The story is told of a group of men who were talking about people who had influenced their lives and for whom they were grateful. One man thought of a high school teacher who had introduced him to Tennyson. He decided to write and thank her. In time, written in a feeble scrawl, came the teacher’s reply:
“My Dear Willie:
“I can’t tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my 80s, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and like the last leaf lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I have ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has for years.”
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The Profound Power of Gratitude
Summary: A man decided to thank a high school teacher who had influenced him. The elderly teacher, living alone after 50 years of teaching, replied that it was the first note of appreciation she had ever received and that it brightened a cold morning as nothing had for years.
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👤 Other
Education
Gratitude
Kindness
Service
By Our Fruits—Not Our Roots—We Shall Be Known
Summary: As a 16-year-old at the Alpine Tabernacle, the author felt alone while other boys sat with their fathers. Elder Boyd K. Packer addressed young men without fathers, prompting the author to seek his counsel through talks and books. Decades later, the author met Elder Packer, thanked him, and received guidance related to a mission president calling.
On a cool October evening, fathers and sons steadily filtered into the old Alpine Tabernacle for the priesthood session of general conference, even filling the cushioned choir seats. I sat on the back row of the large meeting hall—alone, as usual. It was hard not to envy the other boys whose fathers reached arms over their shoulders. There was no one to show such affection for me. I was the 16-year-old boy from the “broken home.” I was the boy whose father had abandoned his family, leaving me an embarrassing legacy of impropriety and shame.
I continued watching as the Beck brothers made their way to the top row of the soft choir seats, smiling and laughing, with their father leading the way. I knew that they would likely be going together for ice cream after the meeting. And I also knew that I would be walking home alone.
I leaned over, placing my elbows on my knees, and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the wooden pew, wanting the meeting to be over before it began. I told myself, “Someday, I will be one of the fathers that puts his arm around his sons and leads them to the choir seats; someday, I will be everything that my father failed to be.” I vowed to be different in all the best ways—to form my own family, free from burdens of disgrace and embarrassment.
Then, a miracle happened: the speaker, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said that he wanted to discuss a topic that fathers should discuss with their sons. But, he said, he was aware that many young men didn’t have fathers who could talk to them about these sensitive subjects, so he wanted to speak to the young men himself. It was as if Elder Packer had singled me out and spoken directly to me, indicating his willingness to be the father figure that I had longed for for years.
In that very moment, I determined that I would not let my family history, my personal circumstances, or my less-than-perfect family relationships stand in the way of my Father in Heaven’s blessings resting fully upon me! That night, I sought counsel from a prophet, seer, and revelator. He would be the father that I did not have. Although I did not have an opportunity to speak to him directly, and I did not feel his arm resting upon my shoulder, from then on, I actively sought counsel from his speeches, books, and instruction in an effort to rise above all the hardship and disappointment I faced in life.
As I left the tabernacle that evening, instead of walking home alone or feeling sidelined and marginalized by my unique family circumstance, I felt hope and encouragement: I could claim a connection to an Apostle of Jesus Christ. Thirty-two years later, almost to the day, my wife and I were invited to meet with Elder Packer in his office. Heavenly Father had granted me the tender mercy of being able to tell Elder Packer how much he had meant to me over a lifetime. As we discussed a calling to serve as a mission president, my father figure imparted wisdom and counsel that continues to serve me even now.
I continued watching as the Beck brothers made their way to the top row of the soft choir seats, smiling and laughing, with their father leading the way. I knew that they would likely be going together for ice cream after the meeting. And I also knew that I would be walking home alone.
I leaned over, placing my elbows on my knees, and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the wooden pew, wanting the meeting to be over before it began. I told myself, “Someday, I will be one of the fathers that puts his arm around his sons and leads them to the choir seats; someday, I will be everything that my father failed to be.” I vowed to be different in all the best ways—to form my own family, free from burdens of disgrace and embarrassment.
Then, a miracle happened: the speaker, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said that he wanted to discuss a topic that fathers should discuss with their sons. But, he said, he was aware that many young men didn’t have fathers who could talk to them about these sensitive subjects, so he wanted to speak to the young men himself. It was as if Elder Packer had singled me out and spoken directly to me, indicating his willingness to be the father figure that I had longed for for years.
In that very moment, I determined that I would not let my family history, my personal circumstances, or my less-than-perfect family relationships stand in the way of my Father in Heaven’s blessings resting fully upon me! That night, I sought counsel from a prophet, seer, and revelator. He would be the father that I did not have. Although I did not have an opportunity to speak to him directly, and I did not feel his arm resting upon my shoulder, from then on, I actively sought counsel from his speeches, books, and instruction in an effort to rise above all the hardship and disappointment I faced in life.
As I left the tabernacle that evening, instead of walking home alone or feeling sidelined and marginalized by my unique family circumstance, I felt hope and encouragement: I could claim a connection to an Apostle of Jesus Christ. Thirty-two years later, almost to the day, my wife and I were invited to meet with Elder Packer in his office. Heavenly Father had granted me the tender mercy of being able to tell Elder Packer how much he had meant to me over a lifetime. As we discussed a calling to serve as a mission president, my father figure imparted wisdom and counsel that continues to serve me even now.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Youth
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Apostle
Faith
Family
Hope
Miracles
Parenting
Priesthood
Single-Parent Families
Young Men
A Samaritan Spring, This Winter
Summary: In the aftermath of the Teton Dam flood, Bishop Clayter Forsgren counseled his ward to focus on cleanup rather than speculation. Though he received enough compensation to start over elsewhere, he rebuilt on the same riverside lot and continued a life of work and Church service.
Some of these children’s parents and older siblings naturally wrestled with unanswerable questions. “How did this happen?” “Why us?” “Who’s to blame?”
My bishop, Clayter Forsgren, a professional engineer, presided over a sacrament meeting eight days after the flood, the first opportunity for our ward to gather.
My father recorded this summary of Bishop Forsgren’s remarks in his journal:
We attended a fine sacrament meeting where Bishop Forsgren bore testimony and gave advice that we should work to clean up and theorize later. He said, “Sure, I’ve got a theory as to why I lost my busines building: I built it near the river, and the dam burst.”
Like thousands of other residents, Bishop Forsgren received financial compensation from the federal government, enough to build on higher ground or start a different business, perhaps even enough to retire. But he and his associates rebuilt and went back to work on the same riverside lot. Bishop Forsgren passed away seven years ago, after decades of Church service in many capacities. Today the company he started operates in ten states.
My bishop, Clayter Forsgren, a professional engineer, presided over a sacrament meeting eight days after the flood, the first opportunity for our ward to gather.
My father recorded this summary of Bishop Forsgren’s remarks in his journal:
We attended a fine sacrament meeting where Bishop Forsgren bore testimony and gave advice that we should work to clean up and theorize later. He said, “Sure, I’ve got a theory as to why I lost my busines building: I built it near the river, and the dam burst.”
Like thousands of other residents, Bishop Forsgren received financial compensation from the federal government, enough to build on higher ground or start a different business, perhaps even enough to retire. But he and his associates rebuilt and went back to work on the same riverside lot. Bishop Forsgren passed away seven years ago, after decades of Church service in many capacities. Today the company he started operates in ten states.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Gather Up a Company
Summary: In Liverpool, Wilford Woodruff received Brigham Young’s letter advising evacuation from Nauvoo and instructing missionaries. Concerned for his family and the Saints, Wilford decided to return to America, informed other elders, and appointed Reuben Hedlock to preside temporarily in Britain while planning for a permanent replacement.
A little more than a month later, Wilford Woodruff, an apostle and the president of the Church’s British mission, found a letter from Brigham Young waiting for him in his office in Liverpool, England. “We have had a good deal of sorrow and trouble here this fall,” Brigham told his friend. “It is therefore advisable for us to remove as the only condition of peace.”7
Wilford was alarmed but not surprised. He had read newspaper reports of mob attacks around Nauvoo. But he had not known how bad the situation was until now. “This is a strange age we live in,” Wilford thought after reading the letter. The United States government claimed to protect oppressed peoples and to shelter exiles, but Wilford could not remember a time when it had helped the Saints.
“The state of Illinois and the whole United States have filled up their cup of iniquity,” he wrote in his journal, “and well may the Saints go out of her midst.”8
Fortunately, most of Wilford’s family was out of harm’s way. His wife, Phebe, and their youngest children, Susan and Joseph, were with him in England. Their other daughter, Phebe Amelia, was staying with relatives in the eastern United States, more than a thousand miles away from the danger.
Their oldest son, Willy, however, was still in Nauvoo in the care of close friends. In his letter, Brigham mentioned that the boy was safe, yet Wilford still felt anxious to reunite his family.9
As quorum president, Brigham offered Wilford instructions for what to do next. “Send no more emigrants here,” he advised, “but let them wait in England till they can ship for the Pacific Ocean.” As for the American missionaries in England, he wanted those who had not received their temple ordinances to return immediately to Nauvoo to receive them.10
In the days that followed, Wilford sent letters to the American elders preaching in England, informing them of the persecution in Nauvoo. Though he and Phebe had already received their ordinances, they decided to return home as well.
“I have a portion of my family scattered some two thousand miles apart in the States,” Wilford explained in a farewell message to the British Saints. “It appears at the present time to be a duty resting upon me to return there and gather together my children that they may go out with the camp of the Saints.”
Wilford appointed Reuben Hedlock, the previous mission president, to preside again in Britain. Though Wilford did not have full confidence in Reuben, who had mismanaged Church funds in the past, no one else in England had more experience in mission leadership. And Wilford had little time to find a better replacement. After reuniting with the Quorum of the Twelve, he would recommend calling another man to take Reuben’s place.11
Wilford was alarmed but not surprised. He had read newspaper reports of mob attacks around Nauvoo. But he had not known how bad the situation was until now. “This is a strange age we live in,” Wilford thought after reading the letter. The United States government claimed to protect oppressed peoples and to shelter exiles, but Wilford could not remember a time when it had helped the Saints.
“The state of Illinois and the whole United States have filled up their cup of iniquity,” he wrote in his journal, “and well may the Saints go out of her midst.”8
Fortunately, most of Wilford’s family was out of harm’s way. His wife, Phebe, and their youngest children, Susan and Joseph, were with him in England. Their other daughter, Phebe Amelia, was staying with relatives in the eastern United States, more than a thousand miles away from the danger.
Their oldest son, Willy, however, was still in Nauvoo in the care of close friends. In his letter, Brigham mentioned that the boy was safe, yet Wilford still felt anxious to reunite his family.9
As quorum president, Brigham offered Wilford instructions for what to do next. “Send no more emigrants here,” he advised, “but let them wait in England till they can ship for the Pacific Ocean.” As for the American missionaries in England, he wanted those who had not received their temple ordinances to return immediately to Nauvoo to receive them.10
In the days that followed, Wilford sent letters to the American elders preaching in England, informing them of the persecution in Nauvoo. Though he and Phebe had already received their ordinances, they decided to return home as well.
“I have a portion of my family scattered some two thousand miles apart in the States,” Wilford explained in a farewell message to the British Saints. “It appears at the present time to be a duty resting upon me to return there and gather together my children that they may go out with the camp of the Saints.”
Wilford appointed Reuben Hedlock, the previous mission president, to preside again in Britain. Though Wilford did not have full confidence in Reuben, who had mismanaged Church funds in the past, no one else in England had more experience in mission leadership. And Wilford had little time to find a better replacement. After reuniting with the Quorum of the Twelve, he would recommend calling another man to take Reuben’s place.11
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👤 Early Saints
👤 Missionaries
👤 Pioneers
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Apostle
Family
Missionary Work
Ordinances
Priesthood
Religious Freedom
Temples
Three Ways to Be Involved In Family History
Summary: Kyle and his parents listened to Elder Bednar’s conference message and began working on their family history. As he learned about his ancestors, he drew strength and lessons from their lives. When he faces challenges, family history helps him feel his ancestors’ support.
By Kyle S., Texas, USA
My parents and I listened to Elder Bednar in the October 2011 general conference when he said that working on family history would give us protection against the adversary. We started working on our family history then. I keep learning and growing from family history; it’s really fun.
I like finding out about where I’m from and about my ancestors. I learn from their experiences and use them in my life to help me be a better person. It’s amazing to discover who they were, what they did for a living, what life was like, and how hard it was for them.
For example, I enjoyed learning about one of my ancestors who moved with his family from Tennessee to Texas, USA, in the 1870s to be a cattle rancher. He faced many challenges in his life, and from him I learned that life can be hard, so it’s important to stand up for what you believe.
When I have challenges in my life, working on family history makes me feel like my ancestors are always with me and will help me through hard trials, just as Elder Bednar promised us.
My parents and I listened to Elder Bednar in the October 2011 general conference when he said that working on family history would give us protection against the adversary. We started working on our family history then. I keep learning and growing from family history; it’s really fun.
I like finding out about where I’m from and about my ancestors. I learn from their experiences and use them in my life to help me be a better person. It’s amazing to discover who they were, what they did for a living, what life was like, and how hard it was for them.
For example, I enjoyed learning about one of my ancestors who moved with his family from Tennessee to Texas, USA, in the 1870s to be a cattle rancher. He faced many challenges in his life, and from him I learned that life can be hard, so it’s important to stand up for what you believe.
When I have challenges in my life, working on family history makes me feel like my ancestors are always with me and will help me through hard trials, just as Elder Bednar promised us.
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👤 Youth
👤 Parents
👤 General Authorities (Modern)
Adversity
Apostle
Courage
Faith
Family
Family History
Testimony
Becoming “Meek and Lowly in Heart”
Summary: The speaker recalls the first time Jeff tried to kiss her and how her mother unexpectedly caught them. Jeff quickly joked that they were 'just trading gum,' and later the speaker's father used the incident to teach that confidence is valuable only when joined with humility and reliance on the Lord.
I will never forget the first time Jeff tried to kiss me. We were standing in the entryway of my home when my mother unexpectedly walked into the room and caught him in the act. Jeff, being the fast thinker he is, said, “Hi, Sister Terry. Pat and I were just trading gum.”
Later my mother, in retelling the incident to my father, said, “Jeff’s confidence in a difficult situation amazes me. The fact that he can think that fast on his feet will certainly ensure his success.”
My father smiled at me and said, “Confidence is a great blessing to anyone who has it. But Jeff is also smart enough to know what to have confidence in. Both of you need to remember that your greatest strength and surest success will come through humility and dependence upon the Lord.”
Later my mother, in retelling the incident to my father, said, “Jeff’s confidence in a difficult situation amazes me. The fact that he can think that fast on his feet will certainly ensure his success.”
My father smiled at me and said, “Confidence is a great blessing to anyone who has it. But Jeff is also smart enough to know what to have confidence in. Both of you need to remember that your greatest strength and surest success will come through humility and dependence upon the Lord.”
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Learning to Feel God’s Love for Me
Summary: The author describes how feelings of worthlessness and depression led her to question her relationship with God. Through therapy, prayer, scripture study, and remembering temple covenants, she gradually learned to rely on the Lord and to understand that her value comes from knowing who she is to God.
By the end of her story, she testifies that God is aware of her, sees her efforts, and loves her even when she cannot feel it. She concludes that Christ’s Atonement helps her keep going, and that remembering God’s view of her brings hope, strength, and peace.
At first, I didn’t know how to start; that task alone felt daunting. But over the next year, I relied on the Lord and His infinite goodness to get me through each day. I found so much strength and peace of mind in reading the messages of prophets, pondering the temple covenants I had made, setting even just 10 minutes aside each night to read the scriptures, and communing with Heavenly Father in prayer throughout the day.
As I did these things, I began to see His hand in my life. I didn’t know who I was or what path in life to choose. I didn’t know what path could ever make me feel good enough. But I soon realized that what I really needed was to know who I was to God.
I am now in my last semester at university. Among all the stresses of being a student, employee, daughter, sister, and friend, I have realized that knowing my worth and understanding how God feels about me are vital to my success in all that I do.
There are still many unknowns about my future, and that’s OK.
For me, knowing that I don’t have to be perfect right now helps get me through each day. I know that God is aware of me. I also know that even when I can’t feel His love, He still is patiently working with me.
Over the past few years of this struggle, God has helped me discover qualities and talents in myself that I would have never noticed before. Most importantly, in time, through personal revelation and daily efforts to understand God’s will for me, I’ve learned how He feels about me. I’ve been able to draw liberally on the Savior’s power and the blessings of His Atonement in my life. This has helped me to feel God’s love and know that I am His beloved daughter.
In reading the messages of the prophets, I was touched when I read these words from President Russell M. Nelson: “Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.”
He also noted, “[A woman’s] self-esteem is earned by individual righteousness and a close relationship with God.”1 From this, I have come to understand that who I am is more than the combination of the things I do or say. I am an eternal being with an extraordinary calling to lead with love and compassion, just as the Savior did. And that understanding transcends anything my depression may try to tell me.
Even now, I still find myself sometimes forgetting what God’s love feels like and what lasting joys there are in the smallest and most ordinary moments of life. But the miracle of Christ’s Atonement is that it is not only for repentance; His grace also enables us to get through each day and to love ourselves. I forget that fact a lot, but it is still true.
There is no escaping that we are prone to human nature and that these moments of divine clarity and inspiration may not always feel so true. So to help us, we can write down and look back on the times when we have felt God’s love. We can keep trying to seek ways to feel that love. Our daily worship and continued efforts to deepen our personal holiness will not only strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father but also increase our personal happiness and self-esteem. Christ can magnify these efforts to help us become who our Father in Heaven wants us to be.
I am determined to keep trying because I have hope in Christ. I know that life will continue to get better and that I will grow as I rely on Him. Once I discovered how infinite God’s love for me was, I was able to find greater strength each day to push past heartbreaks and overcome my feelings of inadequacy and my need for perfection.
When I find myself falling back into my insecurities, I remember that God thinks that I am funny, kind, giving, and beautiful. Most of all, I remember that He sees me trying.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) declared: “God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.”2 I am so grateful for this truth. In our deepest struggles, we can see God’s glory in helping us move forward. He is always cheering us on.
As I did these things, I began to see His hand in my life. I didn’t know who I was or what path in life to choose. I didn’t know what path could ever make me feel good enough. But I soon realized that what I really needed was to know who I was to God.
I am now in my last semester at university. Among all the stresses of being a student, employee, daughter, sister, and friend, I have realized that knowing my worth and understanding how God feels about me are vital to my success in all that I do.
There are still many unknowns about my future, and that’s OK.
For me, knowing that I don’t have to be perfect right now helps get me through each day. I know that God is aware of me. I also know that even when I can’t feel His love, He still is patiently working with me.
Over the past few years of this struggle, God has helped me discover qualities and talents in myself that I would have never noticed before. Most importantly, in time, through personal revelation and daily efforts to understand God’s will for me, I’ve learned how He feels about me. I’ve been able to draw liberally on the Savior’s power and the blessings of His Atonement in my life. This has helped me to feel God’s love and know that I am His beloved daughter.
In reading the messages of the prophets, I was touched when I read these words from President Russell M. Nelson: “Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.”
He also noted, “[A woman’s] self-esteem is earned by individual righteousness and a close relationship with God.”1 From this, I have come to understand that who I am is more than the combination of the things I do or say. I am an eternal being with an extraordinary calling to lead with love and compassion, just as the Savior did. And that understanding transcends anything my depression may try to tell me.
Even now, I still find myself sometimes forgetting what God’s love feels like and what lasting joys there are in the smallest and most ordinary moments of life. But the miracle of Christ’s Atonement is that it is not only for repentance; His grace also enables us to get through each day and to love ourselves. I forget that fact a lot, but it is still true.
There is no escaping that we are prone to human nature and that these moments of divine clarity and inspiration may not always feel so true. So to help us, we can write down and look back on the times when we have felt God’s love. We can keep trying to seek ways to feel that love. Our daily worship and continued efforts to deepen our personal holiness will not only strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father but also increase our personal happiness and self-esteem. Christ can magnify these efforts to help us become who our Father in Heaven wants us to be.
I am determined to keep trying because I have hope in Christ. I know that life will continue to get better and that I will grow as I rely on Him. Once I discovered how infinite God’s love for me was, I was able to find greater strength each day to push past heartbreaks and overcome my feelings of inadequacy and my need for perfection.
When I find myself falling back into my insecurities, I remember that God thinks that I am funny, kind, giving, and beautiful. Most of all, I remember that He sees me trying.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) declared: “God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.”2 I am so grateful for this truth. In our deepest struggles, we can see God’s glory in helping us move forward. He is always cheering us on.
Read more →
👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Conversion
Covenant
Faith
Peace
Prayer
Scriptures
Temples
Testimony
Grandfather’s Prayer
Summary: As a boy in Mexico, the narrator left his cattle to play and returned to find them missing. He prayed but did not find them, then confessed to his father, who taught him about repentance and responsibility. After praying again for forgiveness and promising to fulfill his duty, he and his father returned to the field and found the cattle.
As a young boy living in Mexico, I was given the job of watching our cattle in the field as they grazed. One day I became bored with this chore and went to play, leaving the cattle unattended. I played all day, returning to my chore only when it began to get late.
As I approached the field, I realized that the cattle were gone! I could picture my father’s face—how disappointed and angry he would be! I was his eldest son. He had taught me to be responsible, and he was proud of me. How would he feel about me now? Quickly I searched for the cattle from one end of the field to the other. I couldn’t find them anywhere!
As I wondered what to do, I remembered something my father had taught me—if I ever needed help, I could pray to my Father in Heaven, and he would help me. I needed help then! I knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cattle. Then, sure that I would find them, I searched again.
But the cattle were nowhere to be found! I became angry. I had prayed, as my father had taught me. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayer?
I stormed home. I had almost forgotten about the cattle and how upset my father would be. I wanted to know why my prayer hadn’t been answered. My father listened patiently as I explained what had happened. In his wise way, he asked me what I would have done the next day if Heavenly Father had helped me find the cattle. “Would you leave the cows again, thinking that your Father in Heaven would find them for you?”
After some thought, I replied, “Yes, that is probably what I would do.”
My father told me to kneel again—this time to ask for forgiveness and to promise that I would never again leave the cattle to go and play. I did as he said. Then, humbly, I once more asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cows. With my father by my side, I returned to the field and found the cattle there.
I learned an important lesson that day. Heavenly Father does not give us what we want just because we want it. He answers our prayers when we have done our part. And he answers them in a way that will help us become better people.
As I approached the field, I realized that the cattle were gone! I could picture my father’s face—how disappointed and angry he would be! I was his eldest son. He had taught me to be responsible, and he was proud of me. How would he feel about me now? Quickly I searched for the cattle from one end of the field to the other. I couldn’t find them anywhere!
As I wondered what to do, I remembered something my father had taught me—if I ever needed help, I could pray to my Father in Heaven, and he would help me. I needed help then! I knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cattle. Then, sure that I would find them, I searched again.
But the cattle were nowhere to be found! I became angry. I had prayed, as my father had taught me. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayer?
I stormed home. I had almost forgotten about the cattle and how upset my father would be. I wanted to know why my prayer hadn’t been answered. My father listened patiently as I explained what had happened. In his wise way, he asked me what I would have done the next day if Heavenly Father had helped me find the cattle. “Would you leave the cows again, thinking that your Father in Heaven would find them for you?”
After some thought, I replied, “Yes, that is probably what I would do.”
My father told me to kneel again—this time to ask for forgiveness and to promise that I would never again leave the cattle to go and play. I did as he said. Then, humbly, I once more asked Heavenly Father to help me find the cows. With my father by my side, I returned to the field and found the cattle there.
I learned an important lesson that day. Heavenly Father does not give us what we want just because we want it. He answers our prayers when we have done our part. And he answers them in a way that will help us become better people.
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👤 Parents
👤 Youth
Agency and Accountability
Parenting
Prayer
Repentance
Stewardship
Picture-Perfect Christmas
Summary: Matt’s family dreads their dad’s annual, often calamitous, DIY Christmas photo. After Matt negotiates with his dad to make this the last year, they unexpectedly capture a perfect picture under their oak tree. A letter from missionary brother Michael later shows the photo helped spark a gospel conversation on a bus, and Matt realizes the deeper value of their tradition.
All was quiet in the Andrews household one November evening when the chemistry of calamity began to bubble.
It was innocent at first—just a minor commotion in the basement. Mom, who was writing a letter at a desk in the living room, put her pen down and anxiously looked toward the basement door. Lucy, my ninth-grade sister, pulled off her headphones. Tyler, my six-year-old brother, stopped playing with his toy cars and looked worried.
“Mom,” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, “is Dad … is he … well, you know, is he doing what I think he is doing?”
“I think so, Matt.”
“You’ve got to make him stop!” Lucy hissed desperately. “Doesn’t he know how this bothers us? I don’t want to go through all this again.”
“We’ve got to support him. I know it’s hard on all of us, but at times like these, we need to remember that we’re a family and we stick together. Your father is a good man. He just has a quirk or two, like everyone else,” Mom said slowly.
Just then, Dad burst through the doorway from the basement, a triumphant grin curling across his face. Around his neck was a camera. In one hand, he carried a tripod, in the other, his gadget bag filled with photographic filters, lenses, and film.
“I found all the gear! How about this Saturday for the family Christmas card photo?” he boomed. “Trust me. This will be the best one yet. I can feel it. What do you think?”
None of us said a word. We knew from experience that another chapter in the Andrews Family Christmas Card Catastrophe was about to be written.
Why couldn’t we be like other families when it comes to Christmas cards? Why couldn’t we actually go to a store and buy a box of cards with a drawing of a snowy forest and a sleigh filled with happy people swooshing across the countryside toward grandmother’s house, and a nice, simple message such as “Merry Christmas” scrawled on the inside? Why did we all have to huddle together and watch Dad fumble with his tripod, set the timer on the camera, and scramble back to join us before the camera clicked?
“Well, I’m sure that one was terrific, but we’ll take a few more to make sure we get a really great one,” Dad always says after the camera fires. Then we repeat the whole process over and over.
One year we went through almost two boxes of film before Dad was satisfied. Thirty-four times we had to stand up straight, say “cheese,” or “pizza” and then smile. When we got the photos back, someone looked awful in 26 of them, five were out of focus, and in three others, Dad didn’t quite get into the picture in time and all you could see was his back. We went with one of the out-of-focus shots that year, which sort of symbolizes the whole family photo ritual.
We’ve threatened mutiny. “We don’t want to do this, Dad. We’re not going to this year,” we’d say.
“But our friends tell us how much they enjoy our Christmas cards,” Dad says defensively. “They’d miss our family photo if we didn’t send it.”
Can’t argue with that. We’re probably the best Christmas entertainment around. “Has the Andrews family Christmas card come yet?” people around the city probably ask each December. “We could use a laugh.”
Lucy slipped into my room. “Thinking about the Christmas photos?” she asked.
“Yeah. Our annual collision with disaster.”
“Remember the year Dad wanted our photo taken in the mountains? He thought a background of snow and pine trees would be perfect.”
I remembered. The day we headed to the mountains, a full-scale blizzard was blowing in. The temperature was about 12 degrees, and our car slid off the road on the way home. If you look closely at the photo from that year, you can see the blue tinge to our lips, as we shivered in front of the camera.
“The year we almost died for the Christmas photo,” Lucy recalled glumly.
“That wasn’t as bad as the year we wore Santa hats and pajamas,” I said.
“A horror show,” Lucy agreed.
Actually, it was our pressed pajamas and Santa hats. Mom decided to starch and iron all our pajamas and the effect was one of my older brother, Michael, Lucy, and me (Tyler wasn’t born yet) standing stiffly at attention in our cardboard nightwear.
“Cute, Matt. You looked pretty awesome in your fire truck jammies,” teased Nick Flander, who until that moment had been my best friend.
The list of disasters is long. One year we all looked fine, except for Lucy, who had her eyes closed and mouth wide open. Or the Christmas when we used a photo from our vacation at the beach, all of us in our swimming suits.
“I thought it would be different. Kind of cute,” Dad explained.
“Beach shots don’t cut it in December,” groaned Michael that year. At least this year he’s on a mission in Great Britain and mercifully out of reach of even the longest of my Dad’s lenses.
“Is there any way out?” Lucy asked sadly.
“I don’t think so. Pray for a miracle,” I answered. “It’s our only hope.”
It was Tyler who boosted my faith in divine intervention a couple of nights later. I was upstairs, deep into a college hoops game, when he came in.
“Can we talk, Matt?”
“Always. Trouble with homework? Depressed about the ozone layer? Need some advice about girls?”
“No, I was thinking about Christmas cards.”
That got my attention. “What about them?”
Tyler sighed. “Michael.”
The light bulb that occasionally doubles as my brain flickered to life. “Yeah. Michael. He won’t be in the picture this year. Doesn’t seem right, does it, bud?”
“Nope.”
I was sensing a good angle, one that would end our hopeless holiday tradition. “I’ll talk with Dad, as soon as I catch him in a good mood, like right after he eats dessert.”
Tyler looked a little happier. And I was feeling pretty good too. A foolish tradition of my father’s was about to come to a screeching halt. Now all I had to do was convince Dad that without Michael in the picture, we weren’t quite a family.
We have a spare bedroom in our house that through the years has evolved into the music room, the library, the den, and the sewing room. When Dad is doing some serious vegging out, he heads up there, which is what he did an hour after dinner the following night. The timing felt right. I gave Tyler a thumbs up, then trudged up the stairs. Dad was sitting in an old chair, listening to ancient music from the ’70s.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” he greeted me, sounding fairly relaxed for a parent.
“Hi, Dad.” My strategy was simple: link this all up to Tyler. That way if Dad got ticked, I just tell him it’s all his last-born child’s idea, and I skate home free, since parents hardly ever get upset with the baby of the family. “Dad, can we talk about Tyler for a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“He’s worried about the Christmas card. He doesn’t think we should have a family picture this year because Michael is in London.” Then, feeling a surge of nobility, I lowered my voice and quietly said, “I kind of agree with him, Dad.”
Dad sat up in his chair. “You kids don’t really like the idea of a family photo, do you?”
“I think we’d like to try something else, something more contemporary. Like what other families do.”
He looked serious. Very serious. “Could be that I’ve had my blinders on,” he said slowly. “I’m not the best photographer in the world. I know that. I always thought the cards were kind of cute. Maybe it wasn’t the picture itself, just that we always were together in the photo. I suppose things change.”
This was too easy. “Change is good, Dad,” I reminded him, going for the jugular. “I think it says so in the Old Testament. Or Brigham Young said something like that.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his chin. “Still …”
The word still made me nervous. If there is one word that throws fear into the lives of teenagers everywhere, it is still when a parent is on the verge of making a wise and favorable decision. In this case, it signaled that Dad had not been totally swayed by my logic and eloquence. The sweet feeling of victory was slipping through my grasp.
“Still,” he repeated, and I felt doom encircling me, “let’s try one more year, at least. Michael may need it. Next year, we’ll buy boxed cards if you kids don’t want the family photo. Can you live with that, Matt?”
Partial victory, at least. One more year, then the family Christmas photo would be history.
“Okay, Dad. One more year.”
“We’ll take care of it on Saturday then.”
“But not in the mountains.”
“No, not in the mountains. I’ve got somewhere special planned.”
I didn’t even ask where. I wanted to hurry out of the room and give the news to Tyler and Lucy, before he could change his mind.
In our front yard is an old oak tree, and since we’d had a mild autumn, some of the leaves were still hanging from it. When I finally got up on Saturday and made my way downstairs, I was startled to see the tripod set up underneath the oak’s long, graceful branches. Dad’s special place was right at home. An hour later, we stood under the tree while he fiddled with his camera and made all the final adjustments.
“I hope nobody sees us out here,” Lucy whispered.
“Better than being in a blizzard,” I replied.
“Okay, everyone, straighten up. Everything is set. Here I come!” Dad said exuberantly. “Now one, two, three, everyone say, CHEESE!”
What can I say? The photo was great. It was perfect. Against all odds, defying all Andrews family tradition, Dad managed to get us in focus with our eyes open, and all of us looking natural and happy. Set against the oak tree, with our red and green sweaters and Tyler’s stocking cap, we managed to look right in step with the season.
“Guess it was bound to happen some year,” Dad mumbled, looking over the photos in an unconvincing attempt to sound humble.
“Miracles still do happen,” Mom chimed in.
“Can we send this to Michael? I think he’ll like it even if he isn’t in it,” Tyler said.
“Michael will get the very first one,” Mom promised.
We didn’t have long to wait before hearing Michael’s opinion about the Christmas card. Ten days before Christmas, a letter arrived. Mom tore it open as soon as she came in from the mailbox.
Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, Lucy, and Tyler,
I can’t tell you how neat it was to see the Christmas card photo. It looked great, even if I wasn’t part of it. Maybe I’m the reason they never seemed to turn out very well!
We’d had a rough day. It was dark, windy, and cold, and we didn’t have much luck with the work. We had so many doors slammed in our faces that my companion and I joked about needing plastic surgery to straighten out our noses. Anyway, we picked up our mail at the post after lunch, and I jammed your letter into my overcoat pocket.
It was on the bus that I opened the letter. When I saw you standing in front of the tree in our yard, I started to giggle. A woman sitting across the aisle said something about how I must be reading a nice letter. I showed her the card, and she was impressed by the photo. One thing led to another, and we’re going by her home to drop off a Book of Mormon tomorrow. Who knows if anything ever comes of it, but it wouldn’t have happened if a certain photo of a good-looking family hadn’t appeared in the mail.
Mom set down Michael’s letter. “Maybe we should try the photo again next year.”
Nobody disagreed. “But no train jammies,” I said. “I draw the line there.”
“No pajamas, Matt,” Dad nodded. “Same deal though. If the photo isn’t acceptable to everyone, we won’t use it. We’ll work hard to make it a decent picture.”
That evening, I walked into the spare room. Dad was on the floor, leafing through the family Christmas photo album. He flipped to the first page. “Look at this, Matt. See something?”
I squinted at the picture, faded after more than 20 years. “You and Mom. In front of your old car.”
“What else?”
“Well, Mom had long hair, and you had more hair …”
“Anything else?”
I studied the photo. Two people. My parents, soon after they were married. The first Andrews family Christmas card. No children back then. A long way from our family as it was today.
Or was it?
Whether it was two Andrews, six Andrews, or just five Andrews with one on a mission, it was still our family. The Christmas photo was about tradition, togetherness, the season of the year, and the way we celebrate it, and not so much the photo itself. This was a history of our family, a year at a time, right at our fingertips. An occasional brush with frostbite and teasing from our friends seemed a small price to pay for the treasure at hand. We would look through these photos someday and all laugh or cry, watching our family change from year to year. Someone would notice Michael was missing from this year’s photo and certainly say, “Oh, that was the year he was on his mission. Whatever happened to the woman he met on the bus?” What great Christmas memories.
“See anything else?” my father gently asked.
“What I see is a family, no matter how many people are there. I see a lot of what Christmas is about.”
And as I said so, for the first time, I got the distinct feeling that I was not looking at just a photo but seeing the whole picture.
It was innocent at first—just a minor commotion in the basement. Mom, who was writing a letter at a desk in the living room, put her pen down and anxiously looked toward the basement door. Lucy, my ninth-grade sister, pulled off her headphones. Tyler, my six-year-old brother, stopped playing with his toy cars and looked worried.
“Mom,” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, “is Dad … is he … well, you know, is he doing what I think he is doing?”
“I think so, Matt.”
“You’ve got to make him stop!” Lucy hissed desperately. “Doesn’t he know how this bothers us? I don’t want to go through all this again.”
“We’ve got to support him. I know it’s hard on all of us, but at times like these, we need to remember that we’re a family and we stick together. Your father is a good man. He just has a quirk or two, like everyone else,” Mom said slowly.
Just then, Dad burst through the doorway from the basement, a triumphant grin curling across his face. Around his neck was a camera. In one hand, he carried a tripod, in the other, his gadget bag filled with photographic filters, lenses, and film.
“I found all the gear! How about this Saturday for the family Christmas card photo?” he boomed. “Trust me. This will be the best one yet. I can feel it. What do you think?”
None of us said a word. We knew from experience that another chapter in the Andrews Family Christmas Card Catastrophe was about to be written.
Why couldn’t we be like other families when it comes to Christmas cards? Why couldn’t we actually go to a store and buy a box of cards with a drawing of a snowy forest and a sleigh filled with happy people swooshing across the countryside toward grandmother’s house, and a nice, simple message such as “Merry Christmas” scrawled on the inside? Why did we all have to huddle together and watch Dad fumble with his tripod, set the timer on the camera, and scramble back to join us before the camera clicked?
“Well, I’m sure that one was terrific, but we’ll take a few more to make sure we get a really great one,” Dad always says after the camera fires. Then we repeat the whole process over and over.
One year we went through almost two boxes of film before Dad was satisfied. Thirty-four times we had to stand up straight, say “cheese,” or “pizza” and then smile. When we got the photos back, someone looked awful in 26 of them, five were out of focus, and in three others, Dad didn’t quite get into the picture in time and all you could see was his back. We went with one of the out-of-focus shots that year, which sort of symbolizes the whole family photo ritual.
We’ve threatened mutiny. “We don’t want to do this, Dad. We’re not going to this year,” we’d say.
“But our friends tell us how much they enjoy our Christmas cards,” Dad says defensively. “They’d miss our family photo if we didn’t send it.”
Can’t argue with that. We’re probably the best Christmas entertainment around. “Has the Andrews family Christmas card come yet?” people around the city probably ask each December. “We could use a laugh.”
Lucy slipped into my room. “Thinking about the Christmas photos?” she asked.
“Yeah. Our annual collision with disaster.”
“Remember the year Dad wanted our photo taken in the mountains? He thought a background of snow and pine trees would be perfect.”
I remembered. The day we headed to the mountains, a full-scale blizzard was blowing in. The temperature was about 12 degrees, and our car slid off the road on the way home. If you look closely at the photo from that year, you can see the blue tinge to our lips, as we shivered in front of the camera.
“The year we almost died for the Christmas photo,” Lucy recalled glumly.
“That wasn’t as bad as the year we wore Santa hats and pajamas,” I said.
“A horror show,” Lucy agreed.
Actually, it was our pressed pajamas and Santa hats. Mom decided to starch and iron all our pajamas and the effect was one of my older brother, Michael, Lucy, and me (Tyler wasn’t born yet) standing stiffly at attention in our cardboard nightwear.
“Cute, Matt. You looked pretty awesome in your fire truck jammies,” teased Nick Flander, who until that moment had been my best friend.
The list of disasters is long. One year we all looked fine, except for Lucy, who had her eyes closed and mouth wide open. Or the Christmas when we used a photo from our vacation at the beach, all of us in our swimming suits.
“I thought it would be different. Kind of cute,” Dad explained.
“Beach shots don’t cut it in December,” groaned Michael that year. At least this year he’s on a mission in Great Britain and mercifully out of reach of even the longest of my Dad’s lenses.
“Is there any way out?” Lucy asked sadly.
“I don’t think so. Pray for a miracle,” I answered. “It’s our only hope.”
It was Tyler who boosted my faith in divine intervention a couple of nights later. I was upstairs, deep into a college hoops game, when he came in.
“Can we talk, Matt?”
“Always. Trouble with homework? Depressed about the ozone layer? Need some advice about girls?”
“No, I was thinking about Christmas cards.”
That got my attention. “What about them?”
Tyler sighed. “Michael.”
The light bulb that occasionally doubles as my brain flickered to life. “Yeah. Michael. He won’t be in the picture this year. Doesn’t seem right, does it, bud?”
“Nope.”
I was sensing a good angle, one that would end our hopeless holiday tradition. “I’ll talk with Dad, as soon as I catch him in a good mood, like right after he eats dessert.”
Tyler looked a little happier. And I was feeling pretty good too. A foolish tradition of my father’s was about to come to a screeching halt. Now all I had to do was convince Dad that without Michael in the picture, we weren’t quite a family.
We have a spare bedroom in our house that through the years has evolved into the music room, the library, the den, and the sewing room. When Dad is doing some serious vegging out, he heads up there, which is what he did an hour after dinner the following night. The timing felt right. I gave Tyler a thumbs up, then trudged up the stairs. Dad was sitting in an old chair, listening to ancient music from the ’70s.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” he greeted me, sounding fairly relaxed for a parent.
“Hi, Dad.” My strategy was simple: link this all up to Tyler. That way if Dad got ticked, I just tell him it’s all his last-born child’s idea, and I skate home free, since parents hardly ever get upset with the baby of the family. “Dad, can we talk about Tyler for a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“He’s worried about the Christmas card. He doesn’t think we should have a family picture this year because Michael is in London.” Then, feeling a surge of nobility, I lowered my voice and quietly said, “I kind of agree with him, Dad.”
Dad sat up in his chair. “You kids don’t really like the idea of a family photo, do you?”
“I think we’d like to try something else, something more contemporary. Like what other families do.”
He looked serious. Very serious. “Could be that I’ve had my blinders on,” he said slowly. “I’m not the best photographer in the world. I know that. I always thought the cards were kind of cute. Maybe it wasn’t the picture itself, just that we always were together in the photo. I suppose things change.”
This was too easy. “Change is good, Dad,” I reminded him, going for the jugular. “I think it says so in the Old Testament. Or Brigham Young said something like that.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his chin. “Still …”
The word still made me nervous. If there is one word that throws fear into the lives of teenagers everywhere, it is still when a parent is on the verge of making a wise and favorable decision. In this case, it signaled that Dad had not been totally swayed by my logic and eloquence. The sweet feeling of victory was slipping through my grasp.
“Still,” he repeated, and I felt doom encircling me, “let’s try one more year, at least. Michael may need it. Next year, we’ll buy boxed cards if you kids don’t want the family photo. Can you live with that, Matt?”
Partial victory, at least. One more year, then the family Christmas photo would be history.
“Okay, Dad. One more year.”
“We’ll take care of it on Saturday then.”
“But not in the mountains.”
“No, not in the mountains. I’ve got somewhere special planned.”
I didn’t even ask where. I wanted to hurry out of the room and give the news to Tyler and Lucy, before he could change his mind.
In our front yard is an old oak tree, and since we’d had a mild autumn, some of the leaves were still hanging from it. When I finally got up on Saturday and made my way downstairs, I was startled to see the tripod set up underneath the oak’s long, graceful branches. Dad’s special place was right at home. An hour later, we stood under the tree while he fiddled with his camera and made all the final adjustments.
“I hope nobody sees us out here,” Lucy whispered.
“Better than being in a blizzard,” I replied.
“Okay, everyone, straighten up. Everything is set. Here I come!” Dad said exuberantly. “Now one, two, three, everyone say, CHEESE!”
What can I say? The photo was great. It was perfect. Against all odds, defying all Andrews family tradition, Dad managed to get us in focus with our eyes open, and all of us looking natural and happy. Set against the oak tree, with our red and green sweaters and Tyler’s stocking cap, we managed to look right in step with the season.
“Guess it was bound to happen some year,” Dad mumbled, looking over the photos in an unconvincing attempt to sound humble.
“Miracles still do happen,” Mom chimed in.
“Can we send this to Michael? I think he’ll like it even if he isn’t in it,” Tyler said.
“Michael will get the very first one,” Mom promised.
We didn’t have long to wait before hearing Michael’s opinion about the Christmas card. Ten days before Christmas, a letter arrived. Mom tore it open as soon as she came in from the mailbox.
Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, Lucy, and Tyler,
I can’t tell you how neat it was to see the Christmas card photo. It looked great, even if I wasn’t part of it. Maybe I’m the reason they never seemed to turn out very well!
We’d had a rough day. It was dark, windy, and cold, and we didn’t have much luck with the work. We had so many doors slammed in our faces that my companion and I joked about needing plastic surgery to straighten out our noses. Anyway, we picked up our mail at the post after lunch, and I jammed your letter into my overcoat pocket.
It was on the bus that I opened the letter. When I saw you standing in front of the tree in our yard, I started to giggle. A woman sitting across the aisle said something about how I must be reading a nice letter. I showed her the card, and she was impressed by the photo. One thing led to another, and we’re going by her home to drop off a Book of Mormon tomorrow. Who knows if anything ever comes of it, but it wouldn’t have happened if a certain photo of a good-looking family hadn’t appeared in the mail.
Mom set down Michael’s letter. “Maybe we should try the photo again next year.”
Nobody disagreed. “But no train jammies,” I said. “I draw the line there.”
“No pajamas, Matt,” Dad nodded. “Same deal though. If the photo isn’t acceptable to everyone, we won’t use it. We’ll work hard to make it a decent picture.”
That evening, I walked into the spare room. Dad was on the floor, leafing through the family Christmas photo album. He flipped to the first page. “Look at this, Matt. See something?”
I squinted at the picture, faded after more than 20 years. “You and Mom. In front of your old car.”
“What else?”
“Well, Mom had long hair, and you had more hair …”
“Anything else?”
I studied the photo. Two people. My parents, soon after they were married. The first Andrews family Christmas card. No children back then. A long way from our family as it was today.
Or was it?
Whether it was two Andrews, six Andrews, or just five Andrews with one on a mission, it was still our family. The Christmas photo was about tradition, togetherness, the season of the year, and the way we celebrate it, and not so much the photo itself. This was a history of our family, a year at a time, right at our fingertips. An occasional brush with frostbite and teasing from our friends seemed a small price to pay for the treasure at hand. We would look through these photos someday and all laugh or cry, watching our family change from year to year. Someone would notice Michael was missing from this year’s photo and certainly say, “Oh, that was the year he was on his mission. Whatever happened to the woman he met on the bus?” What great Christmas memories.
“See anything else?” my father gently asked.
“What I see is a family, no matter how many people are there. I see a lot of what Christmas is about.”
And as I said so, for the first time, I got the distinct feeling that I was not looking at just a photo but seeing the whole picture.
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👤 Parents
👤 Youth
👤 Children
👤 Missionaries
👤 Friends
Children
Christmas
Family
Miracles
Missionary Work
Parenting
Prayer
Still Enough to Listen
Summary: The mother prays that someone her son respects will reach out to him and contacts a former Primary teacher who is a peace officer. She later sees in her mind the officer embracing her son at 2:15 p.m.; that evening the officer confirms he visited at that time. This experience fills her with spiritual confidence that her prayers are being heard.
I felt impressed to pray that someone he respected would come into his life. The name of one of his former Primary teachers came to mind, a peace officer whom I saw soon after at stake conference. I told him about my son and the impression I’d had. He said without hesitation that he would go and see him.
Two days later I was sitting at the sewing machine when I saw in my mind the officer standing in a room embracing my son. Tears were flowing down both of their faces. I looked at the clock. It was 2:15 P.M. When he called later that evening, I told him I knew he had been to see my son at 2:15 that afternoon. He confirmed that he had gone where I could not go and be welcomed. My heart overflowed with gratitude.
From that time on, I felt powerful spiritual confidence infuse me. I realized that my prayers were being heard and that deeply spiritual blessings could result if I would continue to be faithful and diligent in my efforts.
Two days later I was sitting at the sewing machine when I saw in my mind the officer standing in a room embracing my son. Tears were flowing down both of their faces. I looked at the clock. It was 2:15 P.M. When he called later that evening, I told him I knew he had been to see my son at 2:15 that afternoon. He confirmed that he had gone where I could not go and be welcomed. My heart overflowed with gratitude.
From that time on, I felt powerful spiritual confidence infuse me. I realized that my prayers were being heard and that deeply spiritual blessings could result if I would continue to be faithful and diligent in my efforts.
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👤 Parents
👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
Faith
Gratitude
Holy Ghost
Ministering
Miracles
Prayer
Revelation
Testimony
A Shining Example
Summary: Invited to audition performers at a university conference, the narrator heard a young woman with a remarkable soprano voice who asked to audition early. Though she couldn't be used in the Saturday program, he arranged for her to sing Sunday morning. President Pulman hinted he had something to say about her, and she sang beautifully at the inspirational Sunday meeting.
I looked at the letter in my hand. “Dear Brother,” it said, “we would be pleased if you could audition talented young people on the Saturday of the conference at Nottingham (England) University.”
When I arrived at the university, I was told auditions were to start at 9:30 A.M. At 9:15 I was waiting patiently, when a lovely young lady approached me.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Could you possibly audition me early? My seminars start at 9:30, and I really don’t want to miss them.” She had music for only one number, but when she started to sing I thought she had the most beautiful soprano voice I had heard in a long time.
As the day wore on, and many acts were auditioned, it became apparent that a number of exceptionally talented people were present. At the end of the morning’s audition, I asked them all to return at 4:00 P.M. to learn which of them was chosen.
My thoughts, however, kept returning to the young lady I had listened to earlier. Although I felt that she could not be used in the program, I was sure that her beautiful voice should be heard by the 600 young adults who were gathered for the convention. So I spoke with the conference leaders and obtained permission for the young lady to be invited to sing at the Sunday morning meeting.
When I told her what had been arranged, she was tremendously pleased. The song that she decided to sing was “Though Deepening Trials.”
At last Saturday evening arrived, and the entertainment got under way. I was grateful that I had been given such wonderful acts to present. At the same time I was terribly sorry for the lack of time that prevented me from showing the other acts, which were also very good and worthy of being seen.
After the program, I sought out President Ralph Pulman, who would be conducting the Sunday meeting, and gave him the name of the young lady who was to sing next morning. He took one look at the name and said, “I have something to say about this young lady when I make my presentation tomorrow.” And that was that. He wouldn’t say any more about it to me.
The Sunday meeting was truly inspirational and the young lady sang beautifully.
When I arrived at the university, I was told auditions were to start at 9:30 A.M. At 9:15 I was waiting patiently, when a lovely young lady approached me.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Could you possibly audition me early? My seminars start at 9:30, and I really don’t want to miss them.” She had music for only one number, but when she started to sing I thought she had the most beautiful soprano voice I had heard in a long time.
As the day wore on, and many acts were auditioned, it became apparent that a number of exceptionally talented people were present. At the end of the morning’s audition, I asked them all to return at 4:00 P.M. to learn which of them was chosen.
My thoughts, however, kept returning to the young lady I had listened to earlier. Although I felt that she could not be used in the program, I was sure that her beautiful voice should be heard by the 600 young adults who were gathered for the convention. So I spoke with the conference leaders and obtained permission for the young lady to be invited to sing at the Sunday morning meeting.
When I told her what had been arranged, she was tremendously pleased. The song that she decided to sing was “Though Deepening Trials.”
At last Saturday evening arrived, and the entertainment got under way. I was grateful that I had been given such wonderful acts to present. At the same time I was terribly sorry for the lack of time that prevented me from showing the other acts, which were also very good and worthy of being seen.
After the program, I sought out President Ralph Pulman, who would be conducting the Sunday meeting, and gave him the name of the young lady who was to sing next morning. He took one look at the name and said, “I have something to say about this young lady when I make my presentation tomorrow.” And that was that. He wouldn’t say any more about it to me.
The Sunday meeting was truly inspirational and the young lady sang beautifully.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Gratitude
Music
Sabbath Day
Sacrament Meeting
Service
Faithful Laborers
Summary: The speaker describes visiting an old missionary graveyard in Samoa and discovering that several of the buried missionaries were very young children or young parents who died during mission service. He then recounts several specific missionary families whose sacrifices included the deaths of children, a wife, and a mission president. The story concludes by emphasizing that these sacrifices paid a price for establishing the gospel in Samoa and challenging current members to honor that heritage through their own service.
It is this last point I would like to enlarge upon. I had the honor recently of being assigned to visit the Samoa Apia Mission and attend some stake conferences in that country. I found the missionaries all well and the work progressing. One afternoon following our meeting, the mission president, Patrick Peters—who is a native Samoan—said, “Elder Dunn, there is something I’d like to show you.” We drove a few miles from the mission home and climbed the brow of a small hill to a place that was isolated by palm trees and other tropical vegetation. I suddenly realized that we were in a very old graveyard.
At the center of this graveyard was a plot that was surrounded by a cement wall low enough to step over. President and Sister Peters told me this was where some of the first missionaries in Samoa were buried. There were eight graves.
The thing that struck my interest was that out of the eight graves, four represented children under the age of two and one was a 21-year-old wife and mother. What role could these have possibly played in missionary work in Samoa?
During the next two days, when time would permit, I searched the history of the mission for an answer. While I was unable to gather information on all of the eight, I did discover the following.
In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions, and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following:
“An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die,’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him good-bye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.
Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa where they lost three of their children between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.
Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”
At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.
Another entry was Friday, March 2, 1900: “Little Loi Roberts was given up to die by Dr. Stuttaford at the sanatorium [in Apia]. The patient little sufferer was administered to daily, and each time he would get relief. …
His parents [Elder and Sister E. T. Roberts] were untiring in their efforts to allay pain and sufferings.”
Saturday, March 3: “Little Loi died at the sanatorium in Apia in the morning, making another sad day in the history of the mission.” Small wonder that the tombstone contained the words, “Rest sweet Loi, rest.” He was one and a half years old.
And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”
A price has been paid for the establishment of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the land of Samoa. It is interesting to note that much of that price was paid by little children. I suspect that there are many obscure cemeteries in many of the nations of the world similar to that little plot in Samoa. They are a mute witness to the trials and suffering that went into the beginnings of missionary work in this dispensation.
Because of advancements in the standard of living and medical technology, these kinds of trials are almost a thing of the past. In Samoa, for instance, I found the missionaries well. There are even health missionaries, including a young couple and their two children who are helping to improve the health standards of the members and looking after the health of the missionaries where needed.
The sacrifice today is mostly a sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of 24 months is asked of worthy young men to help move the cause of the Lord forward. Others gave their lives to get the work started, but the Lord only requires that we sacrifice some time and our means to keep his work moving throughout the world.
The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”
As members of this church we can ask ourselves the same question, “Can you see them?” They are the ones who paid, and some with their lives, that the gospel of the kingdom might be established in these, the last, days. They are the Hiltons, and the Robertses, and the Stevens, and the Moodys, and many others—people like you and me, who answered a call from God. I am sure they are allowed to look in on us from time to time to see how the work is going, to see what we are doing with their spiritual heritage, to see if they have died in vain.
I wonder, young man, how successful you would be in convincing a young father who had buried three of his babies in an obscure graveyard halfway around the world because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that a mission is too much of a sacrifice because you want to buy that car or that stereo, or you don’t want to interrupt your schooling, or for some other reason.
As members of the Church, I wonder how convincing we would be in telling someone that we are just too busy and maybe just a little embarrassed to share the gospel with our neighbor, especially if that someone were a young father who had buried his bride while on his mission and sent his little girl home to be taken care of by relatives while he finished his service to the Lord.
Is it not time that we listen to a prophet’s voice? Is it not time that we lengthen our stride? Is it not time that we teach the gospel of the kingdom to the world, to our neighbor?
At the center of this graveyard was a plot that was surrounded by a cement wall low enough to step over. President and Sister Peters told me this was where some of the first missionaries in Samoa were buried. There were eight graves.
The thing that struck my interest was that out of the eight graves, four represented children under the age of two and one was a 21-year-old wife and mother. What role could these have possibly played in missionary work in Samoa?
During the next two days, when time would permit, I searched the history of the mission for an answer. While I was unable to gather information on all of the eight, I did discover the following.
In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions, and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following:
“An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die,’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him good-bye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.
Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa where they lost three of their children between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.
Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”
At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.
Another entry was Friday, March 2, 1900: “Little Loi Roberts was given up to die by Dr. Stuttaford at the sanatorium [in Apia]. The patient little sufferer was administered to daily, and each time he would get relief. …
His parents [Elder and Sister E. T. Roberts] were untiring in their efforts to allay pain and sufferings.”
Saturday, March 3: “Little Loi died at the sanatorium in Apia in the morning, making another sad day in the history of the mission.” Small wonder that the tombstone contained the words, “Rest sweet Loi, rest.” He was one and a half years old.
And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”
A price has been paid for the establishment of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the land of Samoa. It is interesting to note that much of that price was paid by little children. I suspect that there are many obscure cemeteries in many of the nations of the world similar to that little plot in Samoa. They are a mute witness to the trials and suffering that went into the beginnings of missionary work in this dispensation.
Because of advancements in the standard of living and medical technology, these kinds of trials are almost a thing of the past. In Samoa, for instance, I found the missionaries well. There are even health missionaries, including a young couple and their two children who are helping to improve the health standards of the members and looking after the health of the missionaries where needed.
The sacrifice today is mostly a sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of 24 months is asked of worthy young men to help move the cause of the Lord forward. Others gave their lives to get the work started, but the Lord only requires that we sacrifice some time and our means to keep his work moving throughout the world.
The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”
As members of this church we can ask ourselves the same question, “Can you see them?” They are the ones who paid, and some with their lives, that the gospel of the kingdom might be established in these, the last, days. They are the Hiltons, and the Robertses, and the Stevens, and the Moodys, and many others—people like you and me, who answered a call from God. I am sure they are allowed to look in on us from time to time to see how the work is going, to see what we are doing with their spiritual heritage, to see if they have died in vain.
I wonder, young man, how successful you would be in convincing a young father who had buried three of his babies in an obscure graveyard halfway around the world because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that a mission is too much of a sacrifice because you want to buy that car or that stereo, or you don’t want to interrupt your schooling, or for some other reason.
As members of the Church, I wonder how convincing we would be in telling someone that we are just too busy and maybe just a little embarrassed to share the gospel with our neighbor, especially if that someone were a young father who had buried his bride while on his mission and sent his little girl home to be taken care of by relatives while he finished his service to the Lord.
Is it not time that we listen to a prophet’s voice? Is it not time that we lengthen our stride? Is it not time that we teach the gospel of the kingdom to the world, to our neighbor?
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Adversity
Children
Death
Family
Missionary Work
Sacrifice
In Search of Zion, 1830–1835
Summary: While visiting Kirtland, Mrs. Johnson, long afflicted with rheumatism, was healed when Joseph Smith commanded her to be whole. Witnesses were impressed by this manifestation of priesthood power. Later, former Shakers tried to imitate spiritual gifts with extreme behaviors and were rebuked by the Prophet.
Among the early converts in Ohio was Luke S. Johnson. His parents, the John Johnsons, who owned a large farm near Hiram, Ohio, visited the Prophet at Kirtland. Mrs. Johnson suffered from chronic rheumatism and had been unable to use one of her arms for six years. During the visit, the Prophet took Mrs. Johnson by the hand and declared, “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command thee to be whole.” Mrs. Johnson was healed. The occurrence left a lasting impression upon witnesses as evidence of priesthood power. This miracle was followed by other manifestations of varied gifts of the spirit among Latter-day Saints. But when certain former Shakers (members of a religious sect, started in England) attempted to imitate the true gifts with so-called “spiritual operations” practiced in their former religion, they were rebuked by the Prophet for their foolish rolling and turning and facial grimaces.
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👤 Joseph Smith
👤 Early Saints
👤 Other
Conversion
Disabilities
Miracles
Priesthood
Priesthood Blessing
Spiritual Gifts
Seeking for Solutions
Summary: A distressed student begged a professor to give her a passing grade because otherwise she would have to leave BYU and return to her country. The professor compassionately reviewed her scores and refused to award what she had not earned. After leaving school, working hard, serving a mission, and maturing, she returned to BYU and thanked him for helping her take responsibility for her life.
Let me illustrate with a story that a friend and faculty member at this university shared with me. Several years ago a student came to his office. She was distraught. Tears ran down her face as she outlined her situation. She had not done as well as she thought she would in some of her classes, and if she did not get a high enough grade in his class, she would be deported to her country of origin. She felt as if her whole future rested upon his decision.
With that preface, she pleaded, “What are you going to give me?”
The professor was warm and compassionate, but forthright. “What have you earned?” he responded.
Together they went through the ledger. They tallied her points, even added in some extra credit she had not yet completed, and determined that her scores were far, far below the university’s standard. The professor felt that it would not be fair to other students who had studied, sacrificed, and rightfully earned their grades to raise her mark as high as it would need to go. He counseled with her. They agonized over the situation together. In the end, the professor was sincere and kind, but fair. He could not give her what she had not earned but desperately wanted.
Needless to say, she was quite upset. She had to leave BYU. Upon returning home, she enrolled in a community college. She studied and worked hard. Over the course of time she became committed to academic achievement. She began to recognize the Lord’s hand in her life. She served a mission. Two and a half years later, she returned to BYU a different person. Ready to shoulder the responsibility of her own actions, she had become a conscientious student and a better person. A little more humble and a lot more mature, she looked up her former professor and thanked him for being firm. With love and respect he had invited her to do some soul-searching, and maybe for the first time in her life when confronted with a problem, she had really asked herself the question “What am I going to do about this?” And that made all the difference.
With that preface, she pleaded, “What are you going to give me?”
The professor was warm and compassionate, but forthright. “What have you earned?” he responded.
Together they went through the ledger. They tallied her points, even added in some extra credit she had not yet completed, and determined that her scores were far, far below the university’s standard. The professor felt that it would not be fair to other students who had studied, sacrificed, and rightfully earned their grades to raise her mark as high as it would need to go. He counseled with her. They agonized over the situation together. In the end, the professor was sincere and kind, but fair. He could not give her what she had not earned but desperately wanted.
Needless to say, she was quite upset. She had to leave BYU. Upon returning home, she enrolled in a community college. She studied and worked hard. Over the course of time she became committed to academic achievement. She began to recognize the Lord’s hand in her life. She served a mission. Two and a half years later, she returned to BYU a different person. Ready to shoulder the responsibility of her own actions, she had become a conscientious student and a better person. A little more humble and a lot more mature, she looked up her former professor and thanked him for being firm. With love and respect he had invited her to do some soul-searching, and maybe for the first time in her life when confronted with a problem, she had really asked herself the question “What am I going to do about this?” And that made all the difference.
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Missionaries
👤 Other
A Close Call
Summary: Soon after receiving a driver's license, a youth felt prompted during prayer to seek safety and sensed there would be an obstacle on the road. Choosing to drive slower all day, the youth later encountered a deer at night and was able to stop just in time. They attribute the protection to following the Holy Ghost's warning.
Two weeks after I got my driver’s license, my parents let me take the car for the whole day. I was ecstatic! I couldn’t wait to go driving around town. That morning in my prayers I had a strong feeling to pray for safety and that the Holy Spirit would guide and direct me. I hopped into the car and headed to town to do some shopping with my sister. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt driving. But I was uneasy. I had a feeling that at sometime during the day some sort of obstacle would be in the road and I would have to stop suddenly. I wondered if I was just nervous because it was my first time driving alone. I decided to drive slower than usual. I drove all day without incident but still had that feeling. When we headed home, it was dark out, and we had a 45-minute drive home in the country. I decided to drive about 5–10 miles under the speed limit. Just as I came around a bend, I saw a deer standing in the middle of the road. I had to quickly slam on my brakes to stop. I stopped a couple of feet in front of the deer, which just walked off, leaving us with our hearts pounding. I couldn’t believe how close it was. I know if I had not been warned by the Holy Ghost and had been going faster, I would have hit that deer. I am so grateful to have the Holy Ghost guiding and protecting me.
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👤 Youth
👤 Parents
Faith
Gratitude
Holy Ghost
Miracles
Prayer
Revelation
The Rock of Our Redeemer
Summary: Before traveling from Iowa to Texas in 1869, Edwin S. Graham wrote a letter to his children because he knew he might never see them again. In the letter he entrusted them to their mother and gave moral and spiritual instructions about honesty, self-mastery, and reverence for God. The account is presented as an example of a father's final counsel to his family.
In 1869 my great-great-grandfather Edwin S. Graham wrote a letter to his children prior to traveling to Texas from Iowa. Having a strong Christian faith and knowing that he might not live to see them again, he gave them what could have been called his last instruction. He wrote:
“In the event . . . that I should not live to return to you, . . . I know that in [your] mother [you] will have all [the] affection and devotion that [you] could possibly have, as long as she might live. . . . Robby, you and Lizzie are so young that . . . [should you] forever be bereft of your father’s care, advice and instructions, . . . live in the fear of God, your Redeemer. Never wrong in any way your fellow man. In morals be ever particularly careful, prudent, [and] discreet. . . . Never lie. Never make a harsh promise. Master, always master, never let passion master you. . . .
In all things be true to yourselves and to others, with God’s blessing and protection. [May He] ever guide and direct you.”
“In the event . . . that I should not live to return to you, . . . I know that in [your] mother [you] will have all [the] affection and devotion that [you] could possibly have, as long as she might live. . . . Robby, you and Lizzie are so young that . . . [should you] forever be bereft of your father’s care, advice and instructions, . . . live in the fear of God, your Redeemer. Never wrong in any way your fellow man. In morals be ever particularly careful, prudent, [and] discreet. . . . Never lie. Never make a harsh promise. Master, always master, never let passion master you. . . .
In all things be true to yourselves and to others, with God’s blessing and protection. [May He] ever guide and direct you.”
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👤 Parents
👤 Children
👤 Other
A Testimony of Prophets
Summary: At age 27, the narrator returned home and overheard sister missionaries teaching, prompting him to pray about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. He spent 14 hours reading Joseph Smith’s history and praying, experiencing a vivid spiritual confirmation as if present in the Sacred Grove. By morning he knew Joseph Smith was a prophet. He immediately sought out the missionaries, completed the discussions, and was baptized and confirmed.
Five years later—I was 27 by then—I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father was ward mission leader, and the sister missionaries were teaching someone else in my home. I overheard them teaching about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and I decided to pray about it. It made sense in my mind that if Joseph Smith was a prophet, then the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is true.
That night I began to read the history of Joseph Smith and of his vision in the Sacred Grove. Then I stopped, and I prayed to the Lord. I spent the whole night in this manner, reading and praying about each paragraph. It took me 14 hours. Something happened to me when I began to ponder. It seemed that I was in the grove with Joseph. It was a vivid and real experience. It seemed I could see what happened. When I finished the prayer the next morning, I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I went immediately to find the missionaries. At noon, when the sister missionaries came home for lunch, I was sitting in front of their door waiting for them. I asked them to teach me the discussions. After they taught me the seven discussions in a short period of time, I was baptized and confirmed into the Church.
That night I began to read the history of Joseph Smith and of his vision in the Sacred Grove. Then I stopped, and I prayed to the Lord. I spent the whole night in this manner, reading and praying about each paragraph. It took me 14 hours. Something happened to me when I began to ponder. It seemed that I was in the grove with Joseph. It was a vivid and real experience. It seemed I could see what happened. When I finished the prayer the next morning, I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I went immediately to find the missionaries. At noon, when the sister missionaries came home for lunch, I was sitting in front of their door waiting for them. I asked them to teach me the discussions. After they taught me the seven discussions in a short period of time, I was baptized and confirmed into the Church.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Young Adults
👤 Joseph Smith
Baptism
Book of Mormon
Conversion
Holy Ghost
Joseph Smith
Missionary Work
Prayer
Revelation
Testimony
The Restoration
Accepting the #TempleChallenge
Summary: The story begins with the speaker’s baptism in 2012 and his growing commitment to family history after an invitation from Elder Neil L. Andersen at RootsTech. Through family history work, he gathered names, documents, and stories, wrote a family history book, and shared his testimony with nonmember relatives. He says this work helped him stay active in the Church and prepare to serve a mission, where he now baptizes living people after previously performing baptisms for his ancestors.
I was baptized in 2012 and attended a branch in the Ipoméia Brazil District. Since 2014, I have been really engaged in family history. It started with the invitation from Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at RootsTech to do baptisms for my own family names. I felt really committed to do family history, knowing that if I “knocked,” it would be “opened” (see Matthew 7:7).
Now I have many more generations, pictures, documents, and, most important, more family stories, which is awesome. Having this information, I wrote a book with pictures and dates from my family history. This project helped me contact my nonmember family members and gave me the opportunity to share my testimony that families can be eternal.
This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.
Now I have many more generations, pictures, documents, and, most important, more family stories, which is awesome. Having this information, I wrote a book with pictures and dates from my family history. This project helped me contact my nonmember family members and gave me the opportunity to share my testimony that families can be eternal.
This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptism
Baptisms for the Dead
Family History
Missionary Work
Temples
Testimony
A Call to Serve
Summary: Emma Lou and Joseph Slagowski, called to the Peru Lima South Mission without Spanish skills, joined a trial pre-mission language program for mature couples. Despite her concerns and age, Sister Slagowski learned to read, pray, and bear testimony in Spanish before entering the MTC. She considered it a miracle and expressed hopes to serve another Spanish-speaking mission if health permits.
Emma Lou and Joseph Slagowski could not speak Spanish but were called to the Peru Lima South Mission. They participated in a trial pre-mission language project for mature couples that assists them in learning language skills in their own homes prior to entering the Missionary Training Center for their training. Sister Slagowski writes:
“When our stake president asked us [if] we would be willing to take part in [a new] pre-mission … language learning project, we were concerned, but accepted,” she said. “I am now 66 years old, and school was [never easy] for me.
“Without the pre-Missionary Training Center Spanish program, it would have been impossible, … [but] before [we arrived at] the Missionary Training Center I could read Spanish quite well, … could pray, and bear testimony of God the Father and Jesus Christ. To me it’s a miracle.
“We plan on another Spanish-speaking mission after this one if health permits.”
“When our stake president asked us [if] we would be willing to take part in [a new] pre-mission … language learning project, we were concerned, but accepted,” she said. “I am now 66 years old, and school was [never easy] for me.
“Without the pre-Missionary Training Center Spanish program, it would have been impossible, … [but] before [we arrived at] the Missionary Training Center I could read Spanish quite well, … could pray, and bear testimony of God the Father and Jesus Christ. To me it’s a miracle.
“We plan on another Spanish-speaking mission after this one if health permits.”
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👤 Missionaries
Adversity
Education
Faith
Miracles
Missionary Work
Prayer
Testimony
The Brilliant Morning of Forgiveness
Summary: An immigrant woman deprived herself during her voyage to America, only to learn at the end that all meals had already been included in her ticket price. The story is used to illustrate how people may endure unnecessary guilt when relief and forgiveness are already available. The lesson is that repentance can bring a morning of forgiveness, though it may take time and perseverance before peace returns.
So many live with accusing guilt when relief is ever at hand. So many are like the immigrant woman who skimped and saved and deprived herself until, by selling all of her possessions, she bought a steerage-class ticket to America.
She rationed out the meager provisions she was able to bring with her. Even so, they were gone early in the voyage. When others went for their meals, she stayed below deck—determined to suffer through it. Finally, on the last day, she must, she thought, afford one meal to give her strength for the journey yet ahead. When she asked what the meal would cost, she was told that all of the meals had been included in the price of her ticket.
That great morning of forgiveness may not come at once. Do not give up if at first you fail. Often the most difficult part of repentance is to forgive yourself. Discouragement is part of that test. Do not give up. That brilliant morning will come.
Then “the peace of God, which passeth … understanding” comes into your life once again. Then you, like Him, will remember your sins no more. How will you know? You will know!
She rationed out the meager provisions she was able to bring with her. Even so, they were gone early in the voyage. When others went for their meals, she stayed below deck—determined to suffer through it. Finally, on the last day, she must, she thought, afford one meal to give her strength for the journey yet ahead. When she asked what the meal would cost, she was told that all of the meals had been included in the price of her ticket.
That great morning of forgiveness may not come at once. Do not give up if at first you fail. Often the most difficult part of repentance is to forgive yourself. Discouragement is part of that test. Do not give up. That brilliant morning will come.
Then “the peace of God, which passeth … understanding” comes into your life once again. Then you, like Him, will remember your sins no more. How will you know? You will know!
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