Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago, on my first visit to the village of Sauniatu in Samoa, my wife and I met with a large gathering of small children—nearly 200 in number. At the conclusion of our messages to these shy yet beautiful youngsters, I suggested to the native Samoan teacher that we go forward with the closing exercises.

As he announced the final hymn, I suddenly felt compelled to greet personally each of these children. My watch revealed that the time was too short for such a privilege, for we were scheduled on a flight out of the country, so I discounted the impression. Before the benediction was to be spoken, I again felt that I should shake the hand of each child. I made the desire known to the instructor, who displayed a broad and beautiful Samoan smile. In Samoan, he announced this to the children. They beamed their approval.

The instructor then revealed to me the reason for his and their joy. He said, “When we learned that a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was to visit us here in Samoa, so far away from Church headquarters, I told the children if they would earnestly and sincerely pray and exert faith like the Bible accounts of old, that the Apostle would visit our tiny village at Sauniatu and through their faith he would be impressed to greet each child with a personal handclasp.”

Tears could not be restrained as the precious boys and girls walked shyly by and whispered softly to us the sweet Samoan greeting “talofa lava.” A profound expression of faith had been evidenced.

The spring of 1898 was not a happy one for Sonora Louise Smart. Her mother died in March, leaving her and five younger brothers motherless. Sonora must have wondered how they would manage with no mother to look after them, but she had no need to worry.

Billy Smart, her father, believed that fatherhood was a lifelong responsibility, and he didn’t take that responsibility lightly. After his wife’s funeral, Billy quickly assumed the duties of both father and mother to his six children. Sonora in later years described him as a “good home person” and a “Golden Rule type of father.” Billy Smart was a strict man, but he was also a loving father, who kept his children happy and together.

Sonora loved her father and recognized and admired his sacrifices to raise her and her brothers by himself. Her love and appreciation for her father inspired a tribute to him that eventually became a national holiday to honor all fathers.

Eleven years after her mother’s death, Sonora (now married to John Bruce Dodd) sat in church listening to a Mother’s Day message. It was a wonderful talk about the role of mothers, but she noticed that the word father was never mentioned. When Sonora thought of the sacrifices that her father had made, she felt that it was only fair that fathers be recognized in a like manner. After the meeting she approached the speaker and asked, “Don’t you think that fathers should have a special day of recognition too?” With that question, Sonora Dodd began gaining support for her Father’s Day idea.

The following year Sonora, supported by local church leaders, submitted a petition to the Spokane City Council. As a result, the mayor declared that the third Sunday in June would be observed as Father’s Day. Following Spokane’s lead, the governor of Washington made it a state holiday, and June 19, 1910, it became the first official Father’s Day in history.

Even though a day to recognize fathers had been declared, Sonora Dodd did not feel that her work was done. That first Father’s Day she and her infant son, Jack, traveled by carriage to deliver gifts to shut-in fathers in Spokane.

Mrs. Dodd next sought support from national politicians for recognition of Father’s Day. She wanted a designated day when people across the nation would be reminded of a father’s proper role in the training of children, in the safeguarding of the marriage tie, and in the protection of womanhood and childhood. And while her efforts to honor fathers were successful and Father’s Day was celebrated in many areas in the United States, it wasn’t until 1972 that the holiday was established by a congressional resolution.

Sonora Dodd devoted her life to honoring fathers, and her strong feelings about fatherhood were passed to her son, Jack. In 1952 one of Sonora Dodd’s proudest moments came when Jack was named “Father of the Year.” Nineteen years later, an even prouder moment came. Sonora Louise Dodd, the woman known as “the mother of Father’s Day,” became the first and only woman ever to be named “Father of the Year!”

In 1978 Sonora died just a few weeks before the sixty-ninth Father’s Day. This June 15, on the seventy-sixth anniversary of Father’s Day, her name will seldom be mentioned in connection with the day. But that’s the way she wanted it. She never wanted acclaim for her contribution toward the establishment of Father’s Day. As she often said, “Father’s Day is to glorify fatherhood and not to glorify me.”

It’s the middle of the night. My eyes snap open as my restless sleep is cut short. “Oh no,” I pray. “Not again.”

But the tremors begin almost immediately. In a terrifying burst of trembling that’s as baffling and foreign as it is debilitating, my entire body begins to jerk up and down as if in a seizure. My hands and feet burn with heat from an unseen source. My wife jerks awake and holds me tightly, reassuring me with her quiet presence.

Happiness, what I had once considered my default state of being, is nowhere in sight.

If I had one question that dark night—other than to wonder what was going on physically (which I later learned)—it would have been to ask why I was feeling so unhappy when I was striving to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When it comes to medical conditions like depression and anxiety, happiness becomes a more complex creature. The late-night tremors I mentioned earlier turned out to be symptoms of anxiety brought on by clinical depression.

In my life, when I’ve been in the full throes of darkness and uncertainty that is clinical depression, I could no more “choose to feel happy” than choose my height or eye color.

What I can always choose, however, is to fight back against the darkness. I can reach up to God. I can use all the tools at my disposal, from faith and prayer to modern medicine.

For me, emerging successfully from depressive episodes over the years always involves a multifaceted approach. I must look to my physical health (exercise, nutrition, sleep), my medical health (medication, vitamins, consultations with doctors), my emotional health (counseling, connecting with others), and my spiritual health (prayer, scripture study, serving in the Church, time in the temple) in balanced measures.

Despite some of the painful lows I’ve experienced over the years from depression, I am blessed to experience happiness and positivity most of the time! I feel deeply for those of you more strongly and more persistently affected by mental illness than I, but even for you, I fully believe that the Prince of Peace will heal all your sorrows (see John 14:27).

Depression tells many lies when it comes to happiness. It asserts that things won’t ever improve. One potent antidote to this particular lie—for me, at least—is found in my favorite hymn, “Be Still, My Soul.”

Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.22

Beautiful truths, aren’t they? As I look back over my life, I have no doubt that God has blessed, strengthened, and guided me all along the way. Thus, I know He will be there for me in the future, just as I know God will guide you along your path to happier days.

Sister Nichole Franklyn, Relief Society president in the Kingstown Branch, recalls, “We started a kitchen garden. We were happy, but it took a lot of work. We prayed each night over the crops, and Heavenly Father heard our prayers and blessed them.” Their simple garden has grown and is producing.
Not all the produce in their garden is ready to harvest, but they are reaping cucumbers and sweet peppers. They were worried that the ash fall would ruin their garden as it has much of the agriculture on the island. “Many crops have been completely wiped out, but God has spared ours. We were able to reap cucumbers. Right now, we can sell our cucumbers for five dollars per pound, but we opted to share with three shelters,” Sister Franklyn said.
Sister Franklyn is grateful for the blessings that her garden has brought to her family and to those in the shelters. “The Lord watches out for His children and provides when we are able to follow His teachings through our leaders,” she said. “It really feels good to give rather than to receive at this time.”

I came across a Personal Progress goal that motivated me to get started on my family tree. Whenever I went to my grandparents’ for lunch, they told me stories from their lives and from those of my other relatives. I began going to the family history center and gathering information about my family.
I remember when I found information about my great-great-grandmother. While pregnant, she came to Argentina on a ship. During the voyage, she buried her son at sea. She was just a story until I found her name in a record. I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.
I continue to discover hidden treasures thanks to FamilySearch. I love what President Thomas S. Monson said: “I testify that when we do all we can to accomplish the work that is before us, the Lord will make available to us the sacred key needed to unlock the treasure which we so much seek.”1 Through our efforts, we will discover the keys to our eternal treasure, and one day we will be able to meet our ancestors in person.

I have seen the law of the harvest fulfilled in my own family.
Some years ago I was visiting family, when the bishop asked me to conclude the sacrament service. As I was coming down from the stand, a woman approached me with her seven children and introduced herself as Sister Rebecca Guzman.
She asked, “Elder Rasband, do you know Rulon and Verda Rasband?”
I beamed and replied, “They are my parents.”
You can see where this is going. With Rebecca’s permission, who is here with family in the Conference Center, I share her family’s story.
My parents, Elder Rulon and Sister Verda Rasband, were serving as a senior couple in the Florida Fort Lauderdale Mission. They were proselyting and by divine guidance knocked on the door of Rebecca’s home. She was just a teenager and loved listening to the music of the Osmonds, in particular our friend Donny—who is here with us today. She had listened to their media interviews and learned they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She felt there was something different about them, and thinking it might be their religion, Rebecca spent two years researching the Church’s beliefs in the school library. So, when a kindly-looking couple knocked on her family’s door and introduced themselves as Latter-day Saint missionaries, she was taken back.
“My mother told me to get rid of them,” Rebecca later wrote, “but my heart said, ‘No.’ I looked into their faces, and I felt so much warmth and love. The memory still brings tears to my eyes and deep emotion to my heart.”
Rebecca invited them in, and my missionary parents shared a message with her, her two younger sisters, and, despite her objections, her mother.
Rebecca described to me: “Both your parents were wonderful in explaining any questions we had. I can still see their faces as if there was light surrounding them. We always hugged your mother when she left, and she always made a point of helping my mother feel comfortable and respected. Your father always had a sparkle in his eyes as he was teaching us about Jesus Christ. He tried to include my father in discussions and eventually won him over. My father was a chef at a local country club and started cooking dinners for your parents, including making your father’s favorite, key lime pie.”
When Elder and Sister Rasband asked Rebecca and her family to read the Book of Mormon, Rebecca did so in five days. She wanted to be baptized immediately, but the other members of her family were not ready. After four months, Rebecca insisted she be baptized and join the true Church. She recalled, “Every fiber of my soul knew it was true.” On April 5, 1979, missionaries baptized 19-year-old Rebecca, her mother, and two sisters. My father was a witness at the baptism.
When I met Rebecca and her family at church, we took a photograph of her family with me. I took it home to my elderly mother, and she held it close to her heart. Then she said to me, “Ronnie, this is one of the happiest days of my life.”

“I was fortunate when I was a boy to have an outstanding Sunday School teacher. When she talked about the apostle Paul, we could almost hear him preaching. She made every character in the scriptures come alive. She was an unusually kind woman and let us boys know that she expected us to be gentlemen.

“In our class we had collected some money to use for a big party. One Sunday morning our teacher came to class and told us that one of our classmates would be absent—his mother had passed away. We were all very unhappy. The subject of the lesson that morning was that it is better to give than to receive. After she had presented the lesson, she talked about the hard times ahead for the absent boy’s family. ‘How would you students like to follow the Lord’s teachings?” she asked. ‘How would you feel about taking our party fund and giving it to this boy’s family as an expression of love?”

“The decision was unanimous. I remember that I was the treasurer of the class, and the teacher said to the boy’s father, ‘Brother Devenport, the class would like to make an expression of their feelings.’ Then she called on me to make an expression, and afterward I handed our party fund to him. I think that was one of the first times I saw a grown man weep. This simple act of kindness welded our class together. We learned through our own experience that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive.

Some people have dogs to love—big ones, silky ones, spotted ones. Some people have cats to love—big ones, furry ones, stripy ones.
Some people have goldfish to love. Some people have canaries. Some people have brothers, or sisters. I didn’t have anybody—no dog, no cat, no goldfish, no canary, no sister, no brother. It was terrible.
Everybody needs somebody—somebody to hide with in the dark when everything’s creepy, somebody whose nose turns red with yours when it’s cold, somebody to slosh through the rain with. It’s pretty lonely without anybody.
“Hello, Jimmy,” I said to myself every morning. “Good night, Jimmy,” I said to myself every night. Nobody ever answered me.
When my teeth chattered and I said, “Brrrr!” nobody ever said, “I’m c-c-cold t-too!”
When I watched a scary show on television and I grew goose bumps, nobody else grew goose bumps with me. Nobody else shivered. Nobody else said, “I—I’m SCARED!”
Then Mommy talked to me one night. She told me I was going to have a baby brother or sister. “Next month,” she said.
“Whoopee!” I said. “That’s what I want.”
I waited a month, a whole month more. Then my baby brother came. He was a little red thing all wrapped up in blue blankets. “Hi,” I said.
He didn’t answer. He screwed up his eyes. He made his fists into little balls.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Waaaa!” he answered. “Waaaa!”
I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t even hear me. I didn’t even hear me.
I made a face at him to make him laugh. He didn’t laugh. He turned purple and cried—again. “Waaaa! WAAAA!”
I didn’t laugh either. He made so much noise that I couldn’t even think.
He smelled funny too.
He couldn’t blow bubble gum. He couldn’t eat ice cream. He didn’t even have much hair, just some fuzz. He couldn’t walk or run or talk.
“Good night,” I whispered to him. He was already asleep.
That night I heard him. It was dark.
“Waaaa!” he yelled. “Aa-aah!”
“Waaaa,” I said. “Waaaa. Waaaa. Waaaa.” Nobody paid any attention. Nobody laughed either.
So I still didn’t have anybody to play with. When I laughed because the grass tickled my elbows, nobody laughed beside me. When I jumped into bed and the springs plunked, nobody plunked beside me.
But after a while …
When I leaned over the crib to tickle my brother’s toes, he smiled at me.
When I helped Mommy hold his bottle, he wrapped his fingers around my finger. I couldn’t get away. I didn’t even try.
When I walked my fingers over his stomach, he kicked his feet because it tickled.
When I blew at the funny, fuzzy hair on top of his head, he waved his hands. He laughed. I laughed too.
And when he cried, Mommy sat him on my knee.
“Waaaa!” he said. “Waaaa!”
Mommy wrapped my arms around him. His tummy felt warm and round. “Don’t cry,” I said. “Please don’t cry.” I joggled him. He couldn’t joggle back. He stopped crying, though, and leaned against me. He pinched the skin on the back of my hands with his fingers. He kicked his heels on my legs.
“Hold him tight,” Mommy said.
I did. I held my baby brother tight. And I wasn’t lonely anymore.

The missionaries taught me the gospel when I was 10. When I asked my dad if I could be baptized, I was so sad when he said no. I prayed and had faith in the Lord. I asked my dad a couple more times. One night I asked, and he said yes. I was so excited! That night I prayed to Heavenly Father and said thank you. On Sunday I got baptized. So have faith and pray to the Lord.
Quirino S., age 11, Utah, USA

Your feet are throbbing, your back hurts a little, and you have been walking for hours. Although this may describe the way you feel after a long hike at camp, it could also describe the way you feel after shopping for a modest dress.
Finding a cute dress that is not too short, too tight, or too revealing that you can wear to a school dance, a music recital, or church is a difficult task. The lack of modest formal and informal dresses is a problem—a problem the young women of the Red Bridge Ward, Olathe Kansas Stake, decided to do something about.
It all began in December 2000 when Young Women President Cynthia Cockriel and her daughter Amanda went shopping for modest clothing. The trip was typical; they found a lot of dresses on the racks but few that were modest. Frustrated with the situation, Sister Cockriel expressed her concerns to a manager of a local department store. To her surprise, the manager listened with interest and even offered to meet with Sister Cockriel and her young women if they put together a presentation with sketches, fabric swatches, and other descriptions of what they would like to see in the store.
With the leadership of Sister Cockriel and others, the young women of the Red Bridge Ward went to work. The girls were excited to help, and they worked very hard for more than four months. The final product was not just a few sketches and fabric swatches. Instead, the girls and their leaders created a sample company, complete with name, logo, and vendor book.
The company’s name is Evaluate, with the emphasis placed on the “valu” part of the word. “When it comes to deciding what to wear, every young woman must evaluate her life, her values, and her style,” says Laurel Alisa Christensen.
As Laurel president, Liz Christensen acted as CEO of Evaluate. The rest of the Laurels were given jobs such as fashion coordinator, journalist, photographer, and so on. The Laurels then shared the work of their assignments with the Beehives and Mia Maids.
The young women and their leaders realized an increase of modest dresses is not something a store can do without the help of designers. Department stores can only sell what the designers create. The young women in Kansas also know it is not easy to design a modest dress because they each tried to design a dress in keeping with the dress standards of BYU and other Church-affiliated schools. Heidi Jarvis, a Laurel in the Red Bridge Ward, commented, “We now have an appreciation for dress designers. It is a difficult task to make a modest dress exciting and even dazzling.”
Although designing such a dress is difficult, the Red Bridge Young Women think that Ashley Braithwaite of Allen, Texas, did just that. When Ashley heard about Evaluate’s project she sent the girls some dress designs that became an important part of their presentation. They depicted the type of dresses the young women are looking for.
Ashley was not the only young woman outside of the Red Bridge Ward to add to the Evaluate project. Hundreds of other girls voiced their support through e-mails, letters, and phone calls. Response to Evaluate’s letter-writing campaign came from all over. Adrienne from Brazil responded, “Not every item needs to be skimpy or revealing. It is possible to be modest and stylish at the same time.” Others responded from Australia, Africa, Austria, and throughout the United States.
When the day of the presentation finally arrived, the young women were able to confidently present their opinions to one of the largest upscale department stores in their area. The girls gathered their sample dresses, posters, vendor books, dress designs, and letters. With more than four months of hard work behind them, they put on their biggest smiles and told the retail world that modesty should not be overlooked.
The presentation went even better than most of the girls thought it would. The buyer and the managers listened attentively to Evaluate’s message: “Modesty is not a trend. Modesty is a style.” The girls also presented their objective of letting the store know about the market it is missing by not selling more modest clothing.
In the presentation Liz Christensen explained, “There is a strong customer base you currently miss at your store. It may not be a majority, but we hope to have shown you that it is big enough to make a difference in your business.”
The presentation went so well that the influence of these 17 girls and their leaders extended beyond the store’s conference room. The young women were interviewed by The Kansas City Star, and featured in The Wall Street Journal. The British Broadcasting Corporation also interviewed Alisa and Liz.
So where does it go from here? Now that the presentation is over, the girls and their leaders are not about to abandon the project, not when they are beginning to see the fruits of their labor. Because of the young women’s presentation, their local store’s managers are increasing the number of modest dresses on the racks. Different stores within the chain, such as one in Seattle, have also expressed interest in Evaluate. The young women now plan to contact designers to encourage more modest dresses everywhere.
Thanks to the Red Bridge Young Women, next time you go shopping for a modest dress it may be a little easier to find one. You may not even have to hike for hours through the mall with sore feet and an aching back. Instead, with enough support from people around the world, these girls may help us save all the hiking for camp.

September 2
Dearest Sarah,
We sold some tomatoes this week, and I got $13.00. They’re easier to pick than beans, and I like the way the vines smell. I also like to stop every now and then and eat one—all juicy and warm from the sun. I wish I could send you one in the mail.
I hope that you’ll understand this part. I was in a store last week, looking for notebooks and pencils for school, when I saw this little sweatshirt just Lindsay’s size with a penguin on it. She needs school clothes. I knew it would remind her of you; she still adores the penguin you sent her. It was $9.99, and so I bought it for her. Lindsay was thrilled. She put it on and wouldn’t take it off, even for bed. But after tithing and the notebooks … well, I hope you understand.
School starts Monday.
Love,Angela the Spendthrift
P.S. I promised the Claybourne kids some pumpkins for Halloween and a watermelon.

In 1959, I received that invitation. I did not even know of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a dance, I met a young lady who was raised in the gospel. I was attracted to her. She said to me, “You know, I could never consider marrying you unless it were in the temple.” I responded to that invitation and was taught the gospel. She is now my eternal companion. I will ever be grateful that was the invitation she extended to me, for it has transformed my life.

When I turned 18, I wanted to serve a full-time mission and help in the Lord’s work. I eagerly told my parents about my plan and how I wanted to invite people to come unto Jesus Christ by helping them receive and live the principles and ordinances of the gospel. Their response surprised me. They said it broke their hearts to think of me leaving on a mission, and I had to choose: my family or my mission.
I was shocked when I heard those words. Immediately I went to the Church building near our home and entered one of its rooms to kneel and ask Heavenly Father, “What will I do? What will I choose: my family or my mission? Both are important to me.”
While on my knees, the words of the missionaries came to mind: “Whatever God commands, do it.”
I love my family and want to be with them forever. I respect their feelings. Yet the scripture says, “To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22). The Spirit of the Lord filled me, and I was strengthened. I decided to serve because I knew Heavenly Father would help my family understand.
I went home only to be sent away by my father’s angry words and told to never return. Not knowing where to go, I packed my things. I was not a bit scared, because I knew the Lord was with me, that He has a plan for every family, and that someday my family would understand this beautiful plan.
I was only a few steps away from home when my mother caught me. She embraced me and said how much she loved me. As I left, I could see her crying with all the love and pain of a mother seeing her child go.
For over a year, I stayed in the house of a returned missionary I had met when I was an investigator. The Lord was true to His promise in 1 Nephi 3:7—He provided the way so I could obey His commandments. He sent this selfless and generous man to provide for me and to create a spiritual environment where I could prepare for my mission. I felt the hand of God sustaining me through my challenges. I felt the love of our Savior Jesus Christ through His atoning sacrifice. This love carried me through my trials until I was set apart as a full-time missionary in the Philippines Cauayan Mission.
A few months later, I received a letter from my family telling me they were waiting for my return. I never lost faith and hope that my whole family would become members of the Church, be sealed in the temple for all eternity, and be with our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, someday.

Clink! Clink! The coins jingled as eight-year-old Angela dropped them into her strawberry-colored tin box. “Three-eighty, three-ninety, four dollars, four dollars and ten cents,” she counted softly to herself, pinching the last dime between her thumb and finger and dropping it thoughtfully into the container. “Just one more week,” she added, replacing the lid of the tin. “With next week’s allowance, I’ll have enough.”
She glanced wistfully at the white dresser top—clean, dusted, and waiting. Since her neighbor Jeff had shown her his goldfish, she couldn’t wait to have her own. She needed just two more dollars—the amount of her allowance—for a glass bowl, a nice fat fish, and a supply of food.
Three times she’d visited the pet store on Market Avenue, pedaling her bicycle home faster each time out of sheer excitement. Mr. Henry, the shop owner, now knew her by name. “Hello, Angela,” he had called from behind the puppy cages the last time she went in. “We have a new shipment of fish this morning. Take a look.”
All week, Angela faithfully sped through her chores. The bathroom sink had never gleamed so brightly. Doc, the family’s lively puppy, awoke each day to a clean dish with a small heap of dog food and fresh water. Angela’s daisy-spotted comforter was pulled neatly into place without a wrinkle every morning. The whole family marveled at how quickly and well she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. By the end of the week, there was no question that Angela deserved her two dollars.
Clutching the crinkled bills in one hand, she raced to her room, grabbed the red tin from her closet shelf, and dumped the money into a mound in the middle of her bed. She added the allowance money to the pile and counted quickly. Six dollars and ten cents—barely enough, but enough! She could go straight to the pet store!
“Oh-oh! Wait a minute,” Angela whispered, picking up the last two dollars. She flung herself backward onto the soft yellow covers, moaning, “I forgot about tithing!”
She sat up again and studied the empty dresser top. Maybe I should use my tithing money and get the fish, anyway, she thought. I could pay it back next week.
The idea appealed to her. As she dropped the money into the empty tin and started to get up, she noticed a small gray envelope lying unsealed on the nightstand. She’d planned to add this week’s tithing to the envelope and turn it in on Sunday. With the tithing envelope in one hand and the bright tin box in the other, she pondered her choices. Her ponytail swayed back and forth as she studied first one, then the other. Finally she whispered, “Tithing shouldn’t wait.”
With a tug, Angela opened the money tin again, picked out two dimes, and tucked them into the envelope. Sighing with both relief and disappointment, she finished filling out the tithing slip, slid it under the money in the envelope, licked the flap, and sealed it.
On Sunday, she gave the gray envelope to her bishop.
Although she was still sad on Monday morning, her chores seemed easier somehow and took less time than usual. The week passed swiftly. When she received her allowance, there was no need to count the money in the tin box after taking out her tithing. There was more than enough.
Saturday morning, Angela stood outside the door of the pet shop at 9:55 A.M. while her mother waited in the car. When Mr. Henry turned the “closed” sign around and peered out the window, he waved at her and hurried to the front door. She wriggled with excitement as she heard his keys jingling.
“Well, Angela,” he greeted her, “I thought you’d be here last week.”
Angela smiled. “I had to wait.”
“You’ll be happy that you did,” Mr. Henry said. “We’re running a special on goldfish this week. Two for the price of one.”
With a jubilant smile, Angela followed him into the store.
Riding home, Angela clutched her glass bowl, the plastic bag holding two fish, and the box of fish food. She still had almost two dollars in her pocket. “You know what, Mom?” she said. “Bowls can wait and fish can wait, but tithing should never wait.”

Dillon has a terrible problem: his greatest talent is also his greatest fear. “I love to sing,” the 16-year-old Tongan says, “but not in front of people. I get too scared.”
Imagine his mixed feelings when the Church in Tonga announced auditions for vocalists to record a Tongan version of the Old Testament seminary soundtrack. He was both excited and scared to death.
Three songs on the soundtrack require a male vocalist. After Dillon had sung the song for which he was auditioning, the producer surprised him by asking him to sing another of the songs on the soundtrack. As nervous as he was, he did it, and the producer said, “We found our boy.”
Much to his excitement—and dismay—Dillon was offered the opportunity to record all three songs.
As Dillon worked with the sound crew to record the songs, he struggled with one note. “I couldn’t hit it,” he says. “We rehearsed for hours.”
Finally, exhausted and discouraged, he went home that night, knowing that the next morning he’d have to record the song.
“I went straight to my room and prayed to my Heavenly Father to help me,” he says.
All he could think about was how important the soundtrack would be to the 50,000 members of the Church in Tonga, as well as thousands of others who speak Tongan around the world.
“It was one of the longest nights of my life,” he says.
After a long night of prayer and a little bit of sleep, Dillon walked into the recording studio and hit the note.
“Hallelujah,” he remembers saying. “I was happy.”
One of Dillon’s favorite scriptures is Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”
Dillon put that promise to the test, and he learned it was true. “I tried my best. I put my best effort and heart into the songs so the listeners will be able to feel the Spirit.”
As Dillon grows out of his fear and into his talents, he recognizes he has received a lot of help—not only from his family but from his Heavenly Father.
“I know,” he says, “that God answered my prayers.”

I remember very clearly an experience I had when I was about twelve years old. It was a Saturday, and my father and I were at the meetinghouse, preparing the building for meetings the next day. All of a sudden, my father stopped. “I feel that we need to go home,” he said. So we locked up the building and left.
At home, Dad took a shower and put on his suit. Almost immediately the phone rang. My mother, who had left earlier in the day to attend a Primary leadership meeting, had been in a terrible car accident. She and the other sisters in the car had been taken to the hospital. The doctors didn’t expect my mother to live.
My father left immediately for the hospital. I had a paper route and left to deliver my papers. I didn’t understand exactly what had happened, but I knew that my mother was hurt very seriously. During my route, I stopped and knelt in a secluded area. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father, asking Him to bless and help my mother. I felt a strong assurance that she would be all right.
After I finished my paper route, I stopped to visit my younger sister, who was baby-sitting. We knelt together and prayed for my mother. Afterward, we felt a deep sense of peace.
In the months that followed, we relied heavily on those feelings we had received as we prayed. My mother had sustained very serious brain damage, and she was in a coma for weeks. Even after she returned home, she was never the same. Her physical and mental health was fragile, and her memory had been affected. But she had a profound faith and a deep love for us, her children.
That experience strengthened my testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers. When I knelt to pray for my mother that first time, I hadn’t known just how badly she had been hurt. In fact, I prayed that her arm would not be broken. But Heavenly Father understood.

Illustration by Emily Davis
Rachel waved goodbye to Mom and walked into the school courtyard. Her heart started to pound.
Only two weeks ago, Rachel’s family had moved from Wisconsin to Valencia, Spain. Rachel had been excited. She loved meeting new people and knew she would make friends.
But now she wasn’t so sure. Rachel could only say a few things in Spanish, so she hardly understood anything the kids said to her.
“Rachel!” one boy called, running toward her. Rachel’s heart sank. “What is your name?” he asked in choppy English. Some other boys and girls joined him, giggling.
Every day the kids asked Rachel the same simple question in English. It didn’t matter that they already knew her name. They just wanted to make her try to talk in Spanish. No matter what she said, they all laughed. Then they’d run off, leaving her alone.
“What is your name?” another girl repeated.
Rachel felt her face get hot. She pushed her way through the crowd and ran to her classroom.
When the day ended, she hurried to meet Mom. Rachel felt tears stinging her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked as they began walking home.
“I don’t like school,” Rachel blurted out. “Everyone stares at me. I can’t understand what they say. I’ll never make friends.”
“Making new friends can be hard—and it can take a while,” Mom agreed. “But do you remember the blessing your dad gave you before we moved?”
Rachel thought for a minute. “He said living in Spain would be good for our whole family—especially me. And he said I would make good friends here.” She thought of how Dad’s words had given her a calm, peaceful feeling. “But how can I make friends?”
“What do you think you could do?” Mom asked.
“I can pray for help,” Rachel said.
“That’s a great idea,” Mom agreed. “I know Heavenly Father will help you, but you have to do your part too. Maybe we could work harder at speaking Spanish at home so you can learn faster.”
Rachel sighed. After a day of trying to understand everyone at school, she just wanted to come home and speak English. But she knew if she wanted Heavenly Father’s help, she would have to try her hardest too.
The next week Rachel prayed every night to make friends. And she spoke Spanish as much as possible. She even prayed in Spanish, with Dad’s help.
Soon Rachel began to notice small changes. She could understand some of her teacher’s instructions. She could pick out more words when her classmates spoke.
Then one day at recess, Rachel felt a tap on her arm.
“Hola, Rachel,” said Patricia, a girl from her class. Three other girls stood with her. Rachel cringed. Were they going to laugh at her?
“Would you like to play tag with us?” Patricia asked in Spanish.
Rachel was surprised at how easily she understood her. She waited, but nobody laughed. They seemed to mean it.
“Sí, I’d love to,” Rachel said in Spanish, a smile spreading across her face. “Gracias, Heavenly Father,” she said in her heart. She had done her part, and Heavenly Father had helped her.

Michael J. Williams of the Reading Pennsylvania Ward delivers more than newspapers every morning. Recently, he delivered a life.
One day, while running his normal paper route, Michael noticed an older woman hadn’t retrieved her paper the day before. He knocked on her door to see if she was all right, and when there was no response, he called the police. They found the woman had fallen down her stairs, had a concussion, and had been lying there all day. “If the boy hadn’t said something, I don’t think she would be alive today,” said a neighbor.
Michael is also willing to go the extra mile in early-morning seminary, where he works diligently on scripture-mastery memorization. He is a fine example of a young man who sincerely tries to do his best.

Susan Wolf, now of the Vashon Branch, Seattle Washington Stake, remembers when she received inspiration for a special family home evening. “We had just moved, and I was expecting a new baby,” says Sister Wolf. “With two preschoolers, I wanted to find a family home evening on the topic of preparing children for a new sibling. Nothing I read seemed quite right. So I prayed. My great desire was for our children to realize that having more children in our family did not equate to less love for them. And I wanted to emphasize that Jesus Christ is the source of all love. As I got up from my knees, an idea occurred to me.
“That Monday evening after singing and having an opening prayer, I handed each child a paper cup. I poured water into each cup and asked, ‘What happens if I run out of water?’ My son answered, ‘You go to the sink and fill up the pitcher, Mommy.’
“I explained, ‘We are going to have a new baby, and Mommy will be much busier. I won’t have as much time to play with you. But Mommy won’t run out of love for you. Do you know why?’
“This time my son and his three-year-old sister looked thoughtful but didn’t have an answer. I said, ‘I’ll just pray to Heavenly Father, and Jesus will fill up my heart with more love. So everyone in the family will have all the love they need.’ My children broke into happy smiles, as did my husband. The feelings in our hearts confirmed the presence of the Holy Ghost bearing testimony of the truth that God is love.
“My daughter, now 23, recently repeated word for word this family home evening lesson of years ago. That was a testimony to me that even a very small child can be spiritually taught when love is the subject and Jesus Christ is the source.”

A Journey of Hope and Healing
A husband and wife share how pornography affected them and how they are addressing it:
Peace Will Come
After years of fighting a pornography addiction, I learned that repentance isn’t an event but a process. Looking back, I see God’s hand in my life, leading me along. The faith, prayers, and support of my wife and family helped me more than they will ever know. With God’s help, I hope to become the husband and father they have always deserved.
Through my struggles, Heavenly Father was preparing me and my family to receive greater joy and healing. I learned that the Savior alone is the source of strength and refuge that will provide healing and recovery. It was only when I turned to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ with full purpose of heart that I was strengthened to overcome my addiction. It’s a daily exercise to put on the full armor of God and to fill my life with things that invite the Holy Ghost, but doing so has brought me peace and joy.