Gospel Story Finder

Photograph by Hemera/Thinkstock
Thomas Edison worked several years and tried more than 1,000 different materials before he found a suitable filament (the thin wire at the heart of a light bulb) that could provide long-lasting, affordable light. Ever the optimist, Edison viewed each material that didn’t work as a mere stepping-stone toward finding one that would. And once he did, the world was never the same.

President Harold B. Lee relates this incident from Church history:
“The story is told in the early days of the Church—particularly, I think, at Kirtland, Ohio—where some of the leading brethren in the presiding councils of the Church met secretly and tried to scheme as to how they could get rid of the Prophet Joseph’s leadership. They made the mistake of inviting Brigham Young to one of these secret meetings. He rebuked them, after he had heard the purpose of their meeting. This is part of what he said: ‘You cannot destroy the appointment of a prophet of God, but you can cut the thread that binds you to the prophet of God, and sink yourselves to hell.’” (Conference Report, April 1963, p. 81.)

Many years ago, while attending a stake conference, I noticed that a counselor in the stake presidency was blind. He functioned beautifully, performing his duties as though he had sight. It was a stormy night as we met in the stake office situated on the second floor of the building. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The lights in the building almost immediately went out. Instinctively I reached out for our sightless leader, and I said, “Here, take my arm and I will help you down the stairway.”
I’m certain he must have had a smile on his face as he responded, “No, Brother Monson, give me your arm, that I might help you. You are now in my territory.” The storm abated, the lights returned, but I shall never forget the trek down those stairs, guided by the man who was sightless yet filled with light.

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
It was the summer of 1990, and the occasion was Torchlight 90, a multi-stake LDS Young Women camp in Italy. More than 130 girls attended this week-long camp in the rugged mountains near L’Aquilla, about fifty miles from Rome.
Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
There was something about the girls we met at the camp that touched us spiritually. Perhaps it was their vibrant glow and the excitement they expressed about their ideals. Or maybe it was their respect for their leaders. Certainly, much of it was their love for each other, which grew deeper every day they were together.
As the years have passed, we have corresponded with some of the girls that were part of Torchlight 90 to see if the extraordinary spirit we witnessed had continued in their lives. We have been pleased to find that it has.
The camp was divided into seven individual campsites, each representing one of the seven Young Women values. At every campsite, the girls were mixed from several stakes or districts so they could develop friends from other areas of Italy. The campsite was located on Rocco di Mezzo plateau, surrounded by rugged mountains and dotted with scattered tents full of talking, laughing girls.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.
Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”
Telling us about the camp, she said, “It was often hard for me to sleep at night, because my heart was so filled with emotion and feelings for that special week in the mountains. Torchlight 90 helped me to realize that I can get closer to God by having the right kind of friends.”
Annalisa is nineteen now. She is a stake missionary and a visiting teacher in the Modena Ward, in the Venice Italy Stake. She plans to serve a “mini-mission” this summer and a full-time mission when she is old enough.
Sonia Plescovich, from the Genoa Third Branch, Torino Italy District, wrote: “Torchlight 90 will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Though we were many girls from many places, we all had the same ideals, the same thoughts and beliefs. Even though we had never seen each other before, it was as if we were friends from birth. I learned to love those girls as much as my own family. Because of the example of some of them, I learned to read the Book of Mormon every night. Being there and feeling the love of everyone in the camp, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before. It seemed that the veil that divides us from God didn’t exist for a time.”
Sonia, now twenty, is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, a visiting teacher, and the branch choir director and organist. She is planning to begin a full-time mission sometime this year. In her most recent letter, she commented: “I saw some of the girls I met at Torchlight 90 at one of our latest Young Adult conferences, and we talked of the wonderful memories we have of the camp. I still have special feelings for the girls I met at Torchlight 90.”
Iris Cartia from the Vimercate Branch, Milan Italy Stake, wrote about her feelings toward the girls she met at the camp: “The Church is not spread widely in Italy yet, and even the members within a branch or ward often live far from each other. So I cherished the opportunities to get together with girls who share my beliefs and feelings. Those were special moments in my life. And from them I drew the strength to go on and be different from the world, to be a light for those around me. I know that neither time nor distance can prevent those who love the gospel from meeting together with joy, no matter where they come from.”
Shortly after the camp, Iris had written to us, “This experience helped me concentrate on the important things, like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple someday.”
Three years later, those goals are still important to Iris. She is now nineteen and serves as the branch organist, director of the Relief Society choir, and a visiting teacher. She served a “mini-mission” in Torino, Italy, and corresponds with a 73-year-old woman she contacted as a missionary there. She plans to go on a full-time mission.
Iris continues to feel the influence of the camp in her life: “Torchlight 90 gave me an ideal and example that still lives in my heart. The example set by the leaders at the camp guides my leadership style considerably.”
Stefania Ferrazzano from the Foggia Branch, Puglia Italy District, wrote about the camp: “Being in the mountains without modern conveniences made me realize how much I took for granted and how much the Lord has blessed my life. It helped me to know that my life depends on God and that the gospel is my anchor and my guide. At the camp I learned that we have to work for the things we want to achieve, but if we do our part, the Lord will do the rest.”
Stefania is twenty now and is ready to go on a full-time mission when she turns twenty-one. Her sister is currently serving a mission in Milan. Stefania is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, branch librarian, and assistant clerk. She has also served as a Sunday School teacher for young people from twelve to eighteen. She tells us, “Even after three years, Torchlight 90’s influence on my testimony is still present.”
The Young Women gather in a “campfire circle” that has no fire—it is not lawful to have a large open campfire in these mountains. The excited conversations race back and forth, and there is vivid hand-waving as one girl or another tries to emphasize a point. All this is mixed with smiles and laughter and an occasional tear of understanding.
The girls continue to laugh and talk noisily until Sister Adele Peloni, a Young Women leader from the Venice Italy Stake and one of the camp leaders, stands, ushering in a stillness that amplifies the soft sounds of the mountain breezes. “Remember the standards of Young Women. … Be true to yourself,” she tells them.
The camp theme, “From the top, upward,” and the camp theme song, “I Walk by Faith,” reflect the ideals of the Young Women program all over the world. The girls have heard these concepts before, but somehow, in this setting, with the mountains so near and new friends by their sides, the girls feel exhilarating energy in the words that instill deeper feelings of love for one another and a greater desire to be close to the Spirit.
As the sun sets behind the towering mountains, leaving a gray cold, the girls huddle in their tents and talk about their experiences at the camp—putting up tents in the wind, making tables from wooden poles and ropes, and cooking without modern conveniences. They laugh about the games and the tricks they played on each other. Then, as the night closes in, they get more personal, and the girls share their feelings and hopes. Often these thoughts turn toward the gospel and what it means in their lives.
We had to leave the camp before the final night, so Tiziana Rossato, one of the leaders from the Venice Italy Stake, wrote to share with us that night’s experience: “In the final testimony meeting, the girls and leaders formed a big circle, hand in hand, and sang a goodbye song. They started with strong voices, but ended in tears and sobs, then total silence for a long time after the closing prayer.”
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.
We still receive letters from the girls, and they often recall for us their special feelings for the camp and for the people they met there and how their lives have been changed because of Torchlight 90. One of the girls summed up the feelings of all who attended the camp: “The Spirit of the Lord works like magic in our Young Women camps; it can touch your heart for a split second, but change your life forever.”

It was the hardest algebra homework I’d ever faced. I struggled most of the afternoon with variables buzzing in my head. When my mom asked me to babysit for a couple wanting to attend the temple that night, I agreed reluctantly. I reasoned with myself that I wouldn’t understand this homework anyway, so why not watch five kids for a few hours? Knowing the children had an early bedtime, I brought my math book with me.

As my mom drove me to the house, she told me I shouldn’t take their money that night. Startled, I asked her why.

She answered, “They’re going to the temple. It wouldn’t be right if they had to pay to go and perform sacred ordinances there.”

I thought it over and agreed. Seeing my hesitation, my mom added, “I know you’re frustrated with your homework and everything, but you’ll have Heavenly Father’s help if you do this service.” I was thankful for Mom’s encouraging words, but I was still doubtful.

That evening went unusually well. The children didn’t quarrel, and they helped me clean the playroom. I even got them to bed fairly early. Then I started doing my math homework. After taking several deep breaths, I tackled a few problems and found that I could solve them. Right before I finished the assignment, the couple got home.

When the wife handed me some money, I took my mother’s advice and told her to keep it. “You guys deserve to go to the temple for free,” I said. She thanked me and told me that it was hard to find babysitters on school nights.

I finished the rest of my algebra homework easily when I arrived home. But more than that, I felt truly content. The reality of miracles struck me that day. My mom’s words had come true. I did have the Lord’s help when I served. I know now that when we do what is right and do it with love, miracles can happen.

At the beginning of my eighth-grade year, I went with my mom and brother to close and clean a laundromat that was located across the street from my school. There was a girls’ volleyball game going on. We were almost through cleaning when the game was finished, and people were all over the place. A few of the students had discovered some wet cement. They got all excited and wanted to scratch their initials in the cement. My friends wanted me to go with them to put our initials in the cement too. I had to check with my mom.
“Hey, Mom. There’s a new sidewalk out here and everybody’s putting their initials in the wet cement,” I said. “Can I go for a few minutes and do it too?”
“If everyone puts their initials in it, don’t you think it will ruin the sidewalk?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll just go see what’s going on.”
I took off before my mom could say anything more. By the time I got to the wet cement, there was quite a crowd. My friends wrote their names, and I was about to kneel down and put mine in too. Then I noticed a lot of bad words had been scratched in. Actually the whole sidewalk looked like a mess of words and drawings. Suddenly I didn’t feel good about writing my initials in the sidewalk, and I started to back away.
My buddies coaxed me to put my name in. They said it would be fun to look at years from now. They even called me chicken. But I didn’t scratch my name or my initials in that wet cement. And the next day I was glad.
During third period, our principal’s voice came over the intercom. He asked certain students to come to the office. One of my football buddies was in third period with me, and he was one of them. They were calling in students with names and initials from the sidewalk. The sidewalk was ruined. The city crew was going to tear it out and replace it that day. The students involved had to call their parents to come to school. They also had to help pay for the new section of walk—about $60 each.
I was so happy I hadn’t written anything in the wet cement. But I couldn’t believe what happened next. The girls on the volleyball team and the guys on the football team who’d written in the cement were suspended from their teams for the rest of the season. I was sick for them, but as bad as I felt for my friends, I was happy that I had backed away from the cement. I was glad when things got tense that I made the right choice.

Two acclaimed British composers whose recent composition reached Classic FM’s top five selections have been commissioned to write the finale for the highly anticipated ‘Lamb of God’ concert at Manchester’s renowned Bridgewater Hall. The collaboration brings together Sam Petchey, from the Staines Stake, a distinguished military musician whose service included performing at Buckingham Palace, and Abby Twigger, from the Aberdeen Stake, a talented composer and vocalist, whose combined artistic vision will culminate in a powerful new piece titled ‘Awake My Soul’ for the 100-person choir and full orchestra.
The composers’ previous work, ‘The Lamb’, garnered national recognition when it was selected as one of five winners in the Making Music Classic FM carol competition and aired on Classic FM in December 2023. The carol also reached the semi-final of the UK Songwriting Contest and was shortlisted in the Sir David Willcocks Carol Composer Competition, demonstrating the duo’s exceptional musical talent.
Their collaboration came about after Abby started writing music again, following the birth of their fifth child, when she heard about Sam’s professional musical experience from a fellow member in his ward. Sam helped Abby record the songs she had written and they worked together on other compositions, even from opposite ends of the United Kingdom. They have since released a full CD of original Christmas songs, which has also been printed as sheet music for others to use.
In 2024 they were commissioned to arrange ‘The Lamb’ again – this time for a big charity fundraiser, featuring NHS Grampian Hospitals’ Choir, a string orchestra and brass quintet, for performance on 15th December at Music Hall Aberdeen. That same month the solo voice and piano recording of the carol was included on UCB 2, United Christian Broadcaster’s playlist and was played throughout the month.
"For me, music is a fast track to the spirit," shares Sister Twigger, whose background includes music studies at Brigham Young University and performances at Magdalene College, University of Cambridge. Abby is married to Ben, they have 5 children, and she is currently serving as stake Young Women president in the Aberdeen Stake. Her collaboration with Brother Petchey, who brings extensive experience from the Royal Corps of Army Music and the Royal Northern College of Music, has already produced numerous successful sacred works, including a cantata celebrating women of faith. Sam is married to Vicky, they have 4 children and he loves writing sacred music.
The performances of ‘Lamb of God’ at Bridgewater Hall, Manchester showcased their newest composition alongside other sacred music, continuing their commitment to creating uplifting, spiritually enriching musical experiences for audiences across the United Kingdom.

Late one Monday night when my husband and I were busily working in our home, our seven-year-old son, Sergio, appeared. “Well, nobody remembered family home evening,” he said. “I guess you’re not interested.”
My husband had come home late, and he tiredly explained that we had been too busy and still had much to do before we could turn in for the night. At that we continued with our work.
After a few moments we realized Sergio was reading his illustrated Book of Mormon Stories reader all by himself. My husband and I looked at each other and silently agreed that, even if it was late, we shouldn’t deny ourselves the chance to hold family home evening.
When we went into the living room, Sergio told us in all seriousness that we didn’t need to be concerned because he had already started his “individual home evening” and had sung a hymn, said a prayer, and now he was giving the lesson. We stayed and listened as our boy talked about the First Vision.
That night our son was a powerful missionary to us, testifying of the importance of family home evening. My husband and I realized that often we try to teach principles that we are not completely willing to obey. What a wonderful experience we would have missed if we had not participated in that individual home evening.
Cecila Lozada, Maranga Ward, Lima Perú Maranga Stake

Sammy Snake was busy crawling out of his old, dry skin when Hosea Hamster scampered by. “Ha-ha!” laughed Hosea. “Sammy, you certainly look funny—like a worm crawling out of its cocoon.”
Sammy Snake turned to his old friend and replied, “Snakes always shed their skins in the springtime.”
“I don’t see why you should shed your skin. Your old one looked just fine to me,” said Hosea.
“Every year I grow bigger so my skin becomes too small,” Sammy explained. “In the winter I hibernate, and I grow a new skin under the old one while I’m asleep. When I wake up in the springtime my old skin is dry. It splits along my belly and I crawl out of it. It’s like being born again every year.”
Hosea looked puzzled and replied, “Sure sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Why don’t you just stretch your old skin? That’s what I do. Watch this!” He puffed out his cheeks, making his little round face look like a fuzzy Ping-Pong ball.
“No, no! You don’t understand,” cried Sammy, a little exasperated. “My skin doesn’t stretch like yours. It has to be hard and tough so it won’t tear when I crawl over sharp rocks. My skin needs to be strong enough to protect me from the hot sand and from Benny Badger or he could bite through it with his sharp teeth.”
“I see,” replied Hosea. “A skin that can do all those things couldn’t be expected to stretch too.”
Hosea sat on his hind legs and watched Sammy wiggle and squirm.
Finally all his old skin came off. As Sammy crawled free of the skin, he gave a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that job is over for another year. Boy, am I hungry! I’m hungry enough to eat a. …” His beady eyes fixed on the plump little hamster sitting in front of him.
Hosea caught the message. Quick as a wink, he scurried down the path to safety. He paused for a moment and turned to say, “So long, Sammy. I’ll see you later—maybe we can play after you’ve had your dinner!”

The other example in my life was my mother. By the time my father graduated from law school, my parents had three children. During law school, they lived in a small two-bedroom apartment and at times, their bathroom was a communal bathroom with other law school families. Before my father had even taken the bar, he was asked to be Madison County's prosecuting attorney. This began a lifetime of civil service. While I was a teenager, my father served as state senator. He would go to Boise during the legislature, come home to Rexburg Friday night, work all day Saturday at his law office and then work all day Sunday as the bishop of our home ward where he served for nine years. He was also a counselor in a bishopric for five years, a Ricks College Stake President and in the presidency of two different Mission Presidencies. During all of this time, my Mother would go alone to church and sit with us, her seven children.

Now most of you are probably saying, "Wow, didn't having your father gone so much and being so busy cause great damage to his children?" Here is my response: First, we, his children, knew without a doubt that our father loved us unconditionally. Secondly, my mother never complained. Yes, I get that response a lot--surely she had to complain about being left with seven children so much, but I can honestly say that I never heard her complain. She was a saint.

What happened because my mother was selfish and supported my father? She had seven righteous and pretty terrific children who absolutely loved her. Because of her support while my father was in school, he loved his job so much that he still goes to work at 92 years of age. This is especially poignant considering a 2013 Gallup State of the American Workplace Report that shows that 70 percent of American workers either hate their jobs or are completely disengaged. I never heard my father complain about going to work.

But more importantly to me was when my mother was diagnosed with cancer and the devotion my father showed her in her illness. As her health deteriorated, I watched my father care for her with the greatest of tenderness and love, he even applied moisturizer to her face daily, something she would always do when she was well. I was with her when she took her last breath and I had this well of gratitude and respect fill my whole soul for the woman she was and the support she gave to all of us.

“Lindsay, what’s going to happen to me?” I asked my sister, as my frail body lay limp in the emergency room bed.
Lindsay replied through her tears, “I’m not sure, but I think it’s time for you to trust in Heavenly Father.”
I sat back in my bed while I rested in a state of confusion, worry, and mostly panic. I had finally reached the breaking point.
After five long, difficult years of self-worth issues and depression, anorexia had a firm grip on my whole soul. My worn-out spirit had long given in to destructive thoughts and lost hopes, but it had only been in the past year that my body had succumbed to anorexia’s deadly effects as well.
My weight was perilously low and continuing to drop. Astoundingly, I still felt I was “chubby.” It was only when I couldn’t keep any food down or stand up without losing consciousness that my concerned friends rushed me to the hospital. Within the next few days, my secret had blown up in my face, and my family insisted that I receive treatment.
At first I did not understand the seriousness of the problem. I had to trust in the love and counsel of others. I couldn’t see it in myself because I had years of practice brushing off the worries and advice of others who thought I was losing too much weight. As with many other people suffering from eating disorders, I wasn’t willing to see my problem until I was forced to by medical professionals.
I would love to say that once I confronted my problem every day was easier and that all I had to do was eat. However, it was quite the contrary. Every week was filled with doctor appointments, planning meals with a nutritionist, group and individual therapy, and weekly appointments with my bishop. I needed to set aside a time to eat every day, and I learned that I needed to always be accountable to another person for what I ate. I needed to gain the trust of others again, and they needed to gain my trust so I did not feel invaded and constantly questioned about my eating habits.
My biggest problem was that, although I felt the support of many people around me, I thought I had to fight the battle alone.
“What do you want me to do?” I shouted at my therapist. “It’s like you want me to be perfect or something! I can’t do this! I can’t just sit here and tell you why I feel like I’m fat, or why I hate myself. I don’t know why. All I know is that I just can’t do this anymore! It’s not worth it because no matter what I say or do, it’ll never be good enough to fix all of this. I’m just … broken!”
My therapist let me cry it out before she said, “You’re right. You can’t do this on your own, and no matter what you do, it won’t be good enough. You’re never going to be perfect …”
She paused to let her final thought sink in and went on to say, “… on your own. The Savior has already won this battle. Hand it over to Him, and He’ll heal you. Just hand it over, Katie.”
The words pierced my broken heart, and the Spirit filled me and testified that what she had said was absolutely true. My healing process had begun.
Some days were harder than others. On those days, I felt a deeper desire to seek the Lord’s help and to plead with Him to rid me of this terrible disorder. I knew He could do it, but I also knew I needed to trust in Him first.
I began to write all my feelings in a small journal that I kept with me throughout the day. The beginning entries contained words like insignificance, intimidation, and frustration. Once the day was through, I would put my book down in front of me, tear out the pages, and pray for those feelings to be recognized and changed. Then I’d throw the pages away and make a new entry of what I felt. Those new entries had words like hope, strength, and love. I had begun to literally and figuratively place my trial and those detrimental feelings at the Savior’s feet. That’s when the pain began to subside.
As the days became weeks and the weeks became months, I began to feel the companionship of the Spirit. I learned how to distinguish between revelations from the Lord and the harsh feelings and thoughts of the world. I felt unity within my family as we pulled together to strengthen not only me but one another. Yet, most of all, I developed my friendship, my very best friendship, with my Savior. The calming influence of the Atonement was, and is still, taking place in my life. Although this experience continues to influence my life and will continue for years to come, I now see myself not only for who I am but mostly for who I will become. I know now that this is how our Father in Heaven sees us, and what a sight that is!

Adopt a horse? That’s what 16-year-old Rob Wickham of the Medford First Ward, Medford Oregon Stake, did. Rob heard a television newscast from the Bureau of Land Management about adopting wild horses, and with his parents’ approval, he applied for a horse. A year later, he was told that a horse he might like was available. Though he didn’t have to pay for the horse (since it was wild, and the BLM program was created to find a humane way to alleviate overpopulation of wild horses on public lands), Rob is solely responsible for the feeding and upkeep of the horse. This summer he’s found a job on a ranch not far from his home, and he’ll be staying at the ranch—along with his horse Blackie, a spirited friend who loves to run, follow Rob around, and who now comes when Rob whistles for him.

Elizabeth was always first. She was the first of four children to be born. She was the first one up in the morning, picking the warmest spot by the big stove to get dressed in and warm her cold toes. She was the first one to dinner, the first one to church. She was even the first one to bed—so she could choose the best spot in the middle of the big feather mattress. And when the old cat at the farm had kittens, Elizabeth got first pick.
Anna was only a year younger than Elizabeth, but she wasn’t nearly so quick. When Elizabeth was first to the swing or the river, Anna sometimes stayed behind and rocked little Thomas, or peeled potatoes for Mother, or darned Father’s socks. Anna liked to do quiet things. She even liked to wait for the youngest sister, Sarah, when she tagged along.
After the Mormon missionaries taught her family the gospel, Elizabeth was the first one baptized—even before Father and Mother. The elders smiled at her eagerness.
When Father gathered the family together and told them that they were going to Zion, Elizabeth was the first to cry and to refuse to leave her friends. But when the time came to board the big ship, Elizabeth was the first one up the wide gangplank. She was the first person to get sick on the ship, and the first to get well. She was the first to walk the slippery, lopsided decks and the first to make friends with the grinning sailors. They gave her treats and sang songs for her.
After the ship docked, Elizabeth was the first one to run down the long plank and step onto land, the first one to dance on American soil. Mother and Anna were last. In fact, Anna went back to the ship three times to help Father carry all the family’s belongings off.
When it was time to load the wagon for the journey west, Elizabeth was the first to find a place for her own things: the sweater that her grandmother had knitted, her best blue bonnet, and her wooden doll, Belinda. There wasn’t room for everything the family wanted to take; but Elizabeth had settled her things in the wagon first, so she wasn’t worried.
Elizabeth was the first to give names to the oxen. They were tall, long-boned beasts with beautiful horns. Elizabeth named them Peter and Paul. Anna thought Buttercup might be a good name for the honey-colored one who was so gentle. But Elizabeth had already named them.
The trip was a long one. They crossed rivers and climbed mountains. Elizabeth was always first. She walked ahead of the wagon, never behind in the dust. She found good-natured men on horseback who didn’t mind letting a little girl ride across the swollen streams with them. She found the best spot beside the campfires. She found the best buffalo chips because she was first and picked the old, dry ones, which were easier to gather.
Elizabeth loved the journey. She loved the new things to see each day. She loved the nights when the children played games and the grown-ups danced and sang songs. She loved being first.
As they drew near to the valley, Elizabeth became so excited that she couldn’t hold still. Everyone knew how she felt. And everyone knew who would be the very first to set foot in the valley. Elizabeth was always first.
Early one morning on the last week of the journey, Anna slipped on the wagon tongue. She hit her head and cut her arm and twisted her ankle. She behaved very bravely for a girl of seven. Mother made up a bed in the crowded back of the wagon and laid her there. It was hot and bumpy, but Anna didn’t complain. Elizabeth did though. She didn’t like doing Anna’s work. She didn’t like hauling water or scouring the pans. She wasn’t very good at stirring the soup or feeding the baby. And she wasn’t nearly so patient with little Sarah, who constantly wanted something. Elizabeth was cross and tired. For the first time in her life she didn’t have enough energy to worry about being first. All she could think about was curling up under her mother’s soft quilt and falling asleep.
When they reached Pratt’s Pass, Elizabeth wanted to scamper ahead to be the first to stand on the ledge and look down over layer after layer of purple-blue mountains to the wide valley below. But little Thomas woke up and needed to be fed, and Sarah tugged at her skirts and whined to be taken. By the time Elizabeth reached the ledge, half the company had already seen the valley. Elizabeth hadn’t been first.
Elizabeth felt sorry for herself. Now there were only two days left of the journey. Father had bound Anna’s foot, but she couldn’t walk without help. Anna sat and peeked out from the wagon. Elizabeth scowled and worked and watched while someone else was always first!
The morning of the last day was beautiful. Elizabeth was the first one up, the first one to get water, the first one to bathe and get dressed. She fed the baby as fast as she could and helped with breakfast. She tied Sarah’s laces and told her that if they came undone, it was just too bad. Elizabeth had to be quick. Today was the day. Today they would reach the Salt Lake Valley. Today Elizabeth had to be first!
When the wagons began to creak down the last long descent, Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and crawled back to where her favorite things were. She wanted to wear her pretty blue bonnet when she entered the valley. As she crawled, she heard a strange sound. She stopped. The sound was Anna crying!
Elizabeth froze. She had seldom heard Anna cry. Anna was always calm, always content. Now she was crying as if her heart would break. Elizabeth’s stomach felt sick. She could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat. She crawled over to the bed. "Anna, what is it?"
Anna looked up and blinked wide, wet eyes at Elizabeth. A tear ran down her nose and dropped from the very tip.
"I can’t see anything from in here," Anna sobbed. "I want to see the valley." New tears welled up in Anna’s blue eyes. "I want to wear the dress I’ve been saving and walk into the valley, Elizabeth, just like everyone else."
Something inside Elizabeth started to ache. "You shall, Anna. You shall!"
Anna stared at her. "How, Elizabeth?"
"You’ll see." Elizabeth had already turned and was searching through the neat piles of store goods.
The sun was high in the sky when the wagons pulled to a stop on the valley floor. A crowd had gathered to meet the newcomers. Some of the young people ran ahead and were waiting, dancing and clapping their hands with glee while the wagons pulled up to them. The men from the wagon train took off their hats and wiped their foreheads. The women shaded their eyes and gazed over the lovely valley—their new home at last.
"Where is Elizabeth?" someone shouted. "Wasn’t Elizabeth first?"
"Of course she was first!" another replied with a laugh.
"Then where is she?" cried one of the children.
People began to look. People began to call for Elizabeth.
"Here we are!"
Everyone turned to see.
Down the long line of wagons came the two sisters. Elizabeth wore the blue bonnet, Anna her red dress with lace at the collar. With one hand she held Grandfather’s cane. Her other hand rested on Elizabeth’s sturdy arm. Anna’s steps were slow and painful. But she was walking! With Elizabeth’s arm round her waist, she walked past the wagons and into the Salt Lake Valley. Just like all the others.
"Mother," Elizabeth cried. "I was the last one into the valley, the very last one. But I’m so happy! I never felt this happy when I was first."

May I recall, and some of you have heard this before—but may I repeat it? I had the opportunity of sitting down with the prophet once in an unusual circumstance. It is something I shall never forget. President Kimball called me one day and said, “I’d like to go to the Utah State Prison and visit for a limited time.” Without going into detail, the thing I think that prompted his request and his motivation was something as simple as pure religion—going undefiled before God visiting the fatherless, the downtrodden, the weary, the prisoners. So we went to the Utah State Prison. He wanted to shake hands with a few, visit for a while, and then return to his office. When we arrived at the institution, the warden had arranged to have two prisoners in his office. There with President Kimball and the warden (just five of us with the door closed), I looked at these two criminals (and they looked the part) in silence. One was convicted of murder and the other of grand larceny. There they were in prison uniforms, looking at the floor. One was a member and the other a nonmember. The warden and I were sitting there waiting to see what President Kimball would do. What would he say? He could have said, “I’m sure ashamed of you two,” “What did you do to get here?” “How many times have you been here before?”

President Kimball looked at the one. He hadn’t even raised his eyes off the floor. President Kimball kept looking at him. Finally he looked up, and President Kimball said, “Tell me about your mother.” This prisoner told President Kimball about his mother. And when that was over, President Kimball looked at the other one (who was now looking up from the floor) and asked, “What does your father do?” Will Elder Ashton ever forget that moment? Instead of “You big dummy, you should have known better than that,” he said, “What does your father do?” The man told about his father, and it wasn’t very good. I was taught by a prophet. I saw a prophet with a Christ-like approach.

“There are a lot of temptations, and you have to be strong,” says Tyrah Mohandessi, 16, of Athens. “But if you spend your time doing good things, you don’t have time for bad things.”
She practices what she preaches. For example, she is deeply involved with the Limestone County Youth Leadership organization.
“It’s based on helping people,” she explains. “We work with a lot of leaders in the community to try to solve problems, and we do service projects, like cleanups and visits to hospitals.”
She also spends two or three evenings each week with a mentally and physically challenged friend whose single mother has to work nights and can’t afford to hire help. And she’s on a soccer team and plays bass in a jazz band.

A little over a month ago, I received a message from a returned missionary who had served with us. He said: “The last while has been tough. Battling anxiety and depression every day has been weighing me down, and it is very difficult. I feel alone and just miserable. I have been praying for the guidance of our Heavenly Father for peace and comfort in what I can do to battle the hardship. … While I was praying, I felt the prompting of the Spirit tell me that I needed to be paying my tithing in full. … I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I immediately felt the urge to do so. With the desire to do so, I felt the prompting that ‘if you pay your tithing, everything will be OK.’ I am still struggling to find peace, but I do have a testimony in our Savior and that through my obedience, I can feel and find the peace I am looking for in my heart and mind. I have recently decided to come back to the Church and to seek the Spirit in all that I do.”

Now he is doing very well. You also may ask Heavenly Father for peace, but the answer may be different than what you anticipate it will be. As long as you seek to know of the Savior and pray to Heavenly Father, He will give you a customized answer for you.

One of these challenges came when I chose to pay an honest tithe when I was away from home. Every year my dad would take us to tithing settlement. He would help us calculate our tithing, and we would pay it. All during the time I was growing up, I developed this habit of paying tithing. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a testimony of tithing.

When I finished high school, I had been admitted to Harvard University, so I worked that summer and earned money to pay for the expenses that weren’t covered by my scholarship. By the end of the first semester, I had foolishly spent all the money that I had earned to get me through the whole year.

At the start of the second semester, I got a job. I couldn’t work very much because I was a full-time student, but I worked a few hours a week and received my first paycheck. Of course, it wasn’t very much, but it was all I had to get by until the next paycheck.

Then the question arose in my mind, “What about tithing?” I had been in the habit of paying my tithing but had always had sufficient money to pay the tithing. Here I was faced with the challenge: do I pay my tithing when I don’t know if I’ve got enough money to get through the next two weeks?

As I thought about it, I remembered the scripture in Malachi 3:10, where the Lord promises, “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”

So I realized that was my answer. I would leave it up to the Lord. I paid my tithing, not sure if I had enough money to carry me until the next paycheck. And a miracle happened. I made it through that two weeks.

It came to me so powerfully that the Lord keeps His word. The Lord came through the way He promised. Just as the scriptures say, if we pay our tithing, He will bless us. That same miracle happened every two weeks throughout the rest of the semester. Before, I had thought I had a testimony of tithing, but now, because of my correct decision, I had a powerful testimony of tithing. The Lord always does what He says, so my testimony continued to grow step-by-step.

A couple of years ago my family and I moved. The first few weeks that I attended church and Mutual, I felt alone. But I prayed every day that I would be able to make new friends and feel a part of my new ward. Little by little I have come to love and appreciate this ward. I had to be the one to initiate friendships. I had to start the conversation. I had to fully participate in classes and listen to what others said. With Heavenly Father’s help, I now have close friendships with people I never pictured being friends with.
Leah V., 16, Colorado, USA

How would you like to switch places with your mother for a day? That’s what the young women from Manurewa and Pukekohe in New Zealand did for a role-reversal debate.
In the role reversal, the mothers argued that girls 12 years and older should be able to do as they pleased. The young women argued that there should be reasonable limits.
There were also mother-daughter duets, followed by presentations on motherhood from both the young women and their mothers.
Heather Maloney, the mayor of Franklin, New Zealand, was one of the judges for the debate. She praised the mothers and daughters for their courage in public speaking and thanked the girls for their high standards and values and for the respect they showed in honoring their mothers.

Elder Carlos E. Asay, executive director of the Missionary Department and a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, tells of a struggling branch in western Texas whose stake president asked Elder Asay, then mission president, to send a missionary couple. So Elder Melvin and Sister Annie Cook of Rigby, Idaho, “some of the finest Church members with long experience you’ll ever find,” were sent there. As a counselor in the branch presidency, Elder Cook trained the local priesthood leaders. And his wife did equally valuable work with the auxiliaries.
“They were wise,” says Elder Asay. “They knew that if they did too much for the branch members it would hurt them. And they knew they had to be the example. They molded together a fine, working branch.”