasis on marriage that was almost unconsciously a part of every conversation. Perhaps if she were nearer that goal, she wouldn’t be so sensitive about the subject. But as it was, the constant discussion of boyfriends and engagements only served to bring her to a more painful awareness of the fact that she rarely dated. Even going home for spring break was not as exciting as it should be. How was she supposed to explain her lack of social triumphs to her family and old friends?
It wasn’t only that, though. She could have endured the dateless weekends—because after all, she was just a plain, freckle-faced redhead—but it was the friendless weekdays that were getting her down. Of the six in her apartment, she was the only one who never received phone calls or visitors. Janice, the bubbly blond, had a knack for making new friends, so she never had a lack of attention. Bobbi and Kay were members of the ballroom dance team, and their dance partners were with them day in and day out. And Pauline, a curly headed brunette with winning dimples, was active in two singing groups on campus, so she had no trouble in meeting new people. Even Kerri, her best friend and special roommate who was not quite as active and outgoing as the others, still had the warmth of personality that attracted many close companions.
It was hard for her not to feel sorry for herself when the only phone calls she ever got were from either her mother or a ward officer asking her to give a talk or help out in the ward nursery.
Michelle shivered suddenly. Her hair was wet from the snow that had melted on it, and now the wind was beginning to blow again. She decided to turn around and start back. Being alone was getting her nowhere but further along the road to self-pity. She shivered again, but this time it felt as if she had swallowed an ice cube and the cold was coming from the pit of her stomach rather than from the icy wind. A hopelessness even greater than before settled over her, and she leaned forward at a hurried gait to reach the warmth of her apartment.
Finally she was among the old familiar homes and apartment buildings that lined the street she lived on. A glance around told her that it must be late since fewer cars than usual were driving by and lights in many apartments were out. She looked ahead at the white brick complex that was now her second home. Almost half of the 16 apartments looked dark, including her own. She cut across the snow-covered lawn and tried the door. It was locked, but immediately Kerri’s face appeared peeping through the curtains in the living room.
“Where have you been?” she asked, throwing open the door. Her face was covered with her special weekly oatmeal facial and her short, brown hair was half up in rollers. Michelle couldn’t help laughing faintly.
“Just been out walking and thinking. Nothing serious.”
“Oh yeah? Since when is thinking not serious around this place? The truth now. Who were you following? He must have been a real winner to keep you out in a storm like this.”
Michelle closed the door and followed Kerri through the living room down the hall to their bedroom.
“Yes, but I lost him after a few blocks. He just disappeared like all the rest of the men around this campus.”
“Can’t win ’em all. But seriously, Michelle, is anything wrong?” She looked at her through the mirror as she finished her hair.
“Nothing dramatic.”
“All right. Tell me, though, if you need anything.”
Michelle hung up her coat and pulled a towel out of her drawer to dry her hair.
“Is everyone else in bed?”
“Unusual, huh? We ran out of gossip early tonight. Oops, there’s the phone. I’ll get it—maybe it’s my prince charming.”
Michelle sat down on the side of the bed and closed her eyes. Thank goodness she had fun-loving, easy-going Kerri for a friend.
A shout from the other room made her open her eyes.
“Hey, Michelle, it’s for you! And it’s a man!”
Michelle groaned inwardly. What tact! If by some miracle a guy had called to ask her out, he’d have been scared away by now. Who could it be, she wondered? She stepped lightly down the hall to the kitchen and took the receiver from Kerri who winked mischievously.
“Hello …”
“Hello, Michelle?”
“Yes.”
“Michelle, this is Gary Feldman, the ward chairman for service projects. Listen, I know this is late notice, but the girl who was asked to go visit an elderly member lady at the nursing home tomorrow had an emergency, and I heard you were dependable so … well, I was wondering if you would mind going instead?”
“Oh … oh, well I’d be glad to.” Despite her struggle to sound cheerful, she knew her voice had betrayed a little of the disappointment she had felt. She should have known—it hadn’t been her mother so she should have expected the obvious alternative. How could she pretend interest in an old lady when nobody cared a nickel for her?
“Do you or one of your roommates have a car so you can get there all right?”
“Sure. What time shall I be there?”
“As soon as you’re through with classes, if possible. The home is in the center of town and the room is 313. I think the lady is Sister Zwindli. Hey, I really do appreciate this on such short notice.”
“Well, you’re very welcome. Bye now.”
Michelle slowly put down the receiver and sank into a nearby kitchen chair.
“Well, who was it?” came a shout from the next room.
“Only someone calling to ask a favor.”
“How dull and boring!”
“At least it was a phone call.” This time her voice sounded more cheerful than she felt, and an uncontrollable tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently and got up to go get ready for bed.
Pauline dropped Michelle off at the rest home at 5:00 the next afternoon. The sun had been shining brightly all day, and as she climbed from the car, she was almost blinded by its glaring reflection on the snow that had fallen the night before. The stabbing pain at the back of her eyes made her stop and wait a minute before they adjusted to the brightness. After a moment she looked up to read the “Friendship Gardens” sign above the glass doors of the red brick building.
As she stepped in through the doors, she was almost immediately overcome by the sickeningly sweet odors of medicine and sickness. She tried to calm her nausea as she haltingly walked up to the reception desk. A smiling, robot-type nurse in a starchy white uniform gazed at her through businesslike eyes.
“What can I help you with?”
Suddenly Michelle felt very self-conscious and out of place. After all, what did she have to say to a sick old lady whose entire life probably consisted of watching TV and getting shots to go to sleep? She stared back at the receptionist.
“Well … uh, I … that is, is it all right if I see the lady in 313? I think the name is Zwindli.”
“Mmmmmm. Let me check.” She leafed through her records and brought one out of the pile. “Oh yes. She’s down the hall on your left. Just go right on in.”
Now that she was here, she was frightened. What had they expected of her anyway? She hadn’t had time to make anything for Sister Zwindli, and surely anything she might have to say wouldn’t be of any interest to this lady. She had grabbed her sketchbook on her way out of the apartment as an afterthought, thinking that this woman might enjoy watching her draw, but now she felt unsure of herself. Maybe Sister Zwindli had poor eyesight and didn’t want to do anything but lie in bed and be left alone.
309, 311, and there it was—313. She stepped slowly through the door and looked cautiously around. There was a bed up against the wall in the near left corner. Michelle could see a thin form beneath the white sheets, but as she drew nearer, she could tell that Sister Zwindli was asleep.
Not sure of what to do next, she decided to sit on the chair near the bed and wait a few minutes to see if she would wake up on her own. Michelle let her eyes roam around the room. It was just like a hospital on a smaller scale. White walls, white curtains, white bed covers, a white metal nightstand, and even the gray-white tile floor that is so common in hospitals.
Then she took her first good look at Sister Zwindli. She was lying on her side so her features were clearly visible. On a sudden impulse Michelle got out her sketchbook and began to draw a rough outline of Sister Zwindli’s face. It was a thin face and looked taut and drawn, despite the fact that it was deeply lined above the brows and beneath the eyes as if she had suffered through many trials. Her wispy, gray hair looked like curls of smoke that might disappear at any moment. It gathered softly above her delicately high forehead and down around the temples and back to the ears. Her eyes were widely set above a thin, yet beautifully proportioned nose. Tiny creases radiated from the corners of the eyes, telling Michelle that in spite of her suffering, she had smiled often enough to leave the traces. In her mind Michelle imagined that Sister Zwindli had once been very vivacious, with delicate features set in a peaches-and-cream complexion to add to her dainty build and warm personality. But now sickness and pain had yellowed that skin and set down its story in the wrinkled brow that seemed too much for the weary eyes to bear.
Just as she was about to sketch in the mouth and begin the shading, a nurse walked in. This one did not look as inhuman as the one out at the desk. She was in her mid-50s and had a warm, congenial glow about her. As she caught sight of Michelle, she slowed and smiled gradually as if she were remembering something.
“You wouldn’t happen to be here on a service project, would you?”
“Why, yes I am.” She wondered vaguely how this nurse knew because she hadn’t mentioned that to the receptionist.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re finally here. You see, I was the one who called and asked to have someone take time out to come and see her once in a while. I knew Miss Zwindli was a Mormon, so I just called her church. But I’m afraid now just happens to be a bad time. She was in a great deal of pain earlier, so we had to give her a pain shot, and now she won’t be awake for at least another hour or so.”
“Would it be better for me to come another day?” She felt let down, for after having studied Sister Zwindli’s face, she had imagined she had recognized a sort of strength there—something she wanted to know more about.
“If you like—but it upsets me that she missed you because after I told her that she might be getting company, she talked of nothing else. Poor dear, she never has visitors other than the doctors and nurses.”
A guilty feeling swept through Michelle. Here was someone who truly had no one. She at least had a family and five wonderful roommates; and she had been feeling sorry for herself.
“Doesn’t she have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh, I have heard her mention an older brother and two younger sisters. But they’re all back in Switzerland. You see Miss Zwindli joined the Mormon church when she was about 14, and consequently her parents disowned her, so she came over alone to America. An uncle from Boston paid her way and met her when she arrived in New York. But for some reason or other he tried to dissuade her from continuing in her church. Said he’d even pay for a college education in music and vocal lessons, which was what she had always wanted, but she refused, so he disowned her, too.”
“How did she manage all alone?” Michelle found herself wishing that she had been there to befriend that little girl who had been so brave and yet probably so frightened.
“She said she took whatever work was available at the time—housework or factory work. It took her a whole year to scrape together enough money to ride the train from Boston to Salt Lake—course that was back in 1920.
“After she got there, it was like a dream come true, being with people who believed as she did. From what she’s told me, it seems like she had a good life there—working, teaching in her church, singing in choirs.”
“Why didn’t she ever marry? She looks like she was once a very beautiful lady.”
“Oh, she had opportunities, but she never found the one she wanted to marry. That didn’t stop her, though. She kept right on working and serving.”
“Why is she here now?”
“She came to Boston a few months ago hoping she could locate some of her cousins. Seems they’ve all moved away. Then she got sick. Her doctor brought her in after he discovered she had stomach cancer. She’s been here now for a month, but the doctor didn’t expect her to last more than a few weeks. She was so resigned and accepting that it just about broke my heart. She never complains but instead is always going around in her wheelchair seeing if there is anything she can do for anyone else. She hardly has strength to do anything for herself.
“But for the last week she’s been unable to get out of bed. I’m glad you made an effort to come talk to her. She’ll appreciate the thought.”
Michelle looked over at the tired, worn face with the sunken eyes. She felt as if she had known this woman for a long time, although she had not even spoken to her. She couldn’t force herself to leave immediately, and as she gazed on silently, the nurse left the room to go help another patient who was crying out down the hall.
Tears burned in her eyes as she contemplated the great loneliness and suffering that this unselfish lady had lived through. She looked down at the drawing in her lap and realized how little of the inner struggle that must have taken place was evident in that sketch. She closed the pad and got up to leave, but as she glanced over once again at the bed, she saw that those sunken eyes were looking up questioningly at her.
“Oh, Sister Zwindli, I’m so glad that you’re awake. You don’t know me, but my name is Michelle. I know this may sound unusual, but I came over to visit with you because I needed a friend. I think God led me to you.”
The deep brown eyes widened and then seemed to take on a new depth of understanding. Suddenly she was crying, the tears streaming down her lined face.
“My dear child. He sent you just in time. We both need a friend.”
She took a thin, veiny hand from beneath the blankets and reached for Michelle’s. For half an hour Michelle did nothing but sit by the bed and hold that hand. Her heart was still heavy, but the despondency that had so long been there was gone. Finally she laid the hand gently on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered, “I’ll be back soon.”

I treasure the old photographs of my parents, Larry and Molly Hamilton, sitting on Brighton Beach in the middle of August about 70 years ago. They were on their belated honeymoon. It always amazed me how well dressed they were for the beach. I like the newspaper that remains at their feet from the fish-and-chip lunch they’d just had, and the 3d hire charge printed on the deckchairs. At first glance, they look like any other 1950s black-and-white holiday snaps taken with a Brownie box camera. But these images capture a very special occasion.
In the background of the same photograph is a figure standing on what looks like a chair, trying to talk to people as they walk past. My father recalled the actual day sitting in the deckchair hearing the words of an American missionary, speaking of a Joseph Smith and of gold plates. My father was amazed how the missionary kept pointing to the sea, saying “across the sea in America”. This was the English Channel, and across the sea was France. My parents did not speak to the missionary, but his words and the impression they left stayed with my father.
Why did my father react so eagerly to hear the missionaries? He remembered the words and feelings he had when he heard the missionary on Brighton Beach in 1951. I believe that every testimony borne in faith can touch a heart.
In Romans 10:17 we can read: “Faith cometh … by hearing … the word of God”. Perhaps like Abinadi, whose words changed the heart of Alma, that missionary on Brighton Beach never knew the powerful effect of his words on those who heard him. Many generations of members have served missions and received sacred temple blessings, because one elder had the courage to stand and declare his testimony of the Restoration of Jesus Christ’s gospel—on the beach at Brighton.

The Young Women of the Ventura California Stake met the year-long challenge to finish their four-generation sheets, get to know one ancestor better through research, and write in their journals regularly.
To kick off the challenge, a gathering was held with covered wagons and Mormon memorabilia. Each girl listed the name of a special ancestor on her name tag, and she became that woman for the day. After lunch, the girls reenacted a pioneer trek through a rural area following an “emigrant’s guide” that gave directions and interesting information as they traveled.

I’m so grateful for my family, and that includes my ancestors. One way I like to show gratitude for all of my family is by doing family history work.
This all started with my Personal Progress project for Individual Worth, value experience 6. I wanted to learn how to do family history work. At first I began with indexing and then tried looking for names on FamilySearch.org. It was so cool to start finding names of my own ancestors. Recently, I went to the temple with several names I’d found. I was able to do the baptisms and the confirmations. I loved it! The whole experience reminded me of my own baptism. It made me feel good to imagine that my ancestors were watching and that they were excited to have their ordinances done.
I’ve done temple baptisms before, but doing my own family names brought a whole new meaning to the names and ordinances for me.
After the baptisms were complete, I then sent the names to other family members to complete the remaining ordinances. My aunt and uncle have done 12 names so far. Sometimes I even babysit for them so they can go to the temple together.
At first I used to do family history research mostly on Sundays, but lately I’ve been squeezing it in during the week whenever I can. My grandfather is a convert to the Church and the only member in his family, so there’s a lot of opportunity to do temple ordinances for my ancestors on that side. I’m excited to research and work on their names as I hear stories about them from my grandfather.
I’m so thankful to have a loving family, and I know my ancestors are a big part of that family. I’m glad I can do this sacred work for them.
Emily H., 15, Arizona, USA

Also let us remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for. We are infinitely more than our limitations or our afflictions! Stephanie Clark Nielson and her family have been our friends for more than 30 years. On August 16, 2008, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash and subsequent fire that scarred her so horrifically that only her painted toenails were recognizable when family members came to identify the victims. There was almost no chance Stephanie could live. After three months in a sleep-induced coma, she awoke to see herself. With that, the psyche-scarring and horrendous depression came. Having four children under the age of seven, Stephanie did not want them to see her ever again. She felt it would be better not to live. “I thought it would be easier,” Stephanie once told me in my office, “if they just forgot about me and I quietly slipped out of their life.”

But to her eternal credit, and with the prayers of her husband, family, friends, four beautiful children, and a fifth born to the Nielsons just 18 months ago, Stephanie fought her way back from the abyss of self-destruction to be one of the most popular “mommy bloggers” in the nation, openly declaring to the four million who follow her blog that her “divine purpose” in life is to be a mom and to cherish every day she has been given on this beautiful earth.

The cooperative effort of both priesthood and Relief Society in these councils continues to be a significant factor in successful ward and stake welfare services operations. Such cooperation was exemplified recently when a flood swept over many of the homes in an Ogden, Utah, stake. The stake president reported, “The stake Relief Society president didn’t wait for me to go to her. She came to me first.”
At his direction, she mobilized the sisters and obtained food for the victims and their rescuers. She quickly set up serving areas in mobile “kitchens” improvised in vans and station wagons, taking hot, home-cooked food to the actual work sites. As the flood waters receded, men and women worked together to clean muddy walls and floors.