Gospel Story Finder

Like Church members from Dresden, which was in the far southern part of the German Democratic Republic, members up north in Schwerin experienced great difficulty in finding a home for their branch. For ten years they moved from one rented room to another, then to one family’s living room. In 1956, they were able to purchase a piece of property—but had to do so in the name of the branch president because the Church could not own property. Members were not allowed to tear down a building on the property because it contained an apartment, but they were given permission to build on the remaining part of the land. They were also allowed to tear down an old army barracks eight kilometers outside the city to use as building materials.
Then, after they had hauled twenty-three truckloads of building materials to their site, they were refused permission to build! But after they had fasted and prayed, they were allowed to remodel an old horse barn on the property into a meetinghouse.
The remodeling project required more building materials, which were under strict government control. But members felt that they succeeded in obtaining these with the help of the Lord. (See Schutze, page 22.) On 5 January 1958, Henry Burckhardt, counselor to the president of the North German Mission, dedicated the former horse barn as a meeting place for the Schwerin Branch.
In 1973, the branch was given permission to expand the building, but this meant going through the difficult process of obtaining building materials all over again. A large quantity of building blocks was obtained through the aid of the building supervisor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, who had come to appreciate the industriousness and integrity of the Latter-day Saints. Other building materials could be obtained only in small amounts, after members had stood in long lines to request them. Because work schedules prevented men in the branch from waiting in line, the branch president’s wife took responsibility for obtaining the materials—even though it meant she had to get them to the building site in a hand-pulled cart. (See Schutze, page 24.)

Ahhh, the warm, comforting smell of bread baking has spread to the homes of several Laurels of the Patuxent Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. The girls are involved in a service project that helps fulfill a value project for their Young Womanhood Recognition. In order to learn the skill of baking bread and to serve the ward members, they have been taking turns providing homemade loaves of bread for the sacrament.
Each girl takes a turn that lasts for six weeks. This time provides ample experience in improving her bread-making skills. The ward members noticed the change from commercially produced bread, as their bishop announced the service project to the congregation. Bishop Scott Shumway said the practice loaves were a delicious addition to their family dinners.
The homemade bread, blessed and served each week, has made the girls more aware of roles they can play in providing this service to the members.
“It was a time to appreciate the sacrament more. Also, I’ve had lessons about supporting the priesthood, and making the bread for the weekly service seemed like a really good way to do that. It made me happy to make it,” said Bethany Shumway, the bishop’s daughter.
Also, Megan Prettyman felt their bread enhanced her appreciation of the ordinance. “It seemed to make it more personal since I had spent three hours the day before making the bread. I thought about the sacrament all during that time, not just during the meeting.”
Meagan Boswell was impressed with the ward members’ reactions. “People thanked us for taking the time and said how it made them think more about the sacrament that week. It was nice to have something to share with the whole ward.”

“Papa is ready!” cried young Charles Otis. “We must gather as many people as we can.” The people to be gathered were spectators at the 1854 Crystal Palace Exhibition being held in New York City.
Norton nodded shyly. He was content to follow his older brother, who barked louder than all the other vendors. Soon they had gathered a curious crowd in front of their father’s “safety hoist.”
Slowly a rope lifted Otis, atop a platform, 40? (12 m) into the air, then stopped. As a hush fell over the crowd, another assistant leaned over from a high scaffold and began sawing vigorously on the hoisting rope! As the frayed ends parted, there was a collective gasp, and everyone scrambled backward to avoid the expected crash.
Miraculously, the elevator platform, with Otis still aboard, remained suspended, secured by Otis’s safety device. As Elisha doffed his hat, his aerial assistant was already attaching a new rope to the hoist. When it was securely fastened, the hoist glided down safely to the exhibition floor. At long last, the world had witnessed a safe passenger lift!

Daniel ran into his house. He was sad.
“What’s wrong, Daniel?” Mom asked.
“Jake was being mean to kids at recess. I told him to stop,” Daniel said. “He got mad. He called me a name. He said he does not want to be my friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Mom and Daniel walked to Mom and Dad’s room.
Mom took a jar of pennies from the shelf. She poured the pennies onto the bed.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
“Pick a penny, Daniel,” Mom said. “You can keep it.”
Daniel picked a very shiny penny.
“Why did you pick that penny?” Mom asked.
“I like that it is shiny,” Daniel said.
“Friends are like pennies,” Mom said. “We should choose friends who make us feel good.”
That night when Daniel went to bed, he prayed to find a friend who would help him choose the right so he could feel good.
Daniel remembered a boy who liked to play basketball at recess. Daniel liked to play basketball too! Maybe they could be friends.
Daniel was happy the next day when he got out of bed.
“How do you feel today?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Daniel said. “I’m going to make a shiny-penny friend!”
At school Daniel played basketball with the boy. He was nice. They had a fun time. Daniel was happy to have a shiny-penny friend.

I was sure Heavenly Father had failed me. Or He had at least forgotten I existed.
I sat all alone at an empty table as the lunchroom around me buzzed with laughter and conversation. I was the new girl. And the first day of seventh grade is not an easy time to make friends.
I had prayed about the move to Texas, and I felt it was the right thing. But now here I was, alone with my mashed potatoes. All the comfort and reassurance I felt before were gone.
As the bell rang I remembered I had my peer mentorship class next—my last hope for getting into the “in” crowd. The counselor had told me that a lot of kids take the class to meet people and get involved—exactly what I was looking for. I hurried down the hall with new hope for my social life. I would finally have friends here.
“Welcome to class. Today you will each be assigned to a student with a special need or concern. Your job will be to help him or her throughout the year.” With that Mrs. Watson began running down the class roll, assigning each student to be a tutor or mentor. When she came to me she asked me to see her after class.
“Kevin is a special case. He needs a lot of help. It won’t be easy. Are you okay with that?”
“Sure!” How hard could it be?
The next day I met Kevin Mathison. He had no hands, no feet, and he controlled his electric wheelchair with a lever held in his mouth. I must admit that, when I saw him, I had less than Christlike feelings. I was afraid. Here I was, desperately looking for friends and popularity in this new place, and I was the one to be picked to help Kevin. Why couldn’t they get someone else to do it?
Kevin had a rare disease that was gradually deteriorating his skin and connective tissues. Although the counselor had talked with me briefly about his condition, I was not at all prepared for what I saw when we met. His arms, legs, and neck were bandaged, his hair was gone, and his face was badly scarred. Perhaps more shocking than all the rest, however, was Kevin’s smile—so bright and so genuine that his blue eyes sparkled with it.
I wish I could say that at that moment I put aside my selfish fears and saw Kevin for the incredible spirit he was, but unfortunately it took me most of that year to even feel comfortable with him. Though very lonely and disappointed, I stuck with Kevin. I helped him get to classes, complete assignments, and eat lunch. But, oh, how I dreaded those lunch hours I spent spoon-feeding Kevin while my classmates were chatting and laughing about clothes and guys. I felt I would never belong. And having to help Kevin around everywhere was certainly not helping.
As for Kevin, he was excited simply to have someone to talk to. His warm smile greeted me every morning. Throughout the year he told me all about his family and his favorite sports teams. I eventually found myself laughing and even enjoying our time together. The last day before Christmas break, Kevin came into class and asked me to open his bag for him. When I unzipped his bag, I found a small box wrapped in green paper.
“Open it. It’s for you.” He seemed more serious than usual as he watched me struggle to untie the bow. When I opened the box, a lump came to my throat. It was a small pin—a guardian angel.
“Thanks for being a friend, Jana,” Kevin said softly.
I couldn’t believe it. All this time I had been searching and praying for friends, and here he was right in front of me. Kevin didn’t give me the instant popularity I had wanted, but he did give me a lesson in service, friendship, and unconditional love that has been with me ever since.
Kevin Mathison died one month before he would have graduated. At our high school graduation ceremony, I stood with the rest of my class as an honorary diploma was awarded to his family. Tears streamed down my face as I silently thanked Kevin for the years of friendship and love he gave me. This young man, the sight of whom made me uncomfortable and afraid five years ago, had become beautiful—not because his appearance ever changed, but because he gave me better eyes with which to see.
I know Heavenly Father put Kevin and me together for a reason. I prayed to have friends, and the Lord showed me that first I had to be one. I still have Kevin’s pin in my room. It reminds me that if I look outside myself, I truly can be a guardian angel—or at least a friend.

Preserving the Heart’s Mighty Change
In 1980 we moved as a family across the street from the hospital where I trained and worked. I worked every day, including Sundays. If I finished my Sunday work by 2:00 p.m., I could join my wife and daughter and drive to church for meetings that began at 2:30.
One Sunday late in my first year of training, I knew that I would likely finish by 2:00. I realized, however, that if I stayed in the hospital just a little longer, my wife and daughter would depart without me. I could then walk home and take a needed nap. I regret to say that I did just that. I waited until 2:15, walked home slowly, and lay down on the couch, hoping to nap. But I could not fall asleep. I was disturbed and concerned. I had always loved going to church. I wondered why on this day the fire of testimony and the zeal that I had previously felt were missing.
I did not have to think long. Because of my schedule, I had become casual with my prayers and scripture study. I would get up one morning, say my prayers, and go to work. Often day blended into night and into day again before I would return home late the following evening. I would then be so tired that I would fall asleep before saying a prayer or reading the scriptures. The next morning the process began again. …
I got off the couch, got on my knees, and pleaded with God for forgiveness. I promised my Heavenly Father that I would change. The next day I brought a Book of Mormon to the hospital. On my to-do list that day, and every day since, were two items: praying at least morning and evening and reading in the scriptures. Sometimes midnight would come, and I would have to quickly find a private place to pray. Some days my scripture study was brief. I also promised Heavenly Father that I would always try to get to church, even if I missed part of the meeting. Over the course of a few weeks, the zeal returned and the fire of testimony burned fiercely again. I promised to never again fall into the spiritual death trap of being casual about these seemingly small actions and thereby jeopardizing things of an eternal nature, regardless of circumstances.

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

However, during my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. My new friends and I thought it was better to drink and fight instead of going to school, and I failed a lot of my classes. At the end of my sophomore year, the high school principal told me it would be best if I didn’t come back to school.
I called Spencer and told him what had happened. Without missing a beat, he said to come to his high school. He lived in a town about 35 miles away. After talking it over with my mom, I accepted Spencer’s family’s invitation and moved in with them. That turned out great, because I was able to make up all the classes I had failed and graduate on time. And we were able to continue doing rodeo!

Clay, Ron, and Dean proved themselves to be young men of action and compassion as they rescued a young woman from her burning car.
Returning home from a movie, the trio discovered the burning, wrecked car on the freeway exit. The driver was seriously injured, unable to move, and calling for help. Bystanders were doing nothing.
Ignoring personal risk, Clay approached the car and was forced back. “I backed off once,” he said. “I was afraid it was going to blow up. She was kind of groggy and she said, ‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
“The second time, I just said to myself, ‘It’s for her good. If it blows up on me, that’s it.’” With that thought, Clay helped the badly injured woman out of her car. With a compound ankle fracture, she relied on Clay to carry her to the curb.
Meanwhile, Ron used the fire extinguisher from his car to attack the flames. When that and another extinguisher provided by a bystander failed to completely douse the fire, Ron and Dean ran to a pay phone and called for paramedics. Arriving police and firemen completed extinguishing the fire.

When we first started having family home evening, I thought it was boring and tiring. My father is not a member of the Church. As the oldest child in our family, I would listen to what my mother taught us, but I did not fully participate. Then I attended some of my friends’ family home evenings, and I saw the way they interacted, talked, and played games together—even if their father was not a member.
I decided to put more zeal and determination into family home evening. Whenever I am assigned to teach, I make sure I study the lesson well and plan activities for us to do together. For the past few months, it has been a success. The Lord has been blessing our family, and we all look forward to another Monday for a beautiful and lovely family home evening.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. President Wilford Woodruff later told him: "You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword."

In 1980 I was a missionary serving in the Philippines Cebu Mission when I was transferred to a city called Ormoc. This district had normally shown steady growth, but for several months there had been very few baptisms.
I arrived in Ormoc on 28 October and met my new companion, Elder Alexander. The first few weeks were extremely slow for us. We had few teaching appointments and almost no referrals. In spite of working long hours and praying to find people to teach, we met with very little success. I remember praying for guidance and receiving confirmation that the Lord was preparing people for us to teach.
On 15 November Elder Alexander and I were tracting in the Barrio Isla Verde, a community on a small island in the Ormoc River. To get there we had to cross the shallow river some 23 meters on stepping-stones, which proved to be a feat in itself. However, the local residents traveled the path with ease.
While there, we met Petronilo and Andrea Ygonia and their grandson Allan Sueto Sungahid. They accepted our invitation to hold a family home evening in their home. That evening was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. After playing some games, we introduced a gospel message and bore our testimonies.
Our visits continued with this family for the next two weeks. It was exciting to watch as their countenances began to shine. By the end of November all three had committed to be baptized the following month.
I will never forget the teaching experience we had in the Ygonias’ home on 2 December. Brother Loa, the ward mission leader, came with us to a neighborhood meeting at the Ygonias’. More than 30 neighbors had accepted the Ygonias’ invitation to listen to the first discussion. As we bore testimony, the Spirit became so strong I believe everyone present was touched.
We explained that the warm, peaceful feeling each person was experiencing was the presence of the Holy Ghost. Prompted by the Spirit, we invited each person in that room to continue investigating the Church and commit to baptism. All 30 neighbors accepted the invitation.
Brother and Sister Ygonia, their grandson, and seven others were baptized in December. The work in Ormoc had begun to prosper once again, due in large part to the faith of this good family. Shortly thereafter I was transferred from Ormoc. Although I had spent only six weeks there, these weeks were some of the best of my life. Never had I worked harder for such a worthy cause. Never had I felt closer to the Lord. During the six weeks I served there, the Lord had allowed us to teach and baptize 9 souls, and another 30 individuals were preparing for baptism.

1. “Lunch is ready!” Mom called.
2. Three-year-old Trevor raced to the kitchen and quickly sat down on the stool.
3. His eyes flew past his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple slices to the shiny green glass full of milk.
4. “Hooray!” he exclaimed. Trevor and his five-year-old sister, Andrea, both liked to drink from the beautiful green glass. Since there was only one green glass, they took turns. Today was Trevor’s day.
5. “But, Mom, I really wanted to have that glass today!” Andrea declared. The look on her face was stormy and disappointed as she stomped to the counter.
6. “I’m sorry, it’s Trevor’s turn today,” Mom said.
7. Trevor looked at his sister. He knew she had a cold and didn’t feel well. She was always loving and kind to him. She was quick to share, and she was a great playmate. Trevor knew he loved the green glass, but he loved Andrea more.
8. “Here, sister,” he said simply as he slid the glass by her plate. “In nursery, the teacher said when people are sad, we share.”
9. “Oh, Trevor!” Andrea said with a smiling face as she gave him a hug. Trevor knew her happy face and warm hug were better than drinking from the green glass.

I am no longer a teenager. But I understand. My mother died when I was 15. That was 20 years ago. I have experienced all the feelings you have—the anger (at my mom and Heavenly Father), the frustration, the loneliness, the shock. All of these feelings are very real.
When my mom died, we did not talk about it. I think it took me years to work through her death because of that. Hopefully, your family can talk about your feelings and losses. Your mother still exists; that doesn’t end with death. Your mother is simply living somewhere else. She loves you very much.
If your family can’t talk about your mom, you need to find someone who can. I don’t think that necessarily means your best friend. Very few people have experienced the loss of a parent. Although they may be well meaning they may not connect with your feelings. You have already discovered that. Pray to Heavenly Father so that he can help you find a support group, a counselor, or a friend who will listen to you. You need to feel sad in order to understand your mother’s death and be happy again.
Something that helped me very much (although I didn’t realize it until years later) was staying close to the gospel, praying, and keeping the commandments. I allowed myself to be angry at Heavenly Father. I said so in my prayers. I think he probably expected that and allowed me to work through my feelings. In looking back, I can see that Heavenly Father surrounded me with his love. He protected me from myself and my grief.
You will always miss your mom. And finding peace might take a long time. For me, it took years. But I promise you that if you desire it, it will come. I decided that I owed that to my mom and myself. When you’re at peace you feel watched over and warm.
I may never understand why my mother died when she did. But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s okay. I wish you success.
Stephanie Ransom, 35West Valley City, Utah

Rachel loved her Sunbeam class. Her teacher, Sister Monson, had something special for them each Sunday to take home to help them remember what she had taught them. Once it was a picture of Jesus praying. Once it was a tiny mirror with “I am a child of God” printed around it. Last Sunday it had been a kitten puppet with a soft tummy for helping Mommy do the dusting. Rachel had named her dustcloth Ditty.
Every day when Mommy did the dusting, Rachel would get Ditty from the cleaning shelf and help. She liked to dust the rocking chair the best. It would gently rock to and fro as she dusted from the very top to the very bottom.
But today Ditty was lost. It wasn’t on the shelf when Mommy started dusting. Rachel had looked everywhere she could think of. But still no Ditty.
Mommy was just finishing the last shelf on the bookshelf when Rachel came into the living room and asked, “Mommy, does Heavenly Father have time for little answers?”
Mommy stopped her dusting and took Rachel’s hand. Together they walked to the couch, and Mommy lifted Rachel up onto her lap. “That sounds like a pretty serious question,” Mommy said. “Do you want to tell me what the problem is?”
“Ditty’s lost,” Rachel explained, “and I’ve looked everywhere. Sister Monson said that Heavenly Father has time to listen to big and little people about important things. I know that He helped when Daddy was looking for a job. And He helped Grandma when she fell and broke her hip. But does Heavenly Father have time to help me find Ditty?”
“Ditty is pretty important to you, isn’t it?” Rachel nodded sadly. Mommy stroked Rachel’s hair and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Well, anything that’s really important to you is important to Him, too,” Mommy assured her. “Would you like me to pray with you about Ditty?”
Rachel nodded, and they knelt together beside the couch.
“Do you want me to say it?” Mommy asked.
“No,” Rachel answered. “It’s my Ditty, so it should be my prayer.”
Mommy nodded and bowed her head. Rachel began.
“Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Mommy and Daddy and all our nice things. Please help me to find Ditty. It’s important to me because Sister Monson gave it to me and because it helps me help Mommy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rachel and Mommy stayed kneeling quietly for a few minutes. Then Rachel smiled and reached for Mommy’s hand. “I just remembered where Ditty is!” Rachel said. “I was using it when I hid behind the couch to surprise Daddy yesterday.” She jumped up and looked behind the couch. Sure enough, there was Ditty. Rachel got it and crawled out to Mommy’s waiting arms. “He really did have time for a little answer, didn’t He?”
“Yes, Rachel,” Mommy reassured her, “and He always will.”

When her nine-year-old cousin rushed in, bleeding badly from an injured arm, Terri Edwards, 13, approached the emergency calmly and correctly.
The youngster had torn his arm severely on a piece of metal. Terri remembered the first-aid training she received at girls’ camp and used clean cloths to stop the bleeding. While she kept pressure on the boy’s arm, she told her sister to call for help. The boy was rushed to the hospital where he had emergency surgery.
Terri received a commendation from the Madison County sheriff for the correct manner in which she responded to the emergency. Terri is a member of the Rexburg Seventh Ward, Rexburg Idaho Stake.

I dropped the phone onto the wall cradle and slumped dejectedly into an easy chair. I looked up at the ceiling.
The phone call had come as a complete surprise. I tried to recall the last time that I had been assigned to give any kind of a talk in church. A missionary farewell was to be held in our ward next week, and our first counselor wanted to know if I would be willing to speak in church. It would have been very difficult to say no, but the topic I was assigned certainly tempted me to do so.
Testimonies had never been an easy thing for me to discuss, and recently, it had become even more difficult. Not too long ago, I had decided to re-read the Book of Mormon. When I came to the end, I decided that finally I would test Moroni’s promise. After much prayer, I had received no miraculous witness, no flash of light, and now the bishopric wanted me to speak in front of the ward on the subject of testimonies. I felt that I could hardly attempt to teach others how to gain and strengthen a testimony when I could hardly gain one myself.
The remainder of the week, I went through the motions of preparing a talk on testimonies. I looked up several stories and scriptures to use as examples, and I reviewed several other Church books on the subject. By Sunday, I had a talk prepared, but I felt far from ready to give it.
I paid little attention to the bright, clear weather of that morning as I walked the few blocks to church. I kept thinking that despite my research, I wasn’t prepared for this talk. In fact, I felt that I didn’t have the right to tell my fellow ward members how to gain a testimony when I didn’t have one myself. Somehow, I managed to drag myself up the stairs and into a seat behind the podium. I had trouble looking at the bishop when he shook my hand.
After church finally let out and the agony was over, I left for home as soon as I could. I was still thinking of the talk that I had given. I had talked too fast. Because of my nervousness, I had squeezed a full five-minute talk into about 30 seconds. I could still see the desperate look on the missionary’s face when he saw how much time he would have to use up.
I threw open the front door and went straight to my room. I dropped my scriptures on the desk, flopped down on the bed, and loosened my tie. Then I removed my note cards from my jacket pocket so that I could review them one more time before I shredded and trashed them for good. During my review I re-read one scripture in particular that I had used in my talk. Doctrine and Covenants 76:78–79 talks about bodies terrestrial: “they who are not valiant in the testimony of Jesus; wherefore, they obtain not the crown over the kingdom of our God.” [D&C 76:78–79]
At this point I decided to take a good look at the scriptures. For some reason, I opened to Alma, chapter 18, verse 35 [Alma 18:35]. Here I found this scripture: “And a portion of that Spirit dwelleth in me, which giveth me knowledge, and also power according to my faith and desires which are in God.”
It was a small scripture, not one that is often quoted. In fact, it didn’t even deal directly with testimonies. But it made sense to me. This short scripture pointed me in the direction I had to search for my testimony—inside of me! The gift of the Spirit, which gives us knowledge, was inside of me!
I began to recollect the times that I had read the Book of Mormon in the past. The main question on my mind had never been, “Is this true?” Instead, I had wondered how to apply a certain bit of knowledge to everyday life. I recalled discussions with friends about Church doctrine. I remembered the good feeling I got from helping others.
Slowly, I began to realize that I had within myself a testimony that had been growing for some time. That one little scripture had helped me to realize my real strength. I felt like running to the bishop and asking if I could give my talk over. I had found my testimony. It had been hidden there all along. I still have the note cards from that talk, and written on the front is the Alma scripture reference.

It was a routine, the same routine Marie Claude had followed every morning for years. Get up early and care for the animals. Feed Daisy, Belle, and Lady, the horses. Feed Fido, the bull in the barn. Feed three pigs, three sheep, two dogs, four ducks, and any other animals calling the farm home at the moment.
From upstairs, Christine heard Marie Claude come in the house and bolt the back door against the wind. She could imagine her hanging her flannel coat on the peg in the kitchen. Then she heard her pull a chair across the floor and put breakfast dishes on the table.
For as long as Christine could remember, Marie Claude got up early to take care of the animals. But today the routine was different—the movements slower, the pauses longer, the sighs heavy and audible.
And Christine knew why. Last night, Marie Claude had finally told her boyfriend good-bye. He was a decent fellow, a nice man. But he didn’t understand. He’d had the missionary discussions, even been to church a time or two. But all this religion, meetings every Sunday, marriage in a temple—for him it just wouldn’t do.
And now Marie Claude, who loved him and had dated him for a couple of years, who had argued with him before, had sent him away. She sat at the breakfast table, numb, almost crying, wrenching solace from the everyday routine.
At the end of the promenade, there’s a gazebo. To get there, Christine had to mount steps again. Quickly she bounded up them, the end of her run in sight. And as she ran, her mind flashed ahead, like a video on fast forward.
Here was Marie Claude again, but this time she was smiling. Dressed in embroidered chiffon, she sat by a cheery window in a friend’s house, holding hands with an amiable young man in a blue sweater.
It was amazing. When they laughed, it was the same laugh. The smile was the same smile. They looked like each other, they talked like each other. They both had kind eyes. You’d think they were brother and sister, not fiances.
Yet there on the table was their wedding announcement, and it really did seem like a dream come true—“C’est avec joie que nous vous annonçons notre mariage qui aura lieu au Temple de Washington, D.C., mercredi le six mai.” (It is with joy that we announce our marriage in the Washington, D.C. Temple on May 6, 1987.)
André and Marie Claude. They met at church, and fell in love quickly. But after years of struggling to feel right about something that was wrong, it was easy for Marie Claude to do something that felt so true.
At the gazebo, Christine stopped.
She thought about the family. She pictured her mother, joking with the visiting teachers, happily discussing her hobby of decorating cakes. She saw Father, smiling broadly, the proudest sacrament meeting usher the Branche de Québec has as ever had. She imagined Clément, Elder Ferland, teaching missionary lessons in broken English. And she pictured Marie Claude, in her own home as a newlywed, so happy she was almost dancing.
Then she thought of spires of white, rising from a green woodland, and she cherished the promises of eternity.
Christine looked across the ancient battlefields. The rolling hills seemed to be resting, calm now as she was calm. In the distance, a calèche, a carriage, bobbed along the folds of green. From so far away, it seemed to be in slow motion. But in the evening air, she could hear the clip-clop, clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
She turned and looked again at the river. It was shining still, but it was no longer silver. The setting sun had turned it to gold. And the sailboat, still a silhouette, pulled up to its moorings.
Dusk was past. The time for returning was here.

I read with great interest the article about President Walter Stover in the May 1987 issue. It brought back cherished memories of that beloved man, my conversion to the church in 1947, the Freud-Echo in Berlin in 1948, and, yes, the green Cadillac! I saw the Caddy late one evening in Zwickau, driving up the Bahnhofstrasse. It was quite a sight for us Germans. What a huge car!
At the Freud-Echo, President Stover awarded me a Book of Mormon with his signature for winning in writing a poem. My Book of Mormon is rather old and in bad repair by now. I think I’ll have it restored since it is very special to me.
I hope President Stover is happy and in good health. A lot of German Saints keep him in their hearts and prayers.
God bless President Stover always.

A returned missionary active in campus affairs found his life changed when he read and pondered the scriptures: “My reading in the scriptures was a fantastic experience—so much so that it will be only natural to continue. I can make a valid comparison of the changes it can bring about because I had a break during the quarter when I didn’t read every day (about two to three weeks). Before and since this period my daily reading was a longed-for thing—something that increased in interest each day. During those days my thoughts were clearer, my mind more at ease, my temperament with others more appealing and less offensive. But above all, my thoughts were cleaner and purer than ever before, and thus I was happier because my soul was in much better harmony with the Lord. During the period when I didn’t read daily, I did some regretful things, and my desires in prayer slipped. I believe meaningful prayer and scripture study go hand in hand.
“I thought I knew the Book of Mormon from my study while on my mission and especially after reading it several times in another language. But to ‘ponder in your heart’ is something special—something that can be done over and over. This is what I’m doing each morning now and am enjoying it immensely.”