Gospel Story Finder

May I share a story of one of our dear sisters. She wrote:
“In our home were alcohol, drug abuse, two divorces. I was living in spiritual darkness with two tiny children, when ‘angels of mercy’ came one more time. Each month I peeked out my window as the visiting teachers tried to visit me. I hid myself quietly until they left. They never gave up, and I am so glad and thankful. I learned that God’s love never stops!”
This sister is now an endowed member in full fellowship and full of happiness and joy!

After attending Brigham Young University for a year, Elder Walker served as a full-time missionary in the Tennessee Nashville Mission.
To assist his father’s recovery from a serious accident, Elder Walker delayed his plans to return to school following his mission and returned to Argentina. That’s when he met Ines Marcela Sulé at an institute dance. Eight months later, on August 12, 1993, they were married in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple. The next day, the young couple moved to Provo, Utah, USA, where Elder Walker completed his bachelor’s degree in economics in 1996.

As long as I can remember, I have had a football at my side and a dream to be a professional player. My parents supported me as I pursued this dream. They also encouraged me to go to church. But as I got older I was at church only when I didn’t have a game. I knew that the gospel, Church activities, and my friends would help me a lot in life, but what I was really looking for was to fulfill my dream of playing football.
As I trained I began to have important friends inside the great football clubs. I had opportunities to play and even train with some of these clubs. I traveled throughout various countries to participate in tournaments, and I was very excited and happy with the possibility of living the life of a professional football player. On one of these trips to Asia, my dream was about to come true. A large club liked what they saw when they watched me play and wanted me to join the team. But my agent found some obstacles during the negotiation, and we ultimately didn’t close the contract.
At home my friends were filling out mission papers; others were returning from missions and telling with enthusiasm what it was like to be a missionary. Their eyes shone with emotion each time they spoke, and the Spirit was very strong. I felt the desire to serve a mission too; I wanted to have these same experiences. But I worried that if I chose to serve a mission, my football dream wouldn’t come true because I would lose physical fitness and agility. My desire to become a professional player was enormous; I had put off college and worked and lived only to fulfill this dream.
On my football trips I always brought a copy of the Book of Mormon. I loved the words of the prophets, their way of life, their determination to obey the commandments, and their good example for their people. I felt ashamed of not being an example for the other players and not putting the things of God first. Sometimes I tried to share my beliefs, but what I always heard was “Let’s enjoy the trip. Forget about this nonsense. Let’s go have fun!” I started to get irritated with the gossip, dishonesty, and other aspects of football life. Many times I felt alone and sad, and I knew there was a place where I always felt happy and had friends who cared about me—friends who were together at activities and dances, in seminary and institute classes—celestial friends. I missed these things very much.
One Sunday when I wasn’t traveling, I went to church in my home ward in Brazil. At the end of the meetings, the bishop called me into his office to talk. I knew that we were going to talk about a mission because everyone my age was returning home. The bishop challenged me to serve a mission, and I tried to change the subject, saying that I wasn’t prepared. I tried to put off the bishop in every possible way, but he persevered and convinced me of the value of a mission. We ended the conversation with a goal for my preparation.
Some months later I turned in my papers, and I also continued with my training. For the moment, I had managed to reconcile football and the Church in my mind. But little did I know that it couldn’t last for long. I would have to choose.
When my call arrived, my family gathered at home. We were all very excited. Then the telephone rang.
On the other end of the line, my football agent told me that he had obtained a good contract with a European club. My imagination soared! I could see the stadium full of people coming to watch the games. I thought of the beautiful house and car and salary I could have. My dream was about to be fulfilled. It was within my grasp—and then I looked at the envelope with the call sitting beside the phone.
My eyes began to fill with tears. For a moment my life passed as if it were a movie. On the phone, my agent asked me what I thought of the news. I was silent. I couldn’t talk, and my legs were shaking. I didn’t want this moment to be real, but it was! I had to make a decision, the most difficult of any decision in my life.
With my voice shaking, I finally told him that I had already obtained a better contract. I would be a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for two years. I thanked the agent for the opportunity and for his work and effort on my behalf. Then I hung up the phone and went to my room, where I cried for a long time. I knew that the opportunity wouldn’t wait for two years, and my football dream would not be realized.
I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father, asking for comfort. I felt a quiet and sweet voice respond, comforting my heart by saying, “My son, you are already part of the best team in the world.” I reflected on these words and still reflect on them today.
Today, home from serving in the Brazil Fortaleza Mission, I don’t regret my choice in any way. The true Church of Jesus Christ is available to anyone who wants to be happy. And on my mission I learned that the best way to be happy is doing what Heavenly Father wants us to do. My mission was the best choice I have ever made in my life. It taught me that all who seek first the kingdom of God will have a place on the Lord’s team (see Matthew 6:33).

Heavenly Father knows our individual journeys are not easy. We are faced every day with situations that require courage and strength. A recent story in the Church News affirms this truth:
“A teacher in a high school a few months ago began her instruction one day by asking students who supported a political issue to stand on one side of the room, while those who opposed it were instructed to stand on the other side.
“After students had formed their sides, the teacher took her stance on the opposing side. Singling out one young woman on the side of the supporters, the teacher commenced an attack on her and the other classmates for their views.
“The young woman, who was a Mia Maid in her ward, absorbed the assault that criticized her beliefs.
“[She remained] calm in the face of a public attack leveled by someone in authority” (“What Youth Need,” Church News, Mar. 6, 2010, 16).
This young woman showed remarkable courage on her own battlefield, which on this day happened to be her school classroom. Wherever you are and whatever you may face, I hope you will take advantage of the guides found in the book of Joshua so that you can trust in the Lord’s promise: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest” (Joshua 1:9).

In our times, Sister Knell is a covenant woman who makes a difference. She is a widow in her 80s with a 47-year-old son, mentally and physically disabled from birth. A few years ago this dear sister set out to do what seemed impossible to everyone else—to teach her son Keith to read. Learning to read was his greatest desire, but doctors had said Keith was incapable of reading. With faith in her heart and a desire to bless her son’s life, this humble widow said to her son, “I know Heavenly Father will bless you so you can read the Book of Mormon.”

Sister Knell wrote the following: “It was hard work for Keith, and it wasn’t easy for me, either. At first there were some bad days, because I got upset. It has been a time-consuming, word-by-word struggle. I sit by his side each morning. I point to each word with a pencil to help him stay on track. After seven long years and one month, Keith finally finished reading the Book of Mormon.” His mother said, “Hearing him read a verse without help is a thrill I just cannot put into words.” She testifies, “I know miracles do happen when we put our trust in the Lord.”

It is a cold, rainy day in Finland. My companion is sick. We have to stay in our apartment because of his illness, and we have been here for several days. As I was standing looking out our window early this morning, I was overcome by a deep sense of emptiness and discouragement. It is a feeling that can come sometimes to missionaries in lands such as Finland where an elder finds himself seemingly buried under a pile of harsh circumstances: preaching the gospel to people who are usually unreceptive, fighting temperatures of -35° C. on a bicycle, and trying to master the unbelievable Finnish language with its incredible grammar. Add to this an absence of members for miles and miles, and it all combines to give missionaries an occasional feeling of isolation.
Well, as I was standing there looking out the window, I was struck with the thought that I should go and read some old issues of the New Era that were stacked in my closet. When I started reading, the day seemed to get better and better. The articles were so uplifting and full of spiritual strength for a mind that needed a lift. The feelings I received as the Spirit bore witness to me that I was reading the words of a living prophet, real apostles, and men chosen by the Lord were so strong, I just wanted to cry for joy. After three days of reading and studying several issues of the New Era, I can more clearly see why things are the way they are. The gospel gives us so many things to experience and ways to progress toward our eventual goal of perfection. The New Era contains such a vast amount of advice and help from those who have more knowledge and experience, and I’m so grateful that I can receive that advice even though I’m so many thousands of miles from home. Thank you so much for making the words of the General Authorities available to us.

Shortly after my mission, while a student at Brigham Young University, I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that although his chances of survival were not good, he was determined to be healed and return to his normal life activities. That phone call was a sobering moment for me. My dad had been my bishop, my friend, and my adviser. As my mother, my siblings, and I contemplated the future, it appeared bleak. My younger brother, Dave, was serving a mission in New York and participated long-distance in these difficult family events.
The medical providers of the day suggested surgery to try and curtail the spread of the cancer. Our family earnestly fasted and prayed for a miracle. I felt that we had sufficient faith that my father could be healed. Just prior to the surgery, my older brother, Norm, and I gave my dad a blessing. With all the faith we could muster, we prayed that he would be healed.
The surgery was scheduled to last many hours, but after just a short time, the doctor came to the waiting room to meet with our family. He told us that as they began the surgery, they could see that the cancer had spread throughout my father’s body. Based upon what they observed, my father had just a few months to live. We were devastated.
As my father awakened from the surgery, he was anxious to learn if the procedure had been successful. We shared with him the grim news.
We continued to fast and pray for a miracle. As my father’s health quickly declined, we began to pray that he could be free of pain. Eventually, as his condition worsened, we asked the Lord to allow him to pass quickly. Just a few months after the surgery, as predicted by the surgeon, my father did pass away.
Much love and care were poured out upon our family by ward members and family friends. We had a beautiful funeral that honored the life of my father. As time passed, however, and we experienced the pain of my father’s absence, I began to wonder why my father had not been healed. I wondered if my faith was not strong enough. Why did some families receive a miracle, but our family did not? I had learned on my mission to turn to the scriptures for answers, so I began to search the scriptures.
Moroni brings additional understanding as he shares the words of his father, Mormon. After speaking of miracles, Mormon explains, “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.” I learned that the object of my faith must be Jesus Christ and that I needed to accept what was expedient to Him as I exercised faith in Him. I understand now that my father’s passing was expedient to God’s plan. Now, as I lay my hands upon the head of another to bless him or her, my faith is in Jesus Christ, and I understand that a person can and will be physically healed if it is expedient in Christ.
But here is the greater lesson I learned. I had mistakenly believed that the Savior’s healing power had not worked for my family. As I now look back with more mature eyes and experience, I see that the Savior’s healing power was evident in the lives of each of my family members. I was so focused on a physical healing that I failed to see the miracles that had occurred. The Lord strengthened and lifted my mother beyond her capacity through this difficult trial, and she led a long and productive life. She had a remarkable positive influence on her children and grandchildren. The Lord blessed me and my siblings with love, unity, faith, and resilience that became an important part of our lives and continues today.
But what about my dad? As with all who will repent, he was spiritually healed as he sought and received the blessings available because of the Savior’s Atonement. He received a remission of his sins and now awaits the miracle of the Resurrection. The Apostle Paul taught, “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” You see, I was saying to the Savior, “We brought my dad to You to be healed,” and it is now clear to me that the Savior did heal him. The balm of Gilead worked for the Nielson family—not in the way that we had supposed, but in an even more significant way that has blessed and continues to bless our lives.

I was a little child when I lost my father. It was hard to be fatherless. My mother tried to support her family, but she didn’t have enough money to educate me. I was discouraged because I had to cease learning and I never learned to read. My mother and I tried to do many things in our village, like farm work, to support ourselves. For years, we struggled together.

Eventually, I got married and had children. Several years later, my husband died, and I struggled as a single parent to take care of my children.

My friends came to me and said, “You have lost your husband. You are now suffering. We want to invite you to our church to see what Jesus can do for you.” I followed my friends to their church. I also went to other churches.

One day, a woman from a few houses away came to me and said, “I have a church. Will you come?”

“No,” I said, “I have tried church after church.”

“Please,” the woman said, “I want to invite you to my church.”

“What do you call your church?” I asked.

“My church is The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints.”

She convinced me to learn more. She invited the missionaries to pay me a visit. The first day the missionaries came, I called my family together. The missionaries sat down and started to teach us.

The first time I went to church, I sat next to a woman singing from a hymnbook. I tried to pay attention, but I didn’t know how to read. I couldn’t even understand what she was singing. I felt discouraged. “I’m not going to this church again,” I said to myself.

I told the missionaries I wasn’t going to church again. One missionary said, “I’m not going to force you to be a member of this Church, but I’m going to tell you the truth. If you want to believe that this Church is true, read this book.” He gave me the Book of Mormon.

“You can’t give me this book,” I said. “I am not educated. I don’t even know how to read. I don’t need your book.”

The missionaries told me, “Your children are learning to read. They will read this for you, and you will understand.”

“I will try,” I said.

My daughter started reading the Book of Mormon to me, and I went to church again. A sister at church came to me and told me about a class for those who are not able to read and write. She said it was the gospel literacy class.

“We need a student,” she said.

“I really want to know how to read and write,” I said. “So I will go attend that class!”

As I attended the class, I learned reading, writing, and more and more about the gospel. My daughter read more from the Book of Mormon to me. One day I said, “This is the word of God. I can’t deny it.” I decided to be baptized.

Last December, two small boys extended a very special dinner invitation to Alec Ferguson, Jimmy Rasband, and Brandon Clayton, priests in the Provo Edgemont Stake. The young boys, who came from a high-risk home, invited their teenage friends as guests of honor.
“Apparently they were in a situation where they didn’t have a dad in the family. And so they kind of looked up to us three guys as father figures,” Brandon recalls with a smile. It’s one of his favorite memories of his high school years. He loves spending time with the children who have come to know and love him, Alec, and Jimmy as “the puppet boys.”
For the past three years, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have been volunteering their time once a month as puppeteers at Kids on the Move, a care program for children at a local hospital. Recently, the boys added a weekly show at the Family Support and Treatment Center in their hometown of Orem, Utah. In both venues, the boys perform for children in high-risk situations. And although the work can be draining, it’s also the highlight of their week.
“It’s so fun! It’s like being a kid again,” says Brandon.
In the last year alone, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have performed more than 100 hours of service with their puppet shows. In doing so, they have completed the service requirements for their Duty to God awards. Each of the boys has also qualified for the Presidential Service award, which is awarded to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding volunteer service and civic participation. But for these boys, it’s not about the awards—it’s about the kids.
“It’s cool to say we did 100 hours of service in a year,” says Brandon, “but I think the best thing that’s come out of this for me is just that great feeling that you get knowing that you’ve helped someone or that you’ve brought a smile to a child’s face—a child that probably doesn’t get that happiness too often in life.”
Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon are famous among the children at both facilities. The children frequently ask when the puppet boys are coming. When the three teenagers walk through the door, they are greeted by countless hugs and shouts of delight. The puppet shows that they perform last only about 20 minutes, but the boys often stay for several hours to play with their young friends. Each of the boys has made a connection in his own way with the children they serve.
“Brandon will really get into playing with the kids, and they love him for it. Sometimes 15 kids just come to him at the same time. He’s really lovable when it comes to the kids,” says Alec.
Brandon says, “Jimmy is always there for the kids that maybe don’t look like they have someone giving them one-on-one attention. Jimmy goes right over there and makes friends. He’s always there for them when they need him.”
In addition to doing the puppet show, the boys draw pictures with the children. Alec’s artistic talents make him a favorite. “They’re fascinated by Alec’s drawing ability,” says Brandon. “I’ve seen it where literally 18 kids have come up and asked him to draw a picture for each of them. And he does it just for the kids.”
Jimmy says his friends’ enthusiasm and willingness to serve are the reasons for their special relationship with the children. “They go and actively participate and play with all the kids. I think with little kids it’s often that you just have to be there.”
Francesca Lawson, Alec’s mother, often goes with the boys when they perform their shows. She describes the response of the children’s mothers. “There was one mother who said, ‘My children don’t have many positive role models in their lives. My boys really look forward every month to coming and being with these guys, because they’re positive male role models.’ I was touched by that. I don’t think these boys totally understand what a difference they’ve made.”
All three boys feel that the experience has blessed them with greater understanding.
“It’s not like it takes special people to be able to give service,” says Alec. “It’s not difficult, and it’s not necessarily very time-consuming. A hundred hours out of a year is not a lot at all. I don’t think enough people give service.”
Jimmy says he learned the importance of taking time to get to know individual children, because “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Brandon says he has gained a closeness to the Savior and a greater understanding of charity. “It’s helped me to be more Christlike. And in a lot of ways, I feel closer to the Lord, especially when I’m serving. It makes me feel like I’m doing good in life—like I’m doing okay.”
If these three friends should ever wonder whether they’ve done any good, they need only remember the words of one small boy who recently announced that when he grows up, he wants to be a volunteer—just like the puppet boys.

I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked onto a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.

I remember my Laurel teacher saying recently, “If you want to love someone, do something for him.” As she said that I was so touched by the Spirit that I knew it had to be true. I’d been struggling with a relative for quite a while, so I decided to experiment with this idea on her.

Well, to make a long story short, I now consider my sister my very best friend. The love I feel for her is inexpressible. I gave her all I could give, and the Lord, in turn, gave me the strength to forgive and the spirit to love.
Sharlene Weatherman, 18Roy, Utah

Recently I observed such a mighty change in a man whom I first met about 10 years ago. He had come to a stake conference at which his son was sustained as a member of the new stake presidency. This father was not a member of the Church. After his son had been set apart, I put my arms around this father and praised him for having such a wonderful son. Then I boldly declared: “The day will come when you will want to have this son sealed to you and your wife in a holy temple. And when that day comes, I would be honored to perform that sealing for you.”

During the subsequent decade, I did not see this man. Six weeks ago he and his wife came to my office. He greeted me warmly and recounted how startled he was with my earlier invitation. He didn’t do much about it until later, when his hearing began to fail. Then he awakened to the realization that his body was changing and that his time on earth was indeed limited. In due course he ultimately lost his hearing. At the same time, he became converted and joined the Church.

During our visit he summarized his total transformation: “I had to lose my hearing before I could heed the great importance of your message. Then I realized how much I wanted my loved ones to be sealed to me. I am now worthy and prepared. Will you please perform that sealing?” This I did with a deep sense of gratitude to God.

The first day of my last year in high school, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with excitement. She was unpredictable. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hilarity. The teachers, therefore, weren’t very fond of her, but we, her classmates, love her. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew which Alyce it was.
Why Alyce began teasing me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she would say. And she would mimic the way I pushed my glasses back, while reading a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, without thinking I put the chalk in my mouth for a moment like a cigarette. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think of a Mormon smoking?” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I had never received so much attention before, and it was fun and exciting. Alyce was not malicious in her teasing, she was never cruel. She never joked about people who were not present. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then later she became a different person, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t only a clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.

Bishop Edgley: An experience I had with my Aaronic Priesthood quorum was on a Scout outing. We were sitting around a fire with my wonderful Scoutmaster, who was also the assistant deacons quorum adviser. A couple of guys who were not active in the Church were looking at some pornographic material.
The Scoutmaster stopped as he was talking to the Scouts and asked if he could have the magazine. He closed it and then told us how hurt he was, how troubled he was. Then he testified of the power of the priesthood when we honor it. He handed the magazine back, and that young man threw it in the fire.
That Scoutmaster taught us by the power of the Spirit about the priesthood. Of all the lessons I’ve had in quorums and chapels, I am still impressed by that experience.

Throughout my mission in Europe, a phrase in my patriarchal blessing about preaching the gospel in power reminded me I was on the Lord’s errand, and therefore I should speak with authority. When I returned home and began searching for a wife, I knew I must find someone who would help me be worthy. After all, my patriarchal blessing made reference to the joys of a righteous posterity. Today, I am thrilled to go to the temple with my six children and their companions, and I do find joy and rejoicing in my posterity.

During the period 1959 to 1962, I had the privilege to preside over the Canadian Mission, with headquarters in Toronto, Canada. There Sister Monson and I had the wonderful opportunity of working with 450 of the finest young men and young women in all the world. From that particular experience I should like to relate an experience that came to Sister Monson that had far-reaching significance. One Sunday she was the only person in a usually very busy mission home. The telephone rang, and the person who was on the other end of the line spoke with a Dutch accent and asked the question, “Is this the headquarters of the Mormon Church?” Sister Monson assured her that it was as far as Toronto was concerned, and then she said, “May I help you?” The party on the line said: “Yes. We have come from our native Holland, where we’ve had an opportunity to learn something about the Mormons. We’d like to know more.” Sister Monson, being a good missionary, said, “We can help you.” Then the lovely lady who had called said, “We have chicken pox in our home; and if you could wait until the children are better, we’d love to have the missionaries call.” Sister Monson said that she would arrange this, and that terminated the conversation.
Excitedly she told the two missionaries on our staff, “Here is a golden referral,” and the missionaries agreed. Then, as some missionaries do, they procrastinated calling upon the family. Days became weeks, and the weeks became several. Sister Monson would say, “Are you going to call on that Dutch family tonight, elders?” And they would respond, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to get around to it.” After a few more days Sister Monson would say, “What about my Dutch family? Are you going to call on them tonight?” Again the reply, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to work it into our schedule.” Finally Sister Monson said, “If you aren’t able to call on the Dutch family tonight, my husband and I are going to call on the family,” and the elders replied, “Well, we’ll work it into our schedule tonight.”
And thus they called on a lovely family. They taught them the gospel. Each person in the family became a member of the Church. The family was the Jacob de Jager family. Brother de Jager became the president of an elders quorum. His employer, the gigantic Phillips Company, then transferred him to Mexico, where he served the Church with distinction. Later he became the counselor to several mission presidents in Holland; he then became a Regional Representative of the Twelve; he then became a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, serving as the executive administrator of the work in Southeast Asia.
I ask the question: Was it an important decision that was made on the part of the missionaries to call on the de Jagers? Was it an important decision for Sister Monson to say, “Tonight is the night or else!” Was it an important decision for the de Jagers to telephone mission headquarters in Toronto, Canada, and say, “Could we have the missionaries come to our home?” I bear testimony that these decisions had eternal consequences, not only for the de Jagers, but for many other people as well, for here is a man who can teach the gospel in English, in Dutch, in German, in Spanish, and in Indonesian, and he now is learning to preach the gospel in Chinese. I ask the question, “What will be our faith?”

Every evening after dinner is over and the dishes are washed and dried, Klees and I scrub our faces, brush our teeth, and put on our pajamas. Papa sits in the rocking chair, unbuttons the top button on his shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. Mama sits on the couch, takes off her shoes, and tucks her hair behind her ears. Then we are all ready for our special time.
“What shall it be?” Papa asks.
Sunday I lifted Papa’s golden trombone from its stand and carried it over to him. Klees followed with the mute for Papa to use so that the people in the apartment below wouldn’t be disturbed. “A concert by Papa!” we announced.
Monday Klees picked up Mama’s clarinet, and we watched her open the green-gold case and assemble the shiny black pieces. “A performance by Mama,” we declared.
Tuesday I took my wooden recorder out of its cloth bag while Klees unlatched the toy box and grasped the shiny tin drum. “It’s a program by Klees and Katrina!” Papa exclaimed.
Wednesday we all played together with Papa beating time as he rocked back and forth, back and forth in his rocking chair.
“Let’s sing now,” Papa said. “Do you know this song?” and he began to hum.
“Oh, yes!” We all joined in.
“Do you know this one?” We each took a turn humming, then singing hymns and lullabies, rounds and carols.
Thursday Papa and Mama set thick music books on the heavy metal stand and played duets. I closed my eyes and saw colors swirling in my head. I got up very quietly and fetched paper and crayons, and Klees and I drew pictures of how the music made us feel.
Friday Mama sang nursery rhymes. Klees and I made the eensy weensy spider climb up Papa’s “waterspout legs.” We pretended to be blackbirds and “snipped off” Mama’s nose. We all joined hands to “Ring-Around-the-Rosy,” and we all fell down.
Saturday Papa played dance tunes, and Klees and I hopped about the room. “Let’s all dance!” Papa said. He pushed the couch and the chairs against the wall and started a record.
“This is how you do it,” he explained. He showed me how to waltz, and Mama taught Klees. We danced through the room, out into the hallway, and back.
The music on the next record was livelier.
“A polka!”
Papa and Mama whirled round and round, faster and faster. Klees and I clapped our hands until the music stopped.
Tonight is Sunday again, and there is a special religious concert on the radio. Papa twists the knobs until the sound enters our room, loud and clear, from a faraway city. He sits in his rocking chair and rocks back and forth, back and forth. Mama lies on the couch, her head on a patchwork pillow. Klees curls up next to Mama, and I climb onto Papa’s lap. It is as if the music is being played just for us.
When our special time ends, Klees and I kiss Mama and Papa good night, say our prayers, then crawl into bed. The house is quiet, but there will be music again tomorrow. Music and love.

My life changed forever when my husband and I went to the doctor to check the gender and development of our unborn baby. I cried with joy when we discovered that I was expecting twins. But my tears turned to ones of despair as the doctor explained that a series of complications made it unlikely that the twins would survive until birth. The doctor suggested terminating the pregnancy. She said proceeding would be risky and that I would have to be hospitalized at some point.
Despite the dangers, we decided to continue the pregnancy.
On the drive home I realized the severity of the situation. I wondered how I could leave my husband and our three children and stay for an extended period in the hospital. Knowing that our babies would likely be delivered prematurely—and might not live—became overwhelming for me. I wasn’t sure I could endure this trial.
Only after I received a priesthood blessing from my husband and father-in-law did I feel peace. I realized that no matter what the outcome was, my family and I would be all right. I felt my Savior’s love and knew that He would be with us in joy or in sorrow.
Some time later, I said good-bye to my family and entered the hospital for an indefinite stay. The babies’ heart rates were monitored constantly to make sure the babies were safe. It was difficult for me to see their heart rates drop, and I wondered if they would make it to the delivery goal of 34 weeks. At 25½ weeks, one baby’s heart rate dropped to a critical level, nearly stopping. The doctors decided that if his heart didn’t start beating normally, both babies would be delivered by emergency cesarean section within minutes. I panicked when I heard the nurse call my husband and tell him that I was being prepared for surgery and that the neonatal team was standing by.
I knew that to get through this trial, I needed Heavenly Father’s help. I prayed silently, pleading that our baby would recover, thus allowing both twins the much-needed time to develop in utero. I also prayed for comfort. Once again I felt peace, just as I had when I received the priesthood blessing. I didn’t know if our babies would live or die, but I knew that no matter what, if I turned to the Lord, He would help carry my burden. As it turned out, the baby’s heartbeat returned to normal, and surgery was no longer necessary.
My stay at the hospital continued for the next two months, and there were many times we worried about our babies’ fluctuating heart rates. But fortunately, neither of the twin’s heart rates dropped as low as before. Our sons, John and Jacob, were born at 33 weeks. Their cords were intertwined with eight knots, and John—the son whose heart rate had dropped so low—had his cord wrapped around his neck twice. Our twins stayed in the hospital’s intensive care unit so their body temperatures and breathing could be regulated. Despite the potential problems associated with premature births, John and Jacob were able to come home after only 19 days.
Our twins are now toddlers, and they have no negative effects from being born prematurely. I am grateful that what began as a trial became one of the greatest blessings of my life. I was given two healthy sons, and my testimony of the power of priesthood blessings and prayer was strengthened. I am also grateful to be able to recall the peace and love I felt in knowing that the Lord was aware of my situation. I learned then that, with the Lord’s help, we will have the strength to endure our trials.

Neiley led the cattle to the pasture, then closed the gate. After watching a moment while they chomped the dew-covered grass, she climbed onto the top rail of the fence. The smell of autumn was already in the air, and she looked toward the horizon. Soon she and her little brother, Tom, would don their emporium-bought clothes and head down the lane to school.
It was a long, long walk to the little schoolhouse, but Neiley looked forward to learning more about other peoples and places. She wiggled her bare toes luxuriously. This year will be better than last year, she daydreamed. Tom was never anxious to shove his suntanned feet into store-bought shoes, but he had seemed pleased to be able to print his own name.
“Neiley!” Tom shouted.
She turned her head and watched as he raced across the grass.
“I brought it,” he said breathlessly.
“Come on,” Neiley said as she jumped down from the rail and took the small sack from his hand. “We’ll count it in the barn.”
They sat side by side on the straw and counted their money, much of which they had earned during the long summer. Unfolding the birthday dollars Grandma had sent from Boston, they placed them faceup on Tom’s spread-out bandanna. Then they began counting the small pile of coins. Some were earned from gathering pinecones on the hill and selling them to the traveling peddler. Tom had asked who would buy pinecones, but the cones had sold along with the feathers they had found and collected.
Some of the coins were still marked with the blacking Tom had used on cattlemen’s dress boots. Neiley thought of the many hand-stitched aprons she had sewn and sold to the peddler in secret. She wondered how many of them were being worn this fine autumn morning in faraway homes.
When the counting was done, Neiley collapsed into the straw and whooped, “Tomorrow, Tom! Tomorrow, we buy a mule!”
The chores the children did were no different from those they did any other day, yet that day they seemed to take longer to complete. As Neiley gathered eggs, she glanced toward the house, where Tom and Mother were carrying buckets of water. Neiley smiled and thought of the many ways a mule would help. Not only could she and Tom ride it to school when the weather was bad, but a mule would also help with the work around the farm. It would make plowing easier, and maybe they could even build some kind of cart or wagon for it to pull. Then the walk to town to sell goods and crops would not be a walk—it would be a ride! She smiled and drew a long blade of grass through her lips. “Yes, Mother will be pleased,” she murmured.
The following morning Neiley and Tom were up before first light. They ate quickly, for they were anxious to be off.
“Now, Neiley,” her mother cautioned, as she wrapped the hand-sewn items with paper and string, “you know the value of our work. Don’t take more than is fair or less than is right.”
Neiley nodded. “Do you have Mrs. McDougal’s quilt there, too?” Neiley asked.
“It’s the moon pattern,” her mother replied with a nod. “And the settled price is three dollars.” Turning to Tom, she handed him another bundle. “This is the jam. Be careful you don’t drop it. And mind your sister.”
With a hug and a kiss from their mother, the two children started down the lane toward the rising sun. At the fork in the road they looked back and waved. Then, laden with goods and their sack of summer money, and with their hopes high, they continued on their way. When they reached town, people were already milling around the corrals and the bidding booths.
“Come on,” Neiley urged Tom. “We’ll sell the goods first. Then we can come back and look at the mules.”
Going from house to house, Neiley and Tom were invited inside while the hand-sewn items were inspected and the jam help up to the light. When they got to Mrs. McDougal’s, she was so pleased with the quilt that she gave Neiley an extra fifty-cent piece.
“Mother said the agreed price was three dollars,” Neiley protested, handing the coin back.
“Your mother doesn’t know the worth of her own work,” Mrs. McDougal insisted as she pressed the extra coin into Neiley’s palm. “You give this to her with my compliments for a beautiful job.”
Neiley looked from the coin to Mrs. McDougal. “Thank you, ma’am!” she said.
Outside, Tom jumped up and down happily. “We could put the fifty cents with our summer money, Neiley. Then we’d get a good mule for sure.”
“Tom!” Neiley frowned, her hands on her hips. “Shame on you for such a thought! That’s Mother’s quilt money. It would be stealing!”
“But,” Tom explained as Neiley hurried along, “Mother would understand. We want the mule for the good of everyone.”
“We’ll get a mule with our own summer money, or we won’t get one at all!” Neiley insisted.
Soon all the goods were sold, and Tom and Neiley headed toward the bidding booths. They sat on a bale of hay and waited.
Finally Tom poked Neiley’s arm. “There are the mules, Neiley!” he said in an excited whisper.
Neiley took their summer money from her pocket. Time and time again they raised their hands and bid, but each time the mule was bought by a higher bidder.
“Our summer money just isn’t enough,” Neiley said quietly. “We’ll have to save for another summer.”
Tom was disappointed as Neiley took his hand and led him away through the crowd. When he kept pulling back, Neiley only raised her chin higher and tugged on his hand harder. When the crowd was finally behind them, Neiley released Tom’s hand and wiped her eyes.
“Couldn’t we use just a little of Mother’s money?” Tom pleaded.
Neiley’s eyes flashed. “No!”
Someone touched Neiley’s shoulder. She turned. A tall man with gentle eyes was looking at her.
“Finished bidding?” he asked with a twinkling smile.
“We bid all we had, but it wasn’t enough,” Neiley replied.
“You have enough for my mule,” he said kindly.
“But if you watched us bidding, you must know how much money we have. It’s not really very much.”
“Money isn’t the important thing. I want to find a good home for an old friend.” The man smiled again. “Besides, anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Neiley? Did you hear him?”
As they rode the mule toward home, Neiley’s heart sang, and the stranger’s words rang in her ears: “Anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.” Never before—even on the highest pine bluff—had Neiley felt so close to heaven as on the back of that mule.
Neiley wrapped her arms tighter about her little brother’s waist and clicked her tongue. “Get up, mule,” she said happily. “We’re taking you home.”

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.
We members of the Church are in the world, but we are not like the world. I have learned that if I would have continued attending those parties, I might have fallen into breaking the Word of Wisdom and even the law of chastity. Many of my acquaintances have fallen into this, most of them outside of the Church, but even members of the Church themselves can reach the point of falling if they do not remain firm.
I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.