Gospel Story Finder

I scanned my planning sheet and wondered how my companion and I were ever going to do it. How could I have forgotten that we had missionary exchanges this week? Poland had been newly opened for missionary work, and most of the members were young in age and in their knowledge of the gospel. The members of this small branch were so excited to learn, and we, as missionaries, were doing our best to teach them.
Sunday meetings had just ended. Small groups socialized around the apartment where we met, as I reviewed our plans for the coming week. We had several discussions already scheduled—something rare at that time—and they all seemed to be set for one day. I had agreed we would take a member with us.
I remembered back to a month ago when Kasha, a member with cerebral palsy, approached me so hopefully. She wore a big grin as she walked over on her crutches.
“Sister McGregor, would you please take me out to do missionary work for a day?” she had asked.
I adored Kasha and would have done anything for her, but I wondered how we would get around. No missionaries or members had cars, so our main mode of transportation would be our feet or the bus. If walking was painful for her, wouldn’t climbing bus stairs all day be worse? But there she stood, waiting for a reply. I had picked a date out of the air. The day fell in our busy week, and I desperately wanted to change it.
I picked my way over to Kasha and showed her our schedule. Her eyes glowed with excitement. I explained to her how all these appointments were scattered throughout the city and asked her how we were going to get around. She looked at me as if I had forgotten something obvious and explained that the bus was usually a pretty good way. I quickly decided that if she wasn’t worried about it, then I shouldn’t be either—but I wasn’t entirely convinced.
We picked her up in the morning and practically hoisted her onto the bus while the driver glared at us for slowing him up. There were no seats, so on our way to our first appointment, we supported Kasha on the swaying bus. Getting off wasn’t much better, and walking was slow and tedious over broken sidewalks and cobblestones. As we sat through our first discussion, Kasha taught two young women with love, testimony, and the Spirit. She was an incredible missionary.
Obstacles other than cobblestones arose as the day continued. Bus drivers had agreed to strike that day, and around noon buses, parked end to end, began to fill the streets of the city. The bus drivers refused to move them.
We walked slowly from place to place, and Kasha did her best to be cheerful. We caught taxis on the edges of the city when we could, and my companion and I physically supported her as much as she would let us.
It was getting late as we inched up the walk to Kasha’s apartment after the long day. Our discussions had been wonderful, but I was looking forward to bed. Kasha suddenly stopped on the walk, forcing me to stop also.
“Oh no!” my mind raced. “I’m going to have to carry her!”
“I’m not tired, Sister McGregor,” Kasha said. “At the end of every single day I’m tired and hurting. I’m usually in bed by now. But today, walking all over the city doing the Lord’s work, I feel like I could keep going and going.” She continued her labored walk home.
I learned a great lesson walking to Kasha’s apartment that night. When we are doing the Lord’s work, He will assist us no matter our weaknesses or disabilities. My disabilities are not the same as Kasha’s, but when I worry that I’m not quite up to what the Lord wants me to do, I think about Kasha.
She had all she needed on her day of missionary work and a little more.

Illustration by Brian C. Hailes
The first time the missionaries stopped by my house, only my brother Charles was there. As they discussed the Restoration, my brother felt the Spirit and accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon. Before Charles began reading the book, I saw it and asked him what it was and where he got it. Charles explained everything to me, including how he felt meeting with the missionaries.
I thought it all sounded ridiculous and ordered Charles to return the book. I persuaded my family to support me, and they agreed that the Book of Mormon was unacceptable in our house.
The next time the missionaries came by, Charles was gone. I returned the book and told them to leave. They told me that I would need the book someday. This caused me to drive them away in a rude manner.
Not too long after this, a childhood friend whom I had always admired invited me to a Church activity. I refused. He and another friend kept inviting me to church, and when they offered to pick me up, I eventually agreed. Imagine my surprise when I entered the Church building and saw the same missionaries that I had driven away! I had no idea it was the same Church!
The bishop of the ward befriended me that day, and I started to attend church more often. With a lot of love and support, I eventually started to read the scriptures. Thanks to friends, loving leaders, and the scriptures, I was eventually baptized. Since then, both my brother and I have served missions in our native Africa. Even though we may face the same rejection I dealt to those missionaries that day, I know that if we are faithful and persistent, Heavenly Father will bless our efforts and we will be able to share the gospel.

The next thing I wanted to do was go on a mission. One day my father questioned me asking if the Church I was attending was restored by Joseph Smith? I said “yes”.
He said “Ahh, that church is a cult. I’ve read some things about them. You must be very careful about that church.” I told him “OK, if that is the case, I will pray over it and find out for myself”.
One day I was sleeping, and I had this dream. There were two churches, and they were built across the street from each other. There was a fire burning and people were running all around. The two churches were there, and one was big and the other small. The bigger church had lots of people running into it and a few were running to the small one. The fire was coming, and it was burning the entire city. When the flame got to the two churches, the big church was consumed by the flame and the small church was not. I beheld that the small church had an inscription on it that said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”.
I said, “Wow, this is wonderful”. I woke up from my dream and prayed and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers because I thought I was lost, and the Church was somewhere I belonged. A place that would comfort me and where I could have a family. I told my father about it and that I had got an answer. He said, “OK, if you’ve gotten an answer, then you need to go on a mission”.

When I eat lunch in the school cafeteria, some kids talk about things that I know I shouldn’t listen to. I ask them to not talk about those things. Sometimes they stop, but sometimes they don’t. If they don’t, I move to another place so I don’t have to hear bad things. A couple of times I’ve had to eat alone.
Sometimes standing up for the right means that you aren’t liked as much, but I think it helps other people to want to choose the right too. It also means that you will attract good friends. I am glad that we have a prophet who asks us to be clean.

I have great faith in Jesus Christ and in His commandments and, above all, in prayer. One Sunday my paternal grandfather and I went to visit my great-grandmother. I decided to take my small puppy. On our way home my puppy was hit by a boy on a bicycle. It scared him, and he ran after the boy. My grandfather and I chased after him, but we couldn’t find him. We had to go home without him. We were all very sad. My great-grandmother called and told me to find a private place and to pray for my puppy.
Early the next morning we heard a dog barking—my puppy was home! I know that Heavenly Father heard my prayer.
Stephanie P., age 8, Honduras

This time her fifth-grade teacher was furious!
“Oh, oh,” Flora moaned, bolting for the door. “This time I’ve really done it! Can’t Tad ever leave me alone?”
Outside the classroom, Flora leaned against the wall, trying not to cry. Not only had she lost her temper again, but she’d also torn the one nice dress she had. It’s all Tad’s fault, she thought. If only he and his friends wouldn’t tease me!
Poor Flora. The kids did tease her. They teased her about her tousled blond hair. They teased her about her mismatched skirts and blouses. They teased her because nobody liked her. And nobody liked her because when they teased her, she got angry—screaming, hitting, chair-throwing angry.
As Flora stood silently blaming everyone else for her problems, the new girl in her class appeared in the hall on her way to the library. “Why’d you go and do that, Flora?” Jerri Ann asked. “It wasn’t Tad’s fault that you missed so many words on the spelling test.”
“It was, too,” Flora shot back. “He makes me nervous, and he covers his paper so that the teacher will think I’m copying. Anyway, what’s it to you?”
Jerri Ann didn’t blanch at the rude question. “It just seems to me,” she said, “that it would be a whole lot easier to study and get a hundred and show Tad that you don’t need to cheat. I’d be glad to study with you anytime.” With that, Jerri Ann turned and walked on to the library.
Humph! though Flora. Tad was always teasing her, and he seemed to enjoy her tirades. But I’ll get even with him—if I’m not suspended! she thought, suddenly remembering her teacher’s earlier warning. She quietly opened the door to the classroom and tried to slip unnoticed into her seat at the back of the room. No such luck—Tad saw her and gave her a big grin that said, “Oh, boy, are you going to get it now!”
At recess, Tad found Flora and started in on her: What punishment had she received? What had the teacher said to her? What had the principal done to her? And on and on. Flora felt herself getting red in the face, and her fists tightened around the jump rope in her hands. She wanted to hit Tad, or scream at him, or something! She threw the jump rope to the ground and was storming toward Tad when Jerri Ann ran up and asked her to play tetherball. As Jerri Ann coaxed, Flora began to calm down. Finally she agreed to play, and the two girls ran off together, leaving Tad to himself.
“You see,” said Jerri Ann as she served the ball to Flora, “if there’s nobody to make mad, Tad’s little game isn’t so much fun for him. Why do you let him make you so mad?”
“Let him!” Flora yelped. “I can’t stop him!”
“You just did. He’s not here now, is he?”
“No. But he doesn’t always go away so easily,” Flora said. She thought about what Jerri Ann had told her, and wondered, Do I really let Tad make me throw temper tantrums?
During the next few days, Tad continued to tease her, and Jerri Ann continued to point out what she ought to have done in each case. Flora wondered why Jerri Ann tried to help her—they hardly knew each other, really—but she began to listen. And she surely did admire the way Jerri Ann was always so cool.
One day Flora actually walked away on her own from Tad’s taunts. But the next day she lost control and threw her books on the floor when she missed five words on the practice spelling test. Afterward she felt so bad that she went straight home and studied her spelling words, and the next day she beat Tad on the final test. He gave her a grudging smile and didn’t tease her even once at recess.
Little by little Flora learned how to avoid getting angry by being prepared and ignoring—or at least pretending to ignore—her classmate’s insults. Tad had even commented, “Boy, Flora, you’re no fun to tease anymore!”
And not only was Flora keeping her temper, she was gaining a friend! She’d never had a real friend before; she’d always scared most of the kids away. But Jerri Ann seemed to like Flora, and Flora definitely liked Jerri Ann. Whenever she found herself getting angry, she could turn to Jerri Ann, and together they would find a way out.
Flora came to depend on her friend, and she felt lost one Friday when Jerri Ann was absent. At first Flora began to tell herself that it was going to be a bad day, that she would never be able to cope alone. Then she wondered what Jerri Ann would say to that. Maybe if she tried to think of what Jerri Ann would do, she could make it through the day. Well, she’d give it a try!
And things went well all morning! Even recess had presented no challenges. This is going to be a snap, Flora thought happily. Then, at lunchtime, trouble came. Tad had challenged her to a game of tetherball, and they had no more than begun the game when a sixth-grade boy came over and said, “Hey, creep. Don’t get cooties on the ball. I might want to play.”
Flora tensed up, but before she could say anything, Tad sprang to her side and seemed ready to punch the older boy. Flora was so amazed by Tad’s standing up for her that she forgot to be angry! “It’s all right, Tad. I’m not mad. He’s probably afraid that I’m going to win and doesn’t want to have to play me.” Flora turned and gave the boy a big grin. “Isn’t that right?” Flora knew that she could never beat Tad, much less the sixth grader. But it didn’t matter, because she had kept her temper! And Tad had stuck up for her! Whatever the outcome of the tetherball game, Flora was a winner!

We can learn a great deal from others. I had an older brother whom I worshiped. He played football in high school and was my hero. I would polish his football cleats before each game. I would wash his white shoelaces and press them. No one had better looking football cleats than my older brother. During the summer before I went to high school, he would take me out to the backyard. I would put on shoulder pads and a helmet, and he would try to run over me. I shouldn’t say try; he did. We would hit each other head on; I would tackle and he would carry the ball. Then after a while we would reverse the procedure and I would carry the ball and he would tackle. After doing this a few nights with him (he weighed about 185 pounds and I weighed 155 pounds), do you think I had any fear of those my own age? He suggested wind sprints to build up my speed and timing. He encouraged me to run long distances to build up my wind. We would do push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, etc. The interesting thing is that it was hard work, but I wanted to do it.

My husband and I were living in a second-story apartment with our small son and daughter. We looked forward to Christmas that year with our two children. Our son was growing fast, and as any normal toddler, he liked to move a lot. He often ran around the apartment just for fun. We enjoyed his antics, but our neighbor downstairs was rather impatient. He often turned up his music in retaliation and came upstairs to complain to us.
It was a frustrating situation for us. What is a little boy supposed to do all day if he is not able to move freely? It broke my heart to keep him quiet when he was so full of gleeful energy. We met with our apartment manager and our neighbor to try to resolve the conflict. As we talked I noticed that our neighbor was especially defensive in his words and attitude. During the discussion, the Savior’s words from Matthew 5:44 came to my mind: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” I did not necessarily consider him an enemy, but we certainly didn’t see eye to eye.
He was in the military, and his wife had not been able to join him yet, so he was alone in a strange town. And when he came home from work, he had to deal with this noise above his apartment. I began to see how difficult it might be for him, but I still did not have a fair solution. I started to pray for him, and my heart was touched to be a little more sympathetic.
We welcomed my husband’s parents to spend the holidays with us that year. On Christmas Eve we were enjoying each other’s company and the special spirit of the season. Soon we heard and felt the vibration of loud music coming from the apartment below. It seemed very loud this time, but I remember feeling sorry for him rather than impatient. Thinking about the verse in Matthew 5, I made up a plate of homemade Christmas cookies for our neighbor.
My husband and I went down to deliver them. When our neighbor opened the door, he scowled at us and said, “WHAT?” I could tell he was expecting an unpleasant confrontation. Instead, we ignored the loud music and wished him a heartfelt merry Christmas. We smiled, and I could see his face soften as he accepted the cookies. He smiled back and thanked us, wishing us a merry Christmas also. It wasn’t long before the music was turned down.
We saw our neighbor outside a few days later, and he thanked us again for the cookies. He was smiling at us again, and we found it easy to smile back at him. We asked him if he had a church to go to, because he was new in town. He said he hadn’t found one yet, so we invited him to our church, and he accepted our invitation. He began visiting with the missionaries and soon wanted to be baptized. He and our son had their picture taken together on the day of his baptism.
I don’t remember any more problems with loud music, but I do recall the special blessings of following the scriptures in our lives. It still warms my heart to remember how the simple gift of Christmas cookies quickly changed an unpleasant relationship into a wonderful friendship.

Many years ago, Sister Bednar and I were busy trying to meet the countless competing demands of a young and energetic family—and of Church, career, and community responsibilities. One evening after the children were asleep, we talked at length about how effectively we were attending to all of our important priorities. We realized that we would not receive the promised blessings in eternity if we did not honor more fully the covenant we had made in mortality. We resolved together to do and to be better as a husband and a wife. That lesson learned so many years ago has made a tremendous difference in our marriage.

“Should I keep these kinds of friends?” someone keeps asking, as if true friendship could be thrown out so casually. Maybe if you’d use the word acquaintance the question would be more valid.
A friend of ours (and most of us were recent converts) was getting into the drug culture with all its wrong attitudes and acts. Some might say we shouldn’t have kept this kind of friend, but we did. (Later he said that he had felt he was losing us even so, but this was because he had been failing to keep his part of the relationship.) At any rate, we didn’t throw him out of our lives for taking drugs, or for any of the other sins, small or great, that it led him to. Then we saw him turn to paths of repentance, and when he finally asked, we helped him climb back. The day of his temple marriage was a day of deep joy to us all.
Sharon DequerMunrovia, California

Matti and Kirsti Salmi exemplify this combination of faith with Finnish resolve. They live in the west coast city of Kemi, at the northern tip of the Gulf of Bothnia, less than one hundred kilometers below the Arctic Circle. In 1988, the Salmis became the first Finnish couple to serve a mission in their own land.

Kirsti had joined the Church in 1973 in Kuopio, after the missionaries taught her the gospel that “sounded familiar and true, especially after reading the Book of Mormon.” Matti was forty-eight when, in 1978, the elders brought “an undeniably strong spirit with them.” And he too was baptized. The two met in the summer of 1981 at the Swiss Temple.

“How glad we were for our proselyting mission call,” says Matti. “Within the first week of our mission, we met and taught our first people to be converted. By the end of the month they were baptized; then came another and another.”

“Even when people weren’t baptized,” adds Kirsti, “we never felt we taught in vain. On the other side, when some things are clearer, many of those will accept.”

Their work brought three young converts in Savonlinna, the beautiful site of the nation’s annual opera festivals. The city’s setting is dramatic, on a large archipelago in the middle of the largest of Finland’s 180,000 lakes. “We so enjoyed our work in that lovely setting,” says Brother Salmi. “The members there are devoted to the gospel and freely helped us share it.”

According to the Salmis, “teaching eternal principles together and sharing love for others deepened and strengthened our marriage more than anything we could think of.”

My family was going camping that weekend, and I had a problem. My big brother, Neil, told me that toy rabbits are not allowed to go on camping trips, and I always sleep with Mr. Long Ears.
Neil said that stuffed bunnies are for babies. He said to take a flashlight instead. But a flashlight isn’t cuddly like Mr. Long Ears.
My little brother, Benjy, is almost two years old. Neil said Benjy could take his blanket because he’s a baby. Sometimes Benjy borrows my rabbit. But he always puts him back in my room at bedtime.
At breakfast Neil told me all about camping. He’s been camping with his friend Jeff.
“Is it dark in the tent at night?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Neil, “like the inside of the darkest cave.”
“That sounds very dark,” I replied. I decided to hide Mr. Long Ears in my backpack. His body fit OK, but when I closed the pack, his ears stuck out. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
“What else do you like about camping?” I asked Neil after school.
“The wild animals come out at night,” answered Neil. “You can hear them chomping all around the tent.” Neil bit into his apple and made loud chomping sounds.
I imagined wild animals eating a hole in the tent, and then I went to my room and took Mr. Long Ears from my backpack and rolled him up in my sleeping bag. There was a funny lump on one side. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
At dinner I asked Neil, “What happens if you want a drink of water in the middle of the night?”
“You crawl out of the tent and walk down the long, dark path to the water pump,” Neil explained. “You have to shine your flashlight all around first so you don’t step on a moose’s foot.”
I tried to think of a better place to hide Mr. Long Ears.
On Friday morning the backyard was covered with boxes and bags full of camping gear.
“Put your parka in the duffel bag, Josh,” said Mom, “just in case it gets cold tonight.”
I found my parka, and when I opened the duffel bag, Dad’s huge orange parka was right on top. A rabbit, even one with long ears, could fit inside that orange parka nicely. I ran and got Mr. Long Ears and zipped him inside Dad’s parka. I thought, When Dad gets his parka out, I’ll say, “What a surprise! How did Mr. Long Ears get in there?”
We drove for a long time, and Dad kept saying, “We’re almost there.” I was squashed in the backseat between Benjy’s car seat and Neil. Benjy had his blanket, and I had a flashlight. Neil had his popgun, his canteen, two flashlights, his toy camper truck, his baseball and bat, his cowboy hat, and his Frisbee.
Finally we arrived at Avalanche Creek. We started to help Dad put up the tent, but Benjy kept tripping over the ropes.
“Will you boys take him away?” Dad asked.
First we played sheriff and outlaws. We arrested Benjy and put him in the Avalanche Creek Jail (the tent). Then we played prospectors looking for gold, and the tent became the Avalanche Creek Mine. Next we played Indians, and the tent was a wigwam. We had a wonderful time all day.
After dinner we roasted marshmallows over the campfire coals. I roasted two at once—one for Benjy and one for me. It started getting very dark. Neil wanted to tell stories about the ghosts of old prospectors and outlaws still wandering around Avalanche Creek. I wanted Dad to get his parka.
“Aren’t you cold, Dad?” I asked.
“No,” Dad replied.
It looks like Mr. Long Ears will have to sleep in the car, I thought.
Mom took Benjy into the tent to put him to bed. Suddenly Benjy started to bawl.
“Maybe there’s a snake in Benjy’s sleeping bag!” Neil shouted. We rushed over to the tent to see what was wrong.
“Benjy lost his blanket,” said Mom.
“Don’t worry,” Neil told her, “we’ll find it with our trusty flashlights.” We started into the dark woods. I could hear Avalanche Creek gurgling. It sounded like a giant drinking from a huge water bottle. I kept shining my light all around to make sure no wild animals were lurking anywhere. We looked everywhere but couldn’t find Benjy’s blanket. Benjy was still crying when we got back to the tent.
“Maybe we’ll have to go home now,” said Mom, “instead of in the morning.”
“No, we can’t go home!” cried Neil. He was really disappointed.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Will you unlock the trunk of the car?” I asked Dad. Standing on the bumper, I shined my flashlight inside the trunk, opened the duffel bag, unzipped Dad’s parka, and pulled out Mr. Long Ears. I ran over to Benjy and put Mr. Long Ears in his arms. Benjy hugged Mr. Long Ears and stopped crying.
“You saved the day,” said Dad, giving me a hug.
“You mean, ‘the night,’” said Neil with a happy grin.
When we crawled into our sleeping bags, Neil didn’t say anything about Mr. Long Ears being in Dad’s parka. Instead, he showed me how to use my flashlight and my hand to make fun shadows on the tent walls.

But just as the Lord blessed Joseph Smith in ways that enabled him to complete his work, the Lord blesses His translators. For instance, the translator of the Latvian scriptures was a lawyer who had studied law in Russia, where he had been converted to the restored gospel. Back in Latvia, he was setting up his business. He was also serving as a branch president. He couldn’t have been busier, but the Church needed him and his facility with English.
He asked for time to pray about the request because accepting it would, as he told the Church representative, “take food out of the mouth of my children.” After praying, he decided to accept but asked the Lord to bless him with the means to do what is a difficult, spiritually demanding, time-consuming work.
He began going to his law office one hour earlier every day and using that hour to translate the Book of Mormon. He finished well under the five years the process usually takes. In fact, this was one of the fastest translations since Joseph translated the Book of Mormon in roughly 60 days.

How can we do this in our homes? Some of you have heard me tell how overwhelmed my husband, Mel, and I felt as the parents of four young children. As we faced the challenges of parenting and keeping up with the demands of life, we were desperate for help. We prayed and pleaded to know what to do. The answer that came was clear: “It is OK if the house is a mess and the children are still in their pajamas and some responsibilities are left undone. The only things that really need to be accomplished in the home are daily scripture study and prayer and weekly family home evening.”
We were trying to do these things, but they were not always the priority and, amidst the chaos, were sometimes neglected. We changed our focus and tried not to worry about the less-important things. Our focus became to talk, rejoice, preach, and testify of Christ by striving to daily pray and study the scriptures and have weekly family home evening.

“She’s like my mom,” says Ricardo of his grandmother. “She has been raising me since I was young.” Ricardo lives with his grandmother and grandfather and four of his uncles. “My grandfather suffers from Parkinson’s disease, so I do things like help him get in his chair,” Ricardo says. Ricardo is constantly trying to teach his family by example. “I try to be an example when I go to church because when I’m on the right path, my family is watching me, and I want them to come to church too.”
Even though Ricardo and his grandmother are the only active members of the Church in their house, he says, “We all have family home evening together.”
Standing up front and teaching the lesson each Monday is young Ricardo. “I use the Book of Mormon and the Bible for family home evening lessons,” he says. “I read the story and then testify. Sometimes I use the lesson manual for deacons.”
Ricardo also testifies to his friends and neighbors. “In my neighborhood I tell my friends stories about Christ, about prophets, about Nephi,” he says. “I tell them stories I’ve heard in church about faith and about how prayer helps us in our lives. Some friends stay and listen, but others leave. That’s a way I can be an example.”
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

The room was small. Mirrored darkly in the panes of a tall china closet, it seemed even smaller. The deep afternoon hinted of spice, cedar, and old wool. The creak of a rocking chair and the ticking of a clock seemed quieter than mere silence.
Serious young men in the uniforms of two wars, flanked by snapshots of lacy babies and an embroidered rose, looked down out of their gilded frames onto a couch overflowing with pillows. The room was full of time-worn furniture and the dainty odds and ends a woman can accumulate in a lifetime.
Two windows spread sunlight through white curtains covered with moving leaf-shadows, highlighting here a ceramic ballerina on her crocheted doily, there a white pin jar, elsewhere a flight of plaster angels flapping up one wall toward a high ceiling.
In the best light a white-haired lady sat working, her knitting on her lap. She hummed softly to herself and glanced from time to time at the hands of the clock. When the door chimes sounded, she soon had the door open. “Come in,” she said warmly to the three smiling girls who stood outside, “I’ve been expecting you.”
Inside the house of the white curtains, the three young ladies complimented their hostess on her hand-painted china, broke the ice with a little small talk, and again explained their mission. Soon the tape recorder was set up, one young lady had her pen poised above a notebook ready to take notes, and the good sister started talking about her girlhood and her life. On the rare occasions when she ran dry momentarily, the girls were ready with well-conceived questions to start the flow again.
As they listened and the cassette turned, a wonderful thing happened. Years blurred and ran together, and the Laurels were no longer in the little house of sunlight and painted china. They were in Heber City, Utah, around the turn of the century, seeing life through the eyes of a young Mormon girl. They knew the bitterness of the winters, the headiness of mountain springs, the crushes, hopes, and secrets of being young. They met and loved all the old forgotten people, old and forgotten no more, who had filled a girl’s childhood. They visited a sawmill on the Utah-Wyoming border where she had spent some summers and smelled the sweetness of clean-sawed pine. They lived with her her first time away from home.
“It’s an awful thing to be homesick,” she said, closing her eyes and remembering, but with a smile. And then, in the present again for a moment, she leaned forward and asked, with a twinkle in her eyes, “Have you girls ever been homesick?”
Suddenly there was no generation gap—no time barrier between Utah then and California now—as the girls realized more fully than ever that people don’t stop being people just because they grow old. They forgot all about tape recorders and oral history for a while and talked friend to friend about homesickness, and family, and love, and all the other things that never stop mattering, and for a moment they glimpsed a more eternal perspective of existence and saw time as the sham it is.

Even as we strive with all our might to fulfill our mission, we will all have experiences we would rather avoid. But these experiences, as unpleasant as they may be, can be most helpful to us. My next area of mission service was made up of sixteen small islands. Because the mission was so short of missionaries, I had no companion. My only instructions were that I should preach the gospel and build up the Church in my area.

Often I took members of the Church on some of those islands, and I often took them with me on preaching trips. We mostly traveled by small sailboat. One day as we were sailing to our home island, the weather became very rough. Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a tropical storm which was very dangerous. As two huge waves came toward us, the captain shouted to the six of us on board the boat, “Abandon ship!”

We dove into the sea as those waves smashed our tiny boat, leaving us struggling for our lives. Exerting all our efforts, we headed for a small island we had passed earlier. After swimming for about one hour, we finally made it to the shore, exhausted but alive. The storm passed rather rapidly, but we were still stranded on the island for several days before we were able to make our way home over much friendlier seas.

How much more I appreciated life and solid ground than I had before. We don’t begin to understand or appreciate life as we should until we sense the closeness of death. This whole experience gave me a new outlook and appreciation for life.

While I would not have chosen that experience in the sea or some other experiences I had, much of my subsequent happiness and joy can be traced back to some of those so-called “unwanted” experiences. We don’t need to seek these experiences. They find us more often than we may desire. All we have to do is try with all our might to live the way we should, remember on our goal, and leave the rest to the Lord.

Mandy dropped her book beneath the tree and excitedly ran to the fence. Next door a moving van had just pulled up at the curb.
Mandy watched closely as two men began to unload the van. Crossing her fingers, she wished very hard. The new neighbors just had to have a girl her age! All the other neighborhood kids were either older or younger than she was. It would be wonderful to have a friend her own age to talk to.
As Mandy stood watching and wishing, a car pulled up behind the moving van. A man and woman climbed out—and a girl just Mandy’s size!
“Hello!” Mandy called out.
The girl didn’t answer.
“Hello, there!” Mandy called again, waving her hand.
The parents were busy talking to the moving men, and the new girl was just staring at the house. She didn’t turn around.
Mandy choked back her disappointment as the girl followed her parents into the house. With a sigh, Mandy flopped under the tree again and tried to read her book. She couldn’t concentrate, though. She was too busy watching to see if the new girl would come back outside.
It wasn’t until the moving van was nearly empty that the neighbors reappeared. Mandy ran to the fence and tried again. “Hello!” she called out loudly.
The new girl still didn’t turn around. Her mother heard, though. She gestured to her daughter and pointed to Mandy. The girl turned and smiled.
Now that’s better. She must have been too busy thinking about something to hear me before, Mandy decided.
“My name’s Mandy. What’s yours?”
The new girl didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and wiggled her fingers at her mother. The mother nodded, and they both walked over to the fence where Mandy stood.
“Hello, Mandy. I’m Mrs. Henderson, and this is Carol.”
“Hello, Carol.”
Carol smiled shyly but still didn’t say anything.
“Please forgive Carol for not speaking to you,” continued Mrs. Henderson. “She was born deaf. Because she can’t hear, she can’t speak well enough for you to understand her. But I know she’d like to be your friend.”
Mr. Henderson called to his wife, and she hurried back to the moving van. Carol stayed by the fence and continued to smile at Mandy, but her eyes were looking all over the yard.
Mandy could feel her face turning hot with embarrassment. Now what do I do? she worried. How can I be friends with someone who can’t hear or speak? Carol and I can’t just sit and smile at each other all day.
Suddenly Carol turned and ran to her father. She made motions with her fingers and hands. Smiling fondly at her, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a little card, and gave it to her. When Carol ran back to the fence, she pointed to the gate and looked at Mandy questioningly.
“You want to come in?” asked Mandy. Then she thought, How dumb, talking to her like that. She can’t hear me.
But Carol was looking closely at Mandy and understood what Mandy had said. She nodded her head.
Mandy nodded back and watched while Carol ran to the gate and let herself in.
Carol went quickly to the tree and picked up Mandy’s book. She motioned for Mandy to join her.
Mandy wasn’t quite sure what to do, but Carol patted the ground beside her, so Mandy plopped down and leaned against the tree trunk while Carol opened the book. Then she thrust the little card into Mandy’s hand.
The card had a heading that read “Manual Alphabet.” Mandy knew that manual meant hand. A hand alphabet? she wondered. On the card were printed all the letters of the alphabet. Above each letter was a picture of a hand formed into a different shape.
Carol pointed to the word tree in Mandy’s book. Then she made her hand into a first and stuck her thumb up between the first and second fingers. She pointed to the letter T on Mandy’s card. Then she raised her first and second fingers into the air and crossed them.
Mandy looked at the card. Yes, that looked like an R.
Next Carol made another fist, only this time the thumb stretched below the tips of all four fingers.
“An E!” cried Mandy excitedly.
Carol smiled and nodded her head. In a strange-sounding voice she said something that sounded almost like “yes.”
Carol pointed to the word tree in the book again, then patted the tree they were leaning against. She raised her right arm in the air with all the fingers extended. Next she rested her right elbow on the back of her left hand.
“Tree?” asked Mandy.
Carol watched Mandy’s face carefully and nodded again.
Mandy grabbed the book and pointed to another word. When Carol spelled it with her fingers this time, Mandy imitated her. Then Carol made the sign that stood for the whole word. Every word could be spelled out, and many words had special signs of their own as well. Ideas, too, were communicated by using signs. Mandy tried to imitate the word sign.
Carol started to giggle, then Mandy giggled too. They laughed so hard that they both fell backward and bumped their heads against the tree.
O-u-c-h, spelled Mandy.
Tears of laughter rolled down Carol’s cheeks.
This is going to be fun, thought Mandy. She studied the manual alphabet card carefully. Then she pointed to Carol and spelled f-r-i-e-n-d.

On a cool evening in late June, 1987, voices were raised in song outside the Oakland California Temple. Had you been there, you would have recognized the beautiful song, but wondered at the unfamiliar words. The song was: Thov Vaj Tswv Kom Peb Rov Sib Pom Dua, or “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” sung in Hmong. Hmong is the language of many hill tribes in Laos, Southeast Asia, and the native language of Kua Lo and his brothers Yia Lo and Chong Lee Lo, who had just had their families sealed to them in the temple. It was one of the happiest days of their lives.
The Lo families first attended the Church in a Salt Lake City ward where they met Scott Jenkins, the stake mission president. He, with the assistance of Brian Walker, a returned missionary who spoke Thai, began teaching the Lo families. Brother Walker would give the gospel message in Thai which Kua Lo would then translate in Hmong to his family and friends.
In spite of difficulties in communication, the Lo families enthusiastically received the gospel message, continued to attend church, and became the nucleus of a Hmong-speaking branch. Eventually, the Church’s Translation Division was able to provide Hmong versions of the sacrament prayers, portions of Gospel Principles, and some hymns, and branch members could hold entire meetings in their native language. Later, they received complete copies of Gospel Principles and of Book of Mormon Stories.
Following the Lo families’ baptism, Kua Lo was called to serve as president of the first Asian Branch in Salt Lake City. He now lives in Bakersfield, California, where he serves as president of the Asian Branch there. Constantly sharing the gospel message among his people, Brother Lo has been responsible for at least ninety baptisms.
Brother Lo can testify of the influence of the Holy Ghost in his conversion, an influence that could be felt despite language barriers. But without translated gospel materials in Hmong, the Lo families may have had to wait much longer than they did to receive the blessings of the temple. Perhaps they may never have received them at all.

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
It had come across the plains with Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma in a covered wagon. She was a little girl then—Billy’s age now. At the end of long days, she cried because her feet hurt from walking and her face hurt from sunburn. Sometimes she saw Indians and was frightened.
The girl’s mother would hand her the little mirror. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” she would say gently. “Heavenly Father will take care of His child.” And the little girl would be comforted, say her prayers, and go to sleep.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”