Gospel Story Finder

Even if you’re nearing graduation and feel sure about the answers to those questions, it may be wise to think again. I say that from personal experience. As a senior in high school, I knew exactly the path I would take through college. My goal was to attend the Harvard Business School, just like my father. In answer to my questions about what that would require, he had informed me that the Harvard Business School admissions officers appreciate students with degrees in fields other than business, particularly science and engineering majors. That sounded good to me, because I love geology. For that I am indebted to Ricks College professors who taught me to appreciate the mountains and unique geologic features around Rexburg.

With this clear graduate school goal in mind, I declared geology as my major when I filled out my college application. Everything went according to plan. I enjoyed the geology classes and made rapid progress toward graduation. I also got a summer internship with a large oil company exploring the possibilities of geothermal energy. But I never went on any field trip that wasn’t required for a class, nor did I attempt to get to know my professors outside of the classroom. My grades were good, and I felt confident that the admissions officers at Harvard would be sufficiently impressed with me, notwithstanding my lack of practical experience or enthusiastically supportive faculty mentors.

In fact, I felt so confident that I didn’t apply to any other graduate school. I was thus completely unprepared to receive a “thin letter” from Harvard. For your future reference, acceptance letters often include not only the good news of application success, but also information and enticements designed to win your quick acceptance of the admission offer. These “thick letters” are fat and heavy. By contrast, a statement of rejection is relatively brief, making for a very thin letter. My Harvard thin letter, which weighed less than one ounce, crushed me, as it brought an end to a lifetime of dreaming.

In fairness, my thin letter encouraged me to reapply after gaining at least two years of full-time work experience, as nearly all successful Harvard Business School applicants do. But my devastation wasn’t just a matter of wanting to be admitted quickly. I seriously doubted my ability to get meaningful work experience. The price of oil had fallen by half during my time in college, on its way to falling by half again in the next two years. [2]

In other circumstances, I might have had the patience and optimism to take the Harvard counsel to get work experience and reapply. But experienced, graduate degree-holding professional geologists were being laid off in droves. The woeful joke at the time was that the best natural resource department in Denver, a leading energy hub, was also the shoe department at Sears, the Walmart of that time. Jobs in geology, especially for bachelor’s degree holders, were all but impossible to find.

Now, you may be wondering two things. One is how I could have been so foolish and unlucky in my educational plans. The other is why I am telling you this frightening story. The answer to the first question, about my foolishness and apparent bad luck, is that I can now look back and see that heaven was blessing me in spite of my vain ambitions and overconfidence. We’ll talk more about that later.

For now, let’s focus on the things you can learn from my scary story of bad college and career planning. In my defense, I did one important thing partly well. That thing was choosing a long-range goal to guide my choice of a college major. Rather than just picking a subject that I really liked, geology, I also picked it based on a post-graduation goal: getting into the Harvard Business School.

But I should have been looking past graduate school and on to the life’s work for which my degree would prepare me. I should have been making my best guess about what the life’s work would be. Was it to be a professor and academic administrator, like my father; a research scientist, like his father; or perhaps a real estate developer, like my maternal grandfather? Unfortunately, I wasn’t asking any of those questions.

The scriptures can also be a source of comfort in times of trial. Hazel Hunt’s husband, Bill, died shortly after he received a blessing that he would be healed if he and Hazel had faith. After his death, Hazel worried that she hadn’t had enough faith.
“Please tell me why my husband was taken,” she asked her home teacher. He turned to Doctrine and Covenants 42:48: “He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed.”
“There was the answer to my question,” Hazel says. “I could accept Bill’s appointed time to return to his Heavenly Father.”

Tony Williams, 13, is the only LDS student in his junior high school, so he took advantage of the situation. During the school’s social science fair he set up a display telling the residents of Kennett, Missouri, about the Church, and he walked away with first prize.
Tony’s display included three panels. One part told of the apostasy and restoration while another explained the Church’s First Presidency, Council of the Twelve, Articles of Faith, and the standard works. Details of the pioneer trek from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City was on another panel.
After winning first place in his school’s fair, Tony’s display won third place in the district social science fair held at Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
Active in the Hayti Ward (Memphis, Tennessee), Tony serves on the bishop’s youth committee and is president of his deacons quorum.

Joseph Sr. preceded Lucy and the children to Palmyra. By the time the family was reunited, their ready money had been reduced to a few cents. But that arrival showed two important traits of the family. First was their unconcealed joy at being reunited. Lucy wrote that she felt joy “in throwing myself and my children upon the care and affection of a tender husband and father” and witnessing the children “surround their father, clinging to his neck and covering his face with tears and kisses that were heartily reciprocated by him.” And second was a united approach to solving their problems. Lucy said, “We all now sat down and maturely counseled together as to what course it was best to take [and] how we should proceed to business.” Joseph Sr., Alvin, and Hyrum worked to pay for land. To maintain home and to replenish provisions, Lucy, aided by Sophronia and the younger children, took care of household chores and sold Lucy’s oilcloth art. They also made baked goods and root beer, which young Joseph sold in the village from a homemade handcart.
The family’s united effort greatly improved their material circumstances. Two years after arriving in Palmyra as “strangers, destitute of friends, home, or employment,” Lucy wrote, “we were able to settle ourselves upon our own land [in] a snug, comfortable, though humble habitation, built and neatly furnished by our own industry.”

Time for lunch! We’ll start practice again in 30 minutes.
Hey, look at this!
We shouldn’t be looking at that kind of stuff.
You’re such a baby.
Later that night …
Hey, buddy. We wanted to talk about what happened at soccer camp.
One of the boys’ mom called and said some boys were looking at pictures of people without clothes on.
Yeah. I tried not to look.
We know. The mom said you walked away.
How did you know to leave?
We’ve talked about how those pictures were bad. And I felt bad when I saw them.
That was the Holy Ghost telling you it was wrong.
We’re proud of you.
You can always come talk to us when something like this happens, OK?
OK. Thanks for talking with me.
This story took place in the USA.

As I think back to the events in my life leading to a cold morning in New York City in February 1910, I am convinced that God had been mindful of my existence. That morning the caretaker of the Italian chapel delivered a note to me from the pastor. He was ill in bed and wished me to come to his house, as he had important matters to discuss regarding the affairs of the parish.
As I walked down a street near the harbor, the strong wind from the sea moved the pages of a book lying on a barrel full of ashes. The appearance of the pages and the binding made me think that it was a religious book. Curiosity pushed me to approach it. I picked it up and beat it against the barrel to knock off the ashes. It was printed in the English language, but when I looked to the title page, I found it was torn away.
The force of the wind turned the pages, and I hastily read Alma, Mosiah, Mormon, Moroni, Isaiah, Lamanites—except for Isaiah, all were names I had never before heard. I wrapped the book in a newspaper I had bought nearby and continued my walk toward the pastor’s house.
After a few words of comfort there, I decided what I should do for him. On the way home, I wondered who the people with the strange names might be. And who was this Isaiah? Was he the one in the Bible, or some other Isaiah?
At home, I seated myself before the window, anxious to know what was printed in the book. As I turned the torn pages and read the words of Isaiah, I was convinced that it was a religious book that talked of things to come. But I did not know the name of the church that taught such doctrine, because the cover and title page had been ripped off. The declaration of the witnesses gave me confidence that it was a true book.
I then bought some cleaning fluid and some cotton at the neighborhood drugstore and began cleaning the pages. For several hours I read the remainder of the pages, which gave me light and knowledge and made me wonder about the source from which this fresh revelation had come. I read and reread, twice and twice again, and I felt that the book was a fifth gospel of the Redeemer.
At the end of the day, I locked the door of my room, knelt with the book in my hands, and read chapter ten of the book of Moroni. I prayed to God, the Eternal Father, in the name of his son, Jesus Christ, to tell me if the book were of God, if it were good and true, and if I should use its words with the words of the four gospels in my preaching.
I felt my body become cold as the wind from the sea. Then my heart began to beat faster, and a feeling of gladness, as of finding something precious and extraordinary, comforted my soul and left me with a joy that human language cannot find words to describe. I had received the assurance that God had answered my prayer and that the book was of greatest benefit to me and to all who would listen to its words.

I begin with a story from H. David Burton, former presiding bishop of the Church.1 Like me, Bishop Burton served a mission in Australia. Through a unique set of circumstances, he had the opportunity to play golf with the legendary Arnold Palmer in an event in Melbourne near the completion of his mission. Bishop Burton expressed how nervous he was, given both the level – and legend – of his playing partner, let alone the fact that he’d not swung a golf club in the two years he’d been on his mission.
He joked that he hit his drive, then his second and third shots before arriving at Mr. Palmer’s ball for him to take his second shot. (I feel the same when I play with Brother Bliss over here – or most anyone else for that matter!) Bishop Burton described the “conversation between …. Palmer and [the] young caddie he was using for the first time. The young caddie, while handing Mr. Palmer his club, told him the distance to the flag was 165 yards, there was an unseen stream on the left, [with] … long and treacherous rough on the right. In a very kind, but firm way, Mr. Palmer reminded the young man that the only information he required was the distance to the hole. He further suggested he didn’t want to lose focus by worrying about what was on the right or left.” In my words, Arnold Palmer wanted to keep his eyes on the flag, which marked the hole, or destination, he was aiming for.

I can remember only bits and pieces of that September day in 1986. I can remember going to work, but I can’t remember going home. I can’t remember, either, the meeting I had that evening as Young Women president of the Salt Lake Sugarhouse Stake with a new ward Young Women president. But she says that I did visit her and that I left her house at about 6:30 P.M. After the meeting, I must have decided to drive my new car up Emigration Canyon east of Salt Lake City, for it was there that another driver, drunk and driving at a high speed, rammed into my car.
The accident left my memory a shattered wreck and nearly took my life. And yet, in spite of the months of pain and fear I have endured, the experience has produced something of a miracle. Because of it, I am convinced to the very center of my soul that God loves each of us and that he cares for us in ways we rarely recognize.
I suppose I must have taken that drive up Emigration Canyon to enjoy the autumn colors and spend a little free time before my next meeting with the stake Young Men/Young Women committee. Whatever the reason for my being there, it cost me dearly. As I was coming around a curve, another car swerved into my lane. We met head-on. My car was totally demolished, and I was pinned inside. When the paramedics finally pried me out of the car, they were sure I would not survive. The report sent with me to the hospital read “dead or dying.”
My spleen had been ruptured in two places, my diaphragm had been torn open, and my left lung had collapsed. I could barely breathe. I had many other severe internal injuries, and something had dug into my left leg, injuring the nerves. My left arm was cut up, my right ankle was broken, my head had severe lacerations, and my pelvis had been fractured in four places.
In the emergency room, the doctors prepared to insert a tube into my lungs to inflate them, but felt prompted not to do so. Instead, they rushed me into surgery. There they found that the internal damage was so severe that putting a tube into my lung cavity would have killed me.
The only identification I had in my purse that enabled the hospital to locate my family was my temple recommend. From it, they obtained the name of my bishop, John Pruess, and he was finally able to contact my mother.
She and my youngest brother, Cal, arrived at the hospital at about 2:00 A.M. I was out of surgery by then, and Dr. Nelson apologized for not waiting to get permission. Hospital personnel hadn’t been able to contact any of my family right away, and my damaged body had required immediate attention. When Mom discovered how badly I had been hurt, she almost went into shock.
Cal called my sister Marguerite and asked her to let the rest of the family know what had happened. She said that she started praying for me immediately. It was then that she received a strong, calm feeling and the thought, “Trust me. She is in my hands. I’m in charge, I know what’s best, and I’m all-powerful.” She wondered if that meant I would be in God’s hands in the same way our Dad was: he had died two years earlier. She began to pray again and felt rather than heard the message that I would be all right and would be getting married soon. She wondered why the Lord would tell her this, but decided it must have been the best way to comfort her.
At the time, I was not dating anyone or even thinking of getting married. I was forty-nine years old and had long since resigned myself to being single. I had struggled for many years with the fact that my patriarchal blessing had promised me marriage and yet I remained alone. I sometimes wondered if the Lord really knew I was here. There were even times when I thought that I really didn’t matter to him, since I was just an average sort of person—no one very important.
The accident changed all that. When she heard about the accident, my sister Esther wondered why the Lord hadn’t protected me, since I was an active member of the Church. Into her mind came the words, “What makes you think I didn’t?” I know that the Lord truly did protect me. He preserved my life and protected me from the kind of injuries that would have left me crippled. He protected me in the emergency room by prompting the doctors. But perhaps greatest of all, he let me glimpse the almost overwhelming power of his love.
The morning after I was admitted to the hospital, Cal and a member of my bishopric gave me a blessing. Cal had no hesitation in promising me that I would recover. He said later that he had the same feeling Marguerite had—that I would be getting married soon.
I was in intensive care for a week, hooked up to all kinds of machines that helped me breathe and that monitored my condition. Other than my stake president, my family were the only ones allowed to see me during those first few days. I was conscious but not talking. I was under such heavy medication that I have very little memory of those first two weeks. Mostly, I remember isolated times when people came to see me.
After I left intensive care, I was awake and talking. I had become very dependent and wanted one of my family with me all the time, so they set up a schedule and took turns sitting with me. I was in a lot of pain.
The first thing I became consistently conscious of was an intense awareness of love. I can’t ever remember feeling so secure. I felt very much wrapped in God’s love. The feeling was so profound that even to this day I can’t adequately describe it. I was also very much aware of the love my family had for me, and I could feel it surrounding me.
This feeling expanded as I became aware of other people. My Young Women counselors came to see me almost every day, and I felt their concern. Bishop Pruess came to visit me often and told me that the ward was praying for me, and I felt love coming from the ward. Members of the stake came to see me and told me of the great outpouring of prayer for me in the stake. My friends at work visited me, and I also sensed their concern.
I felt all this love at the deepest, most fundamental level of my soul. That love, I believe, is what helped me survive the very difficult time that followed the accident.
The Lord blessed me in so many ways during the following months. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew from the first that all of my injuries would heal and that I would return to normal. I also knew that if I were to recover, I couldn’t waste any strength hating the man who had hurt me. I concentrated on getting better rather than dwelling on what was wrong. I knew that the Lord was helping me focus on love and on people rather than dwell on the horror.
After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.
I had been so heavily drugged in the hospital that even though I knew why I was there, I hadn’t been able to focus on any one thought. But now I was off all medication. For the first few nights at Cal’s, I was afraid to go to sleep. I felt I had such a slight hold on life that I might not wake up in the morning. While lying awake at night, I would start to think about the horror of what had happened and about my injuries. I realized that I could have been killed or permanently damaged physically.
On those nights when I became frightened, I would turn to the Lord for help. Almost immediately, my mind would be filled with peace and with an awareness of the many blessings He had given me. A great calm would envelop me, and I would fall asleep. At such times I felt overwhelmed by Heavenly Father’s goodness and love.
About seven weeks after the accident, I was able to return home. My family stayed most of the day, helping me get settled in, but I spent my first Sunday morning home alone. That was very difficult. After being with people and being surrounded by their love, I felt a terrible loneliness that day—something deeper than I had ever felt before. I had gone through the typical frustrations of being single and of wanting to be a mother. Now, after having been wrapped in the wonderfully sustaining love of my family, I wondered if I could handle living alone any more.
That afternoon, Jerry Tucker came to visit me. We had come to know each other through his calling as high council adviser to the Young Women program, so I wasn’t too surprised when he continued to visit me. Months later, though, when he proposed marriage, I wondered if I was reading my feelings correctly. I suppose, quite naturally, that I felt the need for outside assurance to confirm that my judgment and thoughts were sound. Because the Lord had been so close to me through the crisis of the accident and the slow healing, and because my family had given me such tremendous support, I felt the need for their approval and for wisdom outside my own.
So I began praying about Jerry’s proposal. My prayers were answered one day when a great feeling of peace washed over me. I knew then that this was my time to be married. I also knew that the Lord had not left me alone and that I would never be cheated of anything he had promised me. Jerry and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 12 February 1987.
I have wished that I could share with all my single friends the assurance that this experience has given me. I am convinced, at a deeply personal level, that though we sometimes can’t see or understand what is happening in our lives, Heavenly Father is always there, caring for us.
In time, all of my injuries healed. But I will never be the same. I learned so many things that I thought I knew but really didn’t. I have a much deeper faith and trust in the Lord now. I know he lives. I have felt his influence in my life.
I learned that miracles do happen to ordinary people. I had felt that I was no one special, and yet I know now that I am special—I am a daughter of God. We are all special, because we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father. That fact is very real to me now.
Before my accident, I didn’t know how incredibly loving and kind God is. I am sure that even now I don’t begin to comprehend the depth of his love, but I sense that it is far deeper than any of us know. I know that even if I had died or had been crippled, the Lord would have been there looking after me, blessing me in ways he saw best.
I learned how important prayer is. I could actually feel the strength of the prayers being said for me. Now as I pray for the Lord to watch over my loved ones, it has special meaning. If something distressing were to happen, I would want him to be with them as he was with me. When my miracle happened, it was several hours before anyone knew and could begin praying—but how many times had my family remembered me in their daily prayers before that time?
I learned about joy. The Lord told me in a blessing that he had extended my life and that he wanted me to make it a joyful, happy one. I understand now that it is important to him that we are happy. I find references to joy throughout the scriptures. I see far more clearly now that the gospel is a gospel of joy.
I learned the value of health. Our bodies are a special blessing, and good health is to be treasured. I feel an urgent need to take care of my health. Our Heavenly Father has given us life and everything we have. Our part is to take care of what he has given us.
Something terrible happened to me, but I have received so many blessings that I still feel in debt to the Lord. I owe him more than I can ever repay. But I don’t think he wants “repayment.” He wants my love. He wants me to be happy—and that will happen as I love and serve him with my whole soul, sharing my joy with those around me.

Toby curled himself around his mother’s feet on the kitchen floor and began to purr. “Look, Mommy! I’m a kitty,” he said.
Mommy stirred sugar and salt into a big bowl of hot milk on the table and smiled. “Oh, you’re a kitty, are you?” She bent over and patted his head. Toby gave a contented meow. The yeast in a cup with warm water had risen to the top in a bubbly foam. Mommy tested the milk to make sure that it was cool enough, then poured the yeast and a small amount of oil into the bowl.
When Mommy pulled her feet out from under Toby and went to the cupboard for the sifter, Toby slithered up onto a kitchen chair. “Look, Mommy! I’m a snake,” he hissed. He weaved and bobbed as he watched her mix the fine brown flour into the liquid in the bowl. When the dough became stiff enough to handle, Mommy dumped it onto the clean, flour-dusted table and began to knead it with her hands. Toby loved to watch this part, and he flicked his tongue and rattled his tail as he watched.
Next, Mommy put the dough back into the bowl and covered it with a red-checkered cloth. “Time to feed the baby, Mr. Snake,” she told Toby, and they went into the baby’s room. Mommy sat in the rocking chair and softly hummed as she fed Toby’s baby sister.
Toby sat on the floor and practiced wiggling his nose. “Look, Mommy! I’m a mouse,” he squeaked, and the big rocking chair creaked back at him.
“Can you be a very quiet mouse so the baby can go to sleep?” Mommy asked.
Toby nodded and decided to become a mouse statue. He held very still and tried not to squeak or wiggle as Mommy gently laid the baby in the crib and tucked the soft blankets around her. Toby and Mommy tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a bunny,” Toby said with a little hop. As he hopped into the kitchen, he noticed that the dough had rounded up over the top of the bowl and was peeking out from under the cloth. Mommy tipped the dough out onto the table and punched it down, working it between her hands and the table. Toby’s bunny ears pricked up, and he giggled as the bubbles in the dough popped and burped at him.
When the dough was smooth and round, Mommy cut it into four parts and shaped each part into a loaf. She put them into pans and set them on the stove to rise again.
Toby hopped into his bedroom, and when he came out again, he had his white blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Look, Mommy! I’m an angel,” he said, pulling his angel robe more tightly around himself.
“It’s naptime for all sleepy little angels,” Mommy said. Toby reverently floated into his room and onto his bed. Mommy kissed his cheek and tucked his angel robe up under his chin. Toby laid his head on a fluffy cloud pillow and drifted off to sleep.
When he woke up, a wonderful smell was tickling his nose. He jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. Four golden brown loaves of bread were sitting on racks on the kitchen table. Toby watched as Mommy sliced a big piece off the end of one loaf. She spread butter and honey over the warm slice of bread and handed it to Toby.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a little boy, now,” Toby said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad Heavenly Father sent you to be my little boy,” Mommy said.
Toby licked the melted honey and butter that ran down his fingers. “Me, too!” he said happily.

In March of last year, B. Bilgee, 18, and M. Oderdene, 17, from the Mörön Branch, Mongolia Ulaanbaatar Mission, became the first young women in northern Mongolia to receive their Young Womanhood Recognition. Both girls started Personal Progress two years earlier, when it was first introduced in their country.
Bilgee fulfilled some of her requirements by tutoring children at the local school, planning a Halloween party for the branch with activities for both adults and children, and studying culinary arts. Oderdene’s projects included working as a branch missionary, studying first aid at the local Red Cross and then teaching the skills to her fellow young women, and helping branch members prepare for the bitter Mongolian winter by chopping wood and preparing food storage.
Furthering their bright examples, Bilgee and Oderdene are now Young Women teachers, helping the 20 other young women in the branch complete their Personal Progress requirements.

I often remember the feeling of sadness and frustration that came when I learned that not far from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City an elderly lady, active in serving others all of her life, was eating cornflakes every meal because she could not shop or cook for herself and had no one to help her. In that same neighborhood and ward family there were able, intelligent young people who were attending classes and Church meetings and planning and pursuing parties and service projects with no knowledge of the needs of others in their ward family. When the facts were brought to their attention, they immediately did something about the situation. Her life and theirs became immediately more happy and harmonious even though she, and some of them, were not living in the ideal family home circumstances they would have wished.

1. “Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. That’s how Peter could show Jesus he loved Him.”
“Mom, did Jesus have a herd of sheep?”
“No, sweetie. Jesus is sometimes called the Good Shepherd, and we are like His sheep. Jesus was teaching Peter that if we want to show Jesus we love Him, we should help others.”
2. “Is that why we are going to deliver the pie to Sister Jacobs after family home evening?”
“Yes, it is. But it would be nice for you to think of something you can do to show Sister Jacobs you love her.”
3. Olivia thought about what she could do. She remembered that Mom and Grandma really like the pictures she draws.
“I know! I can make a card for Sister Jacobs and draw a picture on it!”
4. Olivia drew a beautiful rainbow. On the inside of the card she wrote, “Get well soon! Love, Olivia.”
5. When Olivia and her family got to Sister Jacobs’s house, Mom asked Sister Jacobs how she was feeling. Sister Jacobs started to cry.
“I just found out I have to go to the hospital to have an operation tomorrow. I’m a little scared.”
6. Mom handed Sister Jacobs the pie. Then Olivia gave her the card she had made.
“Thank you, Olivia. This beautiful card and your sweet smile make me feel better.”
7. Olivia felt like somebody was hugging her heart. She was happy that she could help Jesus feed His sheep.

This story took place in the USA.
Josiah was excited. Today was Daddy’s birthday! Mama put colorful streamers in the kitchen. She made a special birthday cake too.
“We should give him presents,” Josiah said.
“Yeah!” said his little sister, Madeline. “But what?”
“I have an idea.” Josiah went to the shed. He took a few pieces of wood and glued them together to make a tiny bench.
“I picked Daddy some flowers from his garden!” Madeline held up the flowers. “Do you think he’ll like them?”
Josiah nodded yes. “I can’t wait for him to see his presents!”
That afternoon, Josiah and Madeline sang “Happy Birthday” and ate cake with Daddy.
“Time for presents!” Josiah said. He gave Daddy his gift.
Daddy unwrapped the paper. “Wow! You did a great job. Thank you!” Daddy gave Josiah a hug.
Then Madeline gave Daddy the flowers.
“Thank you so much!” Daddy smiled. “These are beautiful.”
Soon it was time to clean up. “Josiah, can you help clear the table?” Mama asked.
“Sure,” said Josiah. He grinned and carried the dishes to the sink.
“I can help too,” said Madeline.
Daddy smiled big. “I feel so happy when you two are helping and being kind to each other. I know it makes Jesus happy too. That is the best present of all!”
Later Josiah and Madeline played with their toys. Josiah made a tall tower out of building blocks. It was almost as tall as he was! But then Madeline knocked it over.
“Hey!” Josiah said. “You messed up my tower!” He took a toy from Madeline.
“That’s mine!” Madeline yelled.
Daddy came over. He was frowning. He reminded them to take turns with their toys.
When Daddy left, Josiah asked, “Did you see Daddy’s face? He looked sad.”
“Why was he sad?” asked Madeline.
“He said the best present was for us to be kind,” Josiah said. “But we forgot.”
“Oh.” Madeline looked at the floor. “I’m sorry for knocking over your tower.”
“It’s OK,” Josiah said. “Sorry for getting mad. Let’s be kind for the rest of the day.”
“But what if we forget?” Madeline asked.
“Then we have to say sorry and try again to be nice,” said Josiah.
Josiah and Madeline cleaned up the blocks. Then they played a new game. When Daddy walked by, he smiled.
“I think we did it!” Madeline whispered to Josiah. “We gave Daddy a great present!”
Josiah smiled. “Yeah, we did. And it’s a present for Jesus too!”
How did Daddy feel when Josiah was kind to Madeline?
Illustrations by Jeff Harvey

“Hey Trista, are you still aiming for that celestial kingdom you told me about?” my cousin asked.
I was unprepared for her question, and I stammered for a moment while I tried to decide what it was she was talking about. Then I remembered. Last summer, during my family’s visit to California, my cousin and I had been talking late into the night, when somehow we got to discussing the Church. My cousin is not a member and knew very little about our Church, so when she asked me to tell her about it, I gladly agreed. I told her what I could: the Joseph Smith story, our beliefs, my dreams, and my fears—including my goal of reaching the celestial kingdom. I bore my testimony to her, and told her I knew the gospel was true. I told her how I wanted to live forever with a chosen companion, and to have my family with me. She listened carefully and asked me a lot of questions which I answered as best I could. We went to sleep that night, she was thinking about the things I had told her, and I was feeling rather pleased with my missionary work.
Now seven months later, I was amazed that she remembered what I had told her.
“Well are you?” She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
I swallowed hard and stared out my window at the falling snow, watching each individual snowflake merge with millions of others. If only life were that simple.
“Am I still reaching for the celestial kingdom?” I asked myself. I thought back over the last few months and knew I hadn’t been trying very hard. My school grades weren’t as high as they should have been, my best friend wasn’t my best friend anymore, family relationships were not as good as they could have been, and most important of all, I was gradually becoming less active in the Church. As I sat there, I took a new look at my life and realized how empty it had been. I turned and looked at my cousin and said quietly but firmly, with my eyes full of tears, “Yes, I am.”
Oh how thankful I am to have a Father in Heaven who loves me enough to remind me of my goals. With his help I can reach the celestial kingdom. And when I doubt myself, I just remember those three words, “Yes, I am,” and I know that my Father in Heaven is with me.

Jenelle heard her best friend, Michelle, ask Rebecca to her birthday party on Sunday. Michelle’s parents had planned a swimming party to celebrate her eleventh birthday.
Michelle had already invited Jenelle, but Jenelle had told Michelle that she’d have to let her know. Jenelle knew that she wouldn’t be going to the party, but she didn’t want to say that in front of the other girls.
The two girls had been friends since they were six years old. But after Jenelle’s family had become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints nine months ago, things had changed between them. Jenelle wanted Michelle to understand that becoming a Latter-day Saint didn’t change what Jenelle felt for her friend, but Michelle was having a hard time accepting that.
After school, Jenelle trudged home more discouraged than ever because Michelle had announced that everyone else she’d invited to her party would come. At least Mom will be home, Jenelle thought. She’ll know what I can do. I always feel better after talking things over with her.
At home, she quickly found her mother in the kitchen. “What am I going to do?” she asked once she’d told her mother the whole story.
Mom put her arm around Jenelle’s shoulders. “You have to decide what’s more important to you—going to your friend’s party or obeying the commandments.”
Jenelle sighed. She knew what she should do. That didn’t make it any easier, though. She didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings. And more than anything, she wanted to go to the party. Almost more than anything, she thought. She couldn’t break one of the commandments, especially when the prophet had spoken about the importance of keeping the Sabbath Day holy in a general conference talk.
She knew what she had to do. After school the next day, she hurried home and wrapped the present she’d made for Michelle, then walked to her friend’s house.
“I made you something special for your birthday. I’m sorry I can’t come to your birthday party. It’s because it’s on a Sunday.”
Michelle tore open the paper and held up a birdhouse. “This is great! You made this all by yourself?”
Jenelle nodded. “At Primary activity day.” She told Michelle about Primary and the activity days for girls her age.
Michelle showed Jenelle the bathing suit she had bought for the party.
Jenelle looked at the pretty aqua suit and smiled. She had looked at the same one last week while shopping with her mother.
“So what’s the big deal about your going swimming on Sunday?” Michelle asked after putting the suit away. “We’ll be going in the afternoon, after your church lets out.”
“The prophet said that we need to keep the Sabbath Day holy.”
“What does that mean?” Michelle asked.
“It means we don’t shop on Sunday or go swimming or to ball games—stuff like that.”
“What do you do?”
“We go to church, spend time with our families, listen to music. Read the scriptures.” She smiled, remembering last Sunday. “Sometimes my mom and dad take a nap.”
Michelle frowned. “Who is this prophet? Why do you have to do what he says?”
“He’s the President of the Church.”
“So he’s like the boss?”
Jenelle smiled again. She’d never heard the prophet described as a boss, but she supposed it made sense to people who weren’t members of the Church.
“What makes the prophet so special?” Michelle asked.
“He teaches us things Heavenly Father wants us to know.”
“You mean he talks with God?”
“Yes,” Jenelle answered firmly. She knew that a lot of people had a hard time understanding that.
“Does he have a name?”
“Right now the prophet is Gordon B. Hinckley.”
“Do you have to do everything he says?”
“We don’t have to. We choose to,” Jenelle said, hoping Michelle understood.
“Could you come to my birthday party next year if it was on Saturday?”
Jenelle hugged her friend. “I’m already counting the days till then!”

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be a dope.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new here. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he’d hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished, Greg and a couple of other kids did their thing. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I’d either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I’d rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I’d done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I’d done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance after tithing and savings, doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I’d planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what was also in store for me at home—Mom and Dad grounded me for six weeks.
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it the way you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he’d leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad or you wouldn’t have stayed and owned up.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to snitch.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I’d expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were all eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other guys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark. I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I’d have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No thanks.” I turned and marched away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

Jim was an old-timer. He had been an ironworker for over 30 years and had worked on about every type of job in the trade, which gave him a rich background of experience. He had walked narrow beams hundreds of feet off the ground and moved or crawled to the end of beams to make the connections thousands of times. Connectors are supreme among ironworkers. They take the greatest risk, and their job requires the greatest courage. Jim was admired by his peers as a man of great courage and stability.

One day he was working with a crew of ironworkers on a job in the rugged mountains of the Colorado Rockies when a storm struck without warning. The rain poured down, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the wind blew with fury. The ironworkers quickly climbed down and gathered in their work shack to wait for the storm to end.

They had been there for about fifteen minutes when someone asked, “Where’s Jim?” He wasn’t in the shack. They went outside and looked up at the steel structure. There he was, standing on a beam with his arms wrapped tightly around a steel column. They called but got no response, so two of the crew went up the framework and found him frozen in panic. His arms were so tightly clenched around the column that they had to pry him loose. Then they fastened him to a cable and lowered him to the ground. He was terrified with fear.

They took him into the shack and warmed him by the fire. An hour later the storm was over, the weather was calm, the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang in the trees. The crew started back to work, but Jim stayed behind. He had lost his nerve and was afraid to get back in the air.

The foreman recognized the problem. It was not something for Jim to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of men. The situation needed wise care and attention. If Jim didn’t get back in the air now, he never would. The fury of the storm combined with the risk of his trade had broken the spirit of an old-timer. He alone could mend the damage. But he needed a helping hand as he had never needed one before.

The wise foreman put his arm around Jim and said that what had happened to him could happen to any one of them. The foreman told Jim to get back to work and assured him of his complete confidence that he could do so. Jim knew that the foreman was right. Every ironworker knows he has to go back. Jim knew he had to do it now. It would be even more difficult tomorrow if he didn’t go back today, and within a week it would be impossible. Finally, he demanded of himself that he get up on the steel structure and go to work. His legs felt weak and his body shaky. As he climbed the steel and cautiously proceeded to carry on, the members of the crew gave him a rousing cheer. That gave him the strength and confidence he needed.

Jim went to work, and as he strove to keep pace with the others in the crew, he gradually regained his self-confidence. Had the foreman not been understanding or had the other members of the crew been critical, he would likely have been unable to return to work. Jim learned that his fellow workers were his true friends, for they had understood and given him support in a time of dire need.

It was Christmastime, and I was 17 years old. My parents had divorced, and I had many stresses that I was trying to deal with. Each day it seemed harder to deal with the simple tasks of everyday life. At this time, when hope seemed lost, I found myself at the seminary building. I explained my frustrations to my Father in Heaven on my knees in an empty classroom.
As I spoke to my Heavenly Father in tears, I felt impressed to thank Him for the beauty of the day and even for the struggles I was facing. I also talked with a caring seminary teacher and asked for a priesthood blessing from my bishop. I began to study the scriptures more thoroughly and read other good literature by our modern-day prophets.
Finally, as I was putting up a humble, two-foot-tall Christmas tree in my room, I placed on top of it a shining silver star that my mother had given me. As I placed it there, I looked and saw a Mormonad poster with a picture of the Savior that simply said, “Now There Is Hope.” I looked from the star and then back to the painting of the Savior. It suddenly made sense to me. Because of what happened on that first Christmas, because of my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, there was now hope.
I began thinking of all the gifts Heavenly Father had given me, and joy began to fill my heart. I was grateful and began thanking Him for my trials. I began to view my struggles as gifts given to me to strengthen me, and I thanked Heavenly Father for trusting me enough to give me these trials to overcome.
As I listened to the song “Joy to the World,” I let my mind dwell upon the line “Let earth receive her King!” (Hymns, no. 201).
I finally started to understand and receive in my heart the gift of Jesus Christ, the Savior, who paid the ultimate price. This is the gift I received that Christmas.

I take dance lessons, and every year we have a recital. I have been practicing for three months for this year’s recital. Some years the costumes are not very fancy, and some years they are. This year they are very fancy, and I have really been looking forward to dancing in mine. I just found out that the recital is on Sunday. My mom asked if I wanted to dance in it. I chose not to because it would not be keeping the Sabbath day holy.

Several years ago, our family was excited when we learned that my wife, Terri, was expecting our fourth child. However, several months into the pregnancy, we learned that Terri had a potentially dangerous medical condition. The safest option was for her to be admitted to the hospital, where she could have constant care. She was confined to bed rest in an effort to continue the pregnancy as long as possible.
This became a dark and difficult time for our family, especially for Terri. She felt so alone. And I had the challenge of caring for three young children while working in my career and also serving as a bishop. Life seemed chaotic and difficult.
In her loneliness, Terri found solace in the words of a beautiful hymn:
I need thy presence ev’ry passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!1
Ultimately, emergency surgery was required to deliver our son Jace. But both mother and son were safely cared for because Terri was already in the hospital. We felt the Lord’s protection in our lives.
Jace was born four weeks early and placed in the newborn intensive care unit. We came home without our baby. During the month that followed, we made daily trips to the hospital. Life seemed to cycle to a low point.
Again, however, we witnessed the hand of the Lord. Jace progressed to the point where we were able to bring him home, a high point as we united as a family.
Then we learned that Jace had sagittal synostosis, a condition where the bones in the skull prematurely fuse together. The result is that a baby’s head cannot grow. The only treatment was to surgically remove a large portion of Jace’s skull when he was just three months old. We endured this challenge through prayer and priesthood blessings. Again we saw the hand of the Lord in our lives. Prayers were answered. Blessings were fulfilled. The surgery was a success. Life reached a high point once again.
What a roller-coaster ride! But the Lord taught us many lessons through this journey. We know He was with us along the way.
When Terri and I were going through our challenges, we found comfort in this statement from a prophet of God:
“I want you to know that there have always been some difficulties in mortal life, and there always will be. But knowing what we know, and living as we are supposed to live, there really is no place, no excuse, for pessimism and despair. …
“… I hope you won’t believe all the world’s difficulties have been wedged into your decade, or that things have never been worse than they are for you personally, or that they will never get better. I reassure you that things have been worse and they will always get better. They always do—especially when we live and love the gospel of Jesus Christ and give it a chance to flourish in our lives.”3