Gospel Story Finder

My family continues the tradition of reading Christ’s birth by candlelight every year. One December when I felt stressed about final exams at school, I thought that I had missed my chance to enjoy the Christmas season. But this simple tradition was the one activity that left me feeling uplifted, content, and grateful. Remembering Christ’s birth brought more satisfaction than any present I received or any decoration I hung that year.

Gioele and Michele stared at the construction site across the street. They could see lots of metal beams and layers of cement.
“It doesn’t look much like a temple yet,” Gioele said.
“But it will someday,” Michele answered.
This was the first time the brothers had seen the place where the Rome Italy Temple was being built. Right now their family had to go all the way to Switzerland to visit the temple. But this new temple was only 30 minutes away from their home!
Michele and Gioele watched the big yellow trucks move piles of dirt.
“I think that’s where one of the spires will be,” Michele said. He pointed to a spot near the front of the building.
Gioele nodded. “Look! Papà is coming,” he said. Their father was wearing his usual work outfit—church clothes with a white construction hat. He worked as an electrical engineer in the temple. They loved it when he told them about what he worked on each day. One day he told them that the statue of Christ had arrived. Another time he told them about the baptismal font.
That night, Michele made sure to say his prayers and thank Heavenly Father for the temple. He felt warm inside whenever he prayed about it.
Months went by. The curved temple walls were covered with strong stone, and two tall spires grew toward the sky. Then a small visitors’ center was built nearby. Every once in a while, Gioele and Michele would go there to press their faces against the window and see what had changed.
Then one day they got a happy surprise.
“How would you like to see the angel Moroni statue being put on top of the temple?” Mom asked. The families of the construction workers had all been invited to watch.
Gioele and Michele could hardly believe it. They were so excited!
The next morning they put on white shirts and ties. When they got to the temple, they walked around it with the other families. They even got to take a picture with the golden angel Moroni. It was huge!
Then the workers started moving the statue. Gioele watched the giant crane carefully raise angel Moroni to the top the tallest spire. A drone buzzed around taking a video. It was so cool!
Gioele thought about all the people who would learn about the Church by visiting the temple grounds. He thought about how lots of people were going to get married there and how people were going to get baptized for people who had died.
“Now it looks like a temple,” he told his brother. Michele smiled and nodded.
The brothers felt happy. They were excited to go inside the temple when they got older. Their testimonies were growing right along with the building.

Recognizing the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Ghost has always been one of the most tender evidences of God’s love for me. I’ve always felt profound gratitude for the personal guidance I receive from the Holy Ghost. Because of my illness, I had to relearn to do the most simple tasks, and going through that process meant learning to listen in new, important ways. The Holy Ghost helped me with everything from not eating too fast or taking too big a bite when I was relearning to eat to learning whether to push my limit or back off when relearning how to sit or stand up.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort. I was regularly prompted to say, “Tell me your story.” The Holy Ghost taught me of the heroism of these hardworking, overworked angels and instructed me to testify to them of God’s love for them and to acknowledge their nobility. Focusing on something besides my own miserable condition was important training to think of others before myself when my personal needs were so huge.
God’s love is evident in the lessons learned in each of our personalized curriculums and His unfailing companionship through them.
The most important lesson I learned was to praise Him: to acknowledge unceasingly that He is good; that He has all knowledge, love, light, and power; and that His perfect plan has power to save His children. I rejoice in being a part of it.
Praise is more than gratitude. It implies trust, a sense of God’s love for us personally, and an acknowledgement of His consistent comfort and guidance. Praise saved me from despair.
Elder Christofferson concludes his talk: “In the end, it is the blessing of a close and abiding relationship with the Father and the Son that we seek. It makes all the difference and is everlastingly worth the cost.”4
Francis Webster, a survivor of the Martin handcart company, expressed it perfectly: “The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.”5 I am a witness: it is a privilege indeed.
The image of praise in the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses my joy that God is my Father, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, and that the Holy Ghost is my teacher and testator—that these three are indeed my truest, most unfailing and faithful Friends.
Finish then, thy new creation; true and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory, till in heav’n we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.”6
This beautiful hymn is referencing Revelation 4:10–11:
“The [faithful] fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”
We receive those crowns by virtue of the perfect obedience and generosity of Jesus Christ. He shared His earned inheritance with us, who could never earn it without Him. How fitting that we should cast those crowns at His feet, in eternal praise for His goodness and the goodness of our great Father, who would allow that perfect Son to suffer all our hard things with us so that He could share celestial glory with us.
I was spared to witness that I’ve learned these things by the power of the Holy Ghost. For this priceless knowledge, I praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The author lives in Utah.

“When will Uncle Cory be here?” Michael asked his mother for at least the tenth time.
Earlier that afternoon the mailman had delivered a letter addressed to him, but when he opened it he couldn’t read what it said. Michael’s mother told him that the letter was written in Italian, and all she could read was the closing and signature at the bottom:
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael knew that arrivederci meant till we meet again, because that was how Uncle Cory’s letters were always signed when he was in Italy on a mission. Michael had called his uncle and told him about the letter. Now he was waiting impatiently for him to come and interpret what the letter said.
A few months before Uncle Cory had returned from Italy, he had written and asked Michael and his family to write their feelings about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in letters to individual members of a certain Italian family and send them back to him. He said he would put the letters in a Book of Mormon and give them to the family. Michael had written—
Dear Mario,
I am eight years old. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last month. My father baptized me and confirmed me and said that I now have the Holy Ghost to guide me and to help me choose right from wrong. I go to Primary each week. I’m in the CTR class. CTR means CHOOSE THE RIGHT. Last week my Primary teacher taught us about Jesus healing sick children. Jesus loves children everywhere. He loves me and He loves you. I hope you can soon go to Primary too.
Your Friend,Michael
Michael hadn’t expected to receive a letter in return, but now that one had come, he could hardly wait to know what it said.
Pretty soon he heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Running to the window, he looked out and saw Uncle Cory coming up the walk. Michael ran and opened the door and gave his uncle a big hug.
Michael listened quietly as Uncle Cory read the letter.
Dear Michael,
I am nine years old. Today I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father and mother were baptized too. Thank you for telling me about your church. My father and mother read your Book of Mormon, and now we are all happy to be members of the true church. Write to me again soon.
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael was so excited to know that he had helped bring the gospel to someone that he thought his heart would pound right out of his chest. He took the letter from his uncle and looked at it for a long time. Then he folded the letter neatly. “I will save this,” he said, “to remind me that it’s fun to tell others about our church. Maybe someday I’ll go on a mission to Italy and meet my new friend Mario.”

“When I think of Dad, I think of the word dependability. He has repeated the story many times about when he was a boy and his father left him home to take care of the chores. For some reason, Dad did not do the assigned tasks and when his father returned, he disappointedly remarked, ‘I thought I could depend on you, son.’ Dad recalls that if he had been whipped on that occasion he would have felt no worse. He vowed then and there that neither the Lord nor anyone on earth would ever again have reason to question his dependability. He has spent all of his life since then being where he said he would be at the time he said he would be there and being fully prepared to do what he has been asked to do.”

The Corona California Public Library is a family-oriented, wonderful place to be. That’s why I was so surprised to find R-rated movies on the library shelves.
I had become aware that the library’s policy allowed access to any material by any library patron of any age. Although this sounds wonderful at first glance, when you look closely, there is a slight problem. Children can get a library card as soon as they can write their names. That meant any child with a library card could check out an R-rated movie. I never really considered that there was anything I could do to change this. But the summer before my junior year in high school, I decided maybe there was something I could do.
I felt two people would be more effective than one, so I called my friend Meggie Winn. I explained the situation, which shocked her, and asked her if she wanted to help me do something to change it. She eagerly agreed.
First, we made a petition to get support from city residents. Our petition read: “We, the undersigned, request that the Corona Public Library limit access of R-rated videos, DVDs, etc., to those of age 17 years and older, as is the commonly accepted practice of all other organizations offering such items in our community.” In less than a week, we collected over 1,000 signatures.
What was supposed to be a 20-hour Laurel project ended up lasting over six months. During that time, we participated in meetings with the city council and the library board of trustees.
At the first library board of trustees meeting, Meggie and I were a little nervous. We presented our petition and expressed our concerns regarding the library’s current policy, but we received no more than a “thank you.”
Also attending this meeting was a couple who had become aware of the library policy and had attended the meeting to find out more. Meggie and I were excited to see others concerned about the same issue and were pleasantly surprised when they offered to help us. By the next library board meeting they had collected almost 500 more signatures. They were also a big help in making people in the community aware of this issue.
A few months into this project we received a call from a woman who had read an article in the newspaper about our presentation. She offered to help make people aware of this issue. As a result many other people sent e-mails and made phone calls to the library and city council. It felt odd to have these adults following the lead of two teenage girls.
Although we did have an overwhelmingly positive response, there was opposition as well. Meggie and I always tried to respect those in authority and work within the system. We felt our request was such a simple moral decision that was consistent with every other place that offered videos. However, others didn’t think so.
As the months went by, the opposition stood firm. Soon Meggie and I were being verbally attacked, and false statements were made about the way we had conducted our campaign. A couple of times, we were asked if we wanted to continue with this project. We replied that we would see it through to an acceptable resolution.
We achieved our objective the day before the deadline given to the library board of trustees by the city council. The mayor of Corona was kind enough to help us arrive at an acceptable solution. We finally decided on a policy that allows parents to either restrict or permit their children’s access to R-rated movies. All children’s cards will expire on a certain date, requiring parents to visit the library and choose the level of access they desire for their children.
I found it amazing that with all the emotion, controversy, and delays, the effort of two high school students actually caused people to listen and ultimately change library policy. It took a lot of time and energy to accomplish what we did. But it was worth it all to know that we had persisted and stood for truth and righteousness. In doing so, we found many others were willing to stand with us.

“It’s singing time!” Sister Yang said. “Let’s start with ‘Book of Mormon Stories.’”
Sarah sat up tall. She was ready to sing! This was one of her favorite songs.
Then she saw a girl sitting alone. Sarah had never seen her in Primary.
The first notes played on the piano. Sarah started to sing. “Book of Mormon stories that my teacher tells to me.”
She looked down the row again. The girl wasn’t singing. Maybe she didn’t know the words.
Sarah wanted to share her favorite song with the girl. Sarah moved over to sit by her. The girl looked up and smiled.
Sarah whispered the next words. They sang together. Soon the girl could sing all the words!
Now singing time was over. “What’s your name?” Sarah asked.
“I’m Alexa.” The girl smiled. “Thank you for helping me! It’s my first time in Primary.”
Sarah smiled back. “I’m glad you’re here!” She was sure Alexa would learn a lot of good things—and a lot of great songs!

Jennifer Zahne and her sons
“Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).
Derrick and Jenn Zahne of Shiprock also faced a decision about seeking worldly success or strengthening the Navajo. For four years they had lived in Phoenix, Arizona. When Derrick, an accountant, had been unemployed for nine months, their prayers became more and more fervent: “What wouldst Thou have us do?” Even when Derrick found another job, something still didn’t feel quite right.
“We came home to Shiprock, which is Jennifer’s home, to visit for the weekend,” Derrick recalls. “In the parking lot after church, I looked over and she was crying. I knew instantly that she had received a prompting to move home. At first, I was upset. But then I thought about our prayers, and I knew we should move.”
They arrived in Shiprock wondering what they should do. The Zahnes decided to become involved in their community as well as in the Church. “We spend a lot of time with dog rescues on the Navajo Nation,” Derrick says. “And we help with community sports—baseball, basketball, and, most of all, cross-country because Jennifer and I are ultra-runners. We run races longer than 30 miles (48 km). We teach kids, ‘Hey, running can be fun. You just have to work at it.’ We try to build people and set an example.”
Their involvement naturally creates missionary opportunities. “When our boys miss practice on Sunday,” Derrick says, “their buddies ask, ‘How come you weren’t there?’ ‘Because it’s the Sabbath, and we go to church,’ they say. Same thing for Jennifer and me. A lot of our races are on Sundays, and our running friends ask, ‘Why weren’t you there?’ We’re having the same discussions as our boys.”
Derrick now works as chief financial officer for a construction company owned by the Navajo Nation. He is also bishop of the Shiprock Ward. “We’re building the ward too,” he says. “We’re trying to teach by example that ‘love your neighbor’ means all your neighbors. It means to do what we promised to do when we were baptized. It means to serve as Christ would serve.”

When the mission was reopened, thirty members of the small branch at Cuantla were waiting at the train station to greet the missionaries when they returned. Twelve children and some young adults began singing songs of welcome. Afterward they shouted, “Qué viven los misioneros!” (long live the missionaries), as they showered the elders with confetti.
The missionaries were then taken to a home that had been decorated with beautiful flowers and cedar boughs in honor of this special occasion. Following a delicious dinner, a meeting was held.
President Pratt in his report to the brethren in Salt Lake told of the joy of the people in welcoming the missionaries. Even the children had planned for a program during the evening. President Pratt said, “It was wonderful to note the progress of the children of the branch along lines of study upon which they had been started by the missionaries. Little tots that were babies in arms when the missionaries left got up and recited one or more of the Articles of Faith.”

Although my husband and I came from families with religious and moral principles, we were not satisfied with the way our own family of five was progressing spiritually. I attended the same church we had been reared in, accompanied by our three children—Beverly, Janice, and Ralph. My husband, Raúl, didn’t go to church because he thought that all churches were businesses. He thought they were highly commercialized and that many of the leaders profited from the members’ donations. He also believed religious literature should not be purchased but should be given to people who are interested in it.
In February 1986 my husband chanced to see two Latter-day Saint missionaries walk by our house, and he called them over. His intent was to ask them if the church they represented was interested in buying a lot to build a meetinghouse on. My husband is in the real estate business, so he saw this meeting as a sales opportunity.
The missionaries were not able to give him any information on that matter, but they didn’t miss this chance to ask him if they could set up an appointment for a discussion about the restored gospel. My husband was certain this was just another church like all the others he had come in contact with before, so he asked them to come back the next day. He intended to show them that their church just used God to do business.
We received the missionaries the next day with a bit of suspicion. But as they proceeded to talk to us about the Church and its history, we began to feel something very special in our hearts. When they left they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon, and my husband asked how much he owed for them. To his surprise, the books were free. His surprise was even greater when he realized that this Church was not a business. He became interested and started asking the missionaries all kind of questions.
We went to church every Sunday after that, and by 15 July 1987 our whole family had become converted. We were baptized and later were sealed for eternity as a family in the temple. Our son, Ralph, served as a full-time missionary and later married in the temple. Our two daughters have married returned missionaries in the temple, and we now have nine beautiful and healthy grandchildren.
My husband and I have served in many callings in the Church and have continued to grow spiritually and to help the gospel grow in our branch, located in the southern part of our beautiful isle of enchantment, Puerto Rico. My husband has presided over the Salinas Branch twice. The work has been hard, but we know that our example as a branch has left many seeds scattered over our little town.
What more could we ask of our Heavenly Father? Our gratitude is eternal. What started as a simple sales conversation and an effort to prove the Church was a business came to be the greatest possible celestial transaction for our family—the opportunity to be united with each other, with our Savior Jesus Christ, and with our Heavenly Father.

I like chemistry, football, fried chicken, a cute girl, and strawberry malts. I guess you can say that I am an average American guy—except for one thing. I don’t think anyone who has a sister like mine can be all average. I mean, she doesn’t just giggle, comb her hair for hours, fill your nostrils with the aroma of hair spray, and monopolize the bathroom to put on her make-up, but she saves things too. Like when she came home from kindergarten the first day carrying an empty milk carton. That’s when it started.
“You’re not supposed to bring that home,” I told her. “When you get through drinking the milk, you throw the carton in the trash can.”
“I know,” she answered as she opened a drawer and tucked it neatly inside, “but I want to save it.”
“What for?” I persisted. “Are you going to make something out of it?”
“No,” she said, closing the drawer, “I’m just going to save it.”
“Boy, that’s dumb. Mom,” I called, pursuing the subject further, “Lisa has a milk carton in her drawer, and it will probably sour and smell the whole house up. She isn’t going to use it, so why is she saving it?”
Mom smiled. “Well,” she said, “this is her first day at school, the first time she’s been given milk in a small carton. I guess it represents a happy memory.”
That was just the beginning. She saved everything. I mean I can understand kids saving useful things like marbles, bicycle valve caps, and bugs for scientific research. I could even understand my sister saving outdated clothes to remodel, because Mom said that was being conservative, but I think everything that came into her possession she kept. The older she got the more she saved. She saved test papers, banquet favors, pressed corsages, ticket stubs, and programs.
Now, I suppose all this would have been tolerable if it hadn’t been for the string. Suddenly she started saving string. Not long lengths, but bits and pieces.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“For nothing,” she snapped defensively. “I’m just saving it. Is there a law against that?”
I couldn’t believe it. I decided she was a real dumb-dumb. Now, don’t get me wrong. Just because I thought she was dumb didn’t mean I didn’t like her, and it didn’t mean that anyone else could make fun of her, for if they did they would have me to settle with. Like the time Mom said I couldn’t go fishing with Jim unless I took Lisa along. She and Dad were planning to be gone for the day, and she didn’t want Lisa to stay home alone. Boy, I was pretty burned up over that. A twelve-year-old guy having to take his kid sister fishing! I grumbled and complained and yelled at her all the way. But when Jim started yelling at her and grumbling because she was along, it made me plain boil.
“What’s the matter with Lisa going fishing with us?” I bristled. “She’s my sister, and if she wants to go fishing, she can.”
Jim was so surprised he didn’t say anything. Lisa was so surprised she dropped the rock she had been holding, and I was so surprised at what I had said that I picked it up and gave it back to her—to save.
But what really takes the cake about all this saving is what I discovered the day Mom was helping Lisa clean her room. I stepped in to see if either of them could tell me what had happened to my blue sweat shirt. I knew if Lisa had seen it, it was safe, but Mom sometimes got carried away and burned things just because they were ten years old, full of holes, and covered with paint smears and grease spots. She never burned things like banquet favors or pressed corsages, just sweat shirts.
“I didn’t burn it,” Mom said patiently. “I didn’t throw it away. In fact, I haven’t seen it since the day you were washing the car with it.”
“Oh, yes!” I remembered and was standing there wondering if I had hung it up to dry so it would be wearable to goof around in, when I caught sight of the curler bag on Lisa’s bed. It wasn’t the bag that captured my attention exactly, it was the fact that instead of curlers it was full of string, bits and pieces.
“What in the world!” I picked it up and read the small neatly handwritten note pasted on the outside, “String too short to use.”
I started laughing.
“Give it here,” Lisa cried, snatching it out of my hands.
“String too short to use!” I doubled over with laughter. “Man, I can’t believe you’re for real.”
“Mother!” Lisa was close to tears.
“Son—” Mom started.
“But she says herself that the string is too short to use.” I defended myself. “If she can’t use it then she isn’t being conservative, and I don’t believe this represents memories. No one has that many happy memories,” I teased as I darted out the door still laughing.
Actually the string incident came in very handy, for I used it constantly as a weapon. For instance, when Lisa started teasing me when I let my hair grow longer than usual, I reminded her of her useless string, and she said no more.
Then I met this kind of special girl. She liked football and fried chicken and strawberry malts; and I liked her.
When we got married, I decided I was the luckiest guy ever. It was somewhere around this time I decided that I was pretty lucky not to be all average. In fact, it was the evening Ann and I were looking at our wedding gifts in our apartment. I picked up this one gift, and as a kind of lump came in my throat, I realized that if it had been a large amount of money, it wouldn’t have been as nice as it was. The homemade article represented many things, among them a kind of forgiveness.
Ann came up in back of the chair in which I was sitting and put her arms around my neck. “I wonder who that is from,” she said as she leaned over and read the unsigned note pinned on the pretty velvet cushion.
I started to tell her, but the lump in my throat kept me from speaking. “I’ll explain later,” I said finally.
Then I unpinned the note and read the neatly handwritten message once more.
It said, “This cushion is filled with all my love and the string too short to use.”

The room was cluttered. There were papers on the floor and the chairs were tipped over. When Kevin entered, he switched on the light and noticed some chalk marks on the chalkboard, but he didn’t read them.
“I wonder what there is I can do that will be of any help?” he thought. He sat down in the corner of the meetinghouse classroom and stared at the chalkboard again. “Your Quorum—Your Responsibility.” Wow! Was that ever pertinent to his new calling. Kevin chuckled to himself. “Somebody must have known I would come in here after I talked to the bishop.” Being called as the teachers quorum president in the Third Ward was no pat, easy assignment, especially since the bishop said to him as he left the office, “You were called by the Lord, Kevin. Now go and strengthen your quorum so that there is no weak link.”
Kevin stood up and crossed to the windows where he got a clear view of the church parking lot. “There’s Steve’s house on the other side of the parking lot … he’s inactive. That reminds me of Jim and Mark who come to priesthood meeting only when their dad is home from work. And Lee who lives right across the street from me thinks activity night means basketball and won’t come if we suggest anything else.
“They’re a great quorum, though. There’s Bill. If he’s ever given anything to do, he’ll do it twice and ask for more. And George—he’s the best example of organization I’ve ever met. My head feels just like that parking lot on conference Sunday—packed with jam-ups. How can I do anything about anything? How can I strengthen that quorum?”
These feelings of a newly called teachers quorum president tumbled out of his mind as he thought of his new calling. His feelings are probably duplicated over and over throughout the Church even if the situation is different in every case.
Perhaps some of the following suggestions given by the Aaronic Priesthood general committee, using quotations from General Authorities, can guide and encourage quorum presidencies and members as they ponder their responsibilities in that very fundamental unit of the Church—the quorum.
“The vitalizing of Aaronic Priesthood quorums and the awakening of the Melchizedek Priesthood quorums will affirmatively affect all other programs in the Church.” (President Spencer W. Kimball, June Conference, 1974.)
“You are a member of the appropriate quorum, and by your actions you either sustain or degrade it.
“The quorum will be as strong as the individual member. We all have the obligation and responsibility to honor our priesthood, to be worthy citizens of the priesthood quorum.” (Elder Boyd K. Packer, Seminar for Regional Representatives of the Twelve, Oct. 4, 1973.)

Rick Daniel was a hot item as a high school senior. Universities like Miami, Stanford, BYU, and Texas A&M wanted him to play football for them. It was an exciting time. He could seemingly play anywhere he wanted. Even though he was quickly approaching mission age, a mission was the last thing on his mind.
When Rick accepted A&M’s offer, his dad tracked down the address of the LDS Institute of Religion so Rick could find it when he got to school. But when Rick saw the institute schedule, he couldn’t fit a class in—or at least at the time he didn’t want to try to fit one in. So Brother Tom McMullin, the institute director, met with him one-on-one each week to study the Book of Mormon. “The spiritual growth I experienced from it was well worth my time,” Rick says. “I really matured spiritually.” By his sophomore year, he was ready to make time in his schedule for a regular institute class.
Rick didn’t quite know how much his testimony had grown until one day while he was sitting in institute class. “I had this overwhelming feeling that it was time to go on a mission,” he said. The knot in his stomach told him it wasn’t going to be that easy—he still had to tell his coach.
“I was so nervous,” Rick says. “I didn’t know what he would say.” So Rick carefully explained to his coach what a mission is and that he would like to go on one. Before Rick could even squirm, the coach said, “Will you come back?”
“That broke the tension right there,” Rick says. “I said, ‘Of course. I’d want to come right back here, and would ya’ll keep my scholarship?’ He said, ‘Sure, without a doubt.’ It was great. Since then everything has been falling into place.”
Rick is now serving in the California Anaheim Mission, the same city where he played against Stanford in the Pigskin Preview just last year.

“Shucks, Wendy! I’m not doing anything to your silly flower. I’m just talking to it.”
“Well stop it, Peter!” Wendy warned.
Peter liked to talk to Wendy’s flower. One day Mother told him that flowers were happiest when people talked to them. So whenever Wendy was at school Peter talked and sang to the flower on her dresser.
Wendy’s teacher had given everyone in her class a little package of seeds and a jar of dirt. Wendy planted the seeds and after a long time, green shoots pushed up through the dirt and grew and grew until the leaves of a tiny plant popped open. Now there was also a little yellow flower on the end of the longest stem. Wendy was happy about her flower and protected it fiercely from anyone who came near.
“There’s no need to scold, Wendy,” Mother said. “You know that Peter won’t hurt your flower. Flowers grow better when they receive attention. Look how much it has grown already! Soon you’ll have to move the flower outside so it can have more room for its roots to spread out.”
The next morning Peter went back to Wendy’s room. He walked over to Wendy’s dresser and spoke softly, “Hello, Flower. Are you really too big for your jar? Do you want to move outside?” The flower didn’t answer, so Peter pretended that he was the flower answering: “Yes, Peter, I do need some more room so my roots can stretch out.”
Peter carefully picked up the jar. He carried it in both hands through the house and out into the backyard.
Then he sat down on the step to think. Wendy will be happy when she sees that I moved her flower, Peter thought. But where will I put it?
He looked for a place all over the yard—by the fence, by the swings, by the picnic table, even by the garbage cans. Then in the corner of the yard he spied a small pile of sand where he played with his bulldozer and dump trucks.
“There’s just the right place for you, Flower!” he said happily, as he headed for the sandpile.
While Peter was scooping out a hole in the sand, he found a little green car that had been lost. “There you are,” he said to his toy. “I guess I buried you and then I forgot to dig you up again.”
When Peter thought the hole was deep enough, he sat down beside the jar and tried to pull the flower out. But the roots were tangled up in the dirt, so Peter had to pry them out with his fingers. Some of the root hairs broke off. He put the flower in the hole and filled in sand around it.
Just as he went to fill the jar with water for the flower, it started to rain. With all this rain, I guess the flower doesn’t need any more water, Peter thought, and he went back into the house to wait for Wendy.
Wendy always watered her flower as soon as she came home from school. That was one job her mother never had to remind her to do. But when Wendy walked into her room after school that day, the flower was gone!
“MOTHER! My flower is gone!” Wendy cried as she ran into the kitchen.
“Now, Wendy, where would your flower go? Nobody has been here all day except Peter and me,” Mother said.
Just then Wendy turned around and saw Peter holding the empty jar in his hand. “Where is my flower? I told you not to touch it!” she declared angrily.
“Come and see,” he said excitedly. Mother and Wendy followed Peter outside.
He led them to the sandpile and proudly pointed to the little hump of sand where he had planted the flower. “See, Wendy, I moved your flower out here so it could have more room,” he said.
They all stood there, looking at it, but something was wrong. All the leaves were folded together and the head of the flower was drooping down to the ground.
Suddenly Peter was worried. He knelt down on the sand and tried to fix the flower so it would stand up straight. But it just kept flopping over again. His big eyes were filled with tears as he looked helplessly at Wendy and Mother. Then Wendy began to realize how much the flower really meant to her little brother. He feels even worse than I do, she decided and went over and knelt down beside him.
“Peter,” she comforted, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt the flower. You were only trying to help. Tomorrow we can get some more seeds and plant some flowers that we can take care of together.”

How could a young man from Chatsworth, South Africa, support himself and create a future with only fourteen rand in his pocket? That was the dilemma facing Mervyn Pillay when he returned home a number of years ago after serving a mission in Johannesburg.
“When I came home . . . I said to myself, ‘How am I going to make it with R14?’ . . . but I talked to myself and said, ‘The Lord will bless you as you do what He wants you do.’”1
Soon after this, Mervyn bought one bottle of nail polish with his very limited cash. He went to the market and sold it for a profit. That was the beginning of a business, and soon he was selling more and more nail polish—in the market and door-to-door. Being self-reliant, he had gained some knowledge in repair work, so as he walked door-to-door, he also asked if homeowners had appliances in need of repair and found additional work—and income—that way.
At one home, Mervyn met a man who turned out to be the maker of the brand of nail polish he was selling. When he learned that Mervyn was a savvy salesman who could also make repairs for him, he invited him in and saying, “You can repair my stove.” Then he asked, “And could you also sell this nail polish for me?”
Having learned how to work hard as a missionary, Mervyn energetically applied himself to his new job and, over time, sold about three million bottles of nail polish.
“I bought my home and I started . . . an electrical business and . . . a cosmetics business, and the business has boomed.”2
Many years later Mervyn still runs both businesses and says, “I just know that if I pay my tithes, then Heavenly Father is going to bless me.”
The self-made businessman Mervyn Pillay has gone on to indeed bless the lives of many others, including his family, his employees, and those he has served as a branch president and bishop.

The children have learned in the process of growing up what their parents expect. One young man said: “I remember when one of my friends asked if I’d like to go to a movie with him on a Sunday afternoon. I said no, and he wanted to know why—was that one of our rules? he asked. I thought about it and suddenly realized that it was one of our rules, but it had never been stated in those words. It’s just one of the things that our family would never do.”

Most doctors would be stunned to see Maria Turman at the encampment. As a matter of fact, they would be surprised to see her alive and smiling at all. Just a few short weeks ago, they were sure she was dying of brain cancer.
“I could barely stand the thought of what she would have to endure through whatever time she had left,” said her mother. “So we went home and called everyone we knew and asked them to pray for her. People of every faith joined us in prayer, and her name was in many of the temples.”
People fasted for her. People prayed for her. And they supported her in other ways too—like those who stood by her in the hospital, and the friend who told her that if she had to shave off her beautiful hair, he would shave his head too and, who knows, maybe they’d start a fad.
After a grueling two weeks of treatment and testing, her doctor came to her in total shock. “There’s been a miracle,” he said. “This girl does not have brain cancer. She does have another disease, but it is not fatal.”
Through all this Maria and everyone involved developed an incredible amount of faith—faith in the power of prayer, faith in the power of the priesthood from which blessings came that said she would be restored, and faith in the power and love of Heavenly Father.
Maria adds a sparkling, pure white to the rainbow.

Recently I was tenderly hugging one of our precious little five-year-old granddaughters and said to her, “I love you, sweetheart.”
She responded rather blandly, “I know.”
I asked, “How do you know that I love you?”
“Because! You’re my grandfather!”
That was reason enough for her. Indeed, we do love our grandchildren. We also love our grandparents. I cherish the memories of life with three of my four grandparents. I never met my Grandfather Nelson. He died when my father was only 16 years old. At the time of Grandfather’s passing, he was superintendent of public instruction for the state of Utah. He owned a handsome pocket watch, which my father later gave to me. Now that watch is a tangible link between us.

Anna Melville, 23, an outgoing young adult from San Jose, California, remembers an experience she had when she was 12 and “incredibly shy.” She went to a stake youth activity where she just stayed with the friends she knew until one friend brought over some new people.
“One of the new boys asked me a question, and suddenly it seemed like everybody’s eyes were on me, and I couldn’t think of an answer,” she remembers. “At that moment, I panicked and left the room in a hurry. I ran down the hall with tears running down my face and hid myself in a classroom until I calmed down. I just couldn’t handle the pressure.”
So how did she get where she is today? By pushing the shyness boulder away a little at a time.
“At first I would only hang out with a few people, but slowly, as I did this, I became more confident around others,” Anna says. She would tell youth that they need to stretch themselves. “Force yourself to try a new thing, and whether you’re successful or not, you’ll be better for trying it.”

Howard Long was a World War II vet, and he wasn’t in the best of health. Of course, he and his wife, Stella, managed all right. They were pretty independent and really active in the Church. They didn’t need much more than a short home teaching visit to keep their spirits up.

While walking home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I was mulling over in my mind how to out-campaign Tony Toronto, Jill’s opponent. I was piecing together terse, catchy campaign slogans when I spotted Howard Long a half-block down the street. He was on his front lawn, trying to start his mower. My first inclination was to move to the opposite side of the street and pass by as inconspicuously as possible.

Just as I started across the street, Sister Long opened the front door and called out, “Howard, just leave it alone.” There was genuine worry in her voice. “Get one of the neighbors to give you a hand. You’re going to have a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“It’s always hard to start,” Brother Long huffed.

Generally I was on the shy side, especially around adults. But for some reason I cut back to the sidewalk running past the Longs’ front yard. “Hi, Brother Long,” I called out awkwardly. He looked in my direction, nodded and smiled. “Could you use a hand?”

Howard took a breath and shook his head. “Oh, I think I can get it, Kyle. But I appreciate your asking. I just …”

“Howard,” Sister Long cut him short, stepping out the door and onto the front step. “Don’t be so bullheaded. Let the boy help you.”

Brother Long glanced over his shoulder toward his wife and then looked back at me, winking. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he conceded, stepping back. “I better not rile the boss. I wanted to get the lawn mowed before the garbage truck comes tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed the pull rope and worked on starting the motor. It wasn’t long before I was wiping at my brow with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to start, Brother Long,” I concluded.

“It was getting a little sluggish last fall,” he admitted. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Look, my friend Joel Manning knows a bunch about engines,” I offered. “If it takes gas, he can fix it. I’ll give him a call.”

“Oh, we don’t need to bother you anymore,” Sister Long said. “You’ve got plenty to do without worrying about us. We’ll make out.”

“It’s no problem. Can I use your phone?” I asked, moving toward the house.

A moment later I jabbered into the phone. “I need your help, Joel, old buddy. I told the Longs you could fix anything that guzzles gas.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here. Their lawn mower’s dead and I’ve been bragging about you so long and hard that they insist you come over or they’ll call me a liar.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“Come on, Joel. You’ll be helping me make my home teaching visit,” I joked.

Fifteen minutes later Joel and I were hunched over the mower. Joel figured out the problem right away: a loose spark plug connection. He was magic. It wasn’t long before that mower was just humming. The Longs didn’t have a huge yard so while Joel mowed, I grabbed a leaf rake and cleaned up the dead grass. There were also some leaves and branches in the backyard, so we hauled those out to the curb for the garbage truck to pick up the following morning.

It was pushing 6:30 when we finally finished, and both Brother and Sister Long were shaking their heads and apologizing for taking our whole afternoon. “I just didn’t know how Howard was going to get all of this done,” Sister Long commented in amazement.

Brother Long pulled out his wallet and started digging for a few dollar bills. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

Joel turned to me with a quizzical expression and asked seriously, “Does your bishop let you take money for home teaching? Mine doesn’t.” He winked and grinned.

I coughed and shook my head, trying to appear serious myself. “I don’t think we accept pay for home teaching unless we get it done the first part of the month. Maybe next time.”

Turning to Brother Long, Joel said, “I guess you got the famous end-of-the-month home teaching bonus package. It’s a special deal for families that have to wait to the end of the month for the home teachers to show up,” he joked. “I figure that Kyle’s families probably qualify for this bonus package every month.”

I felt good leaving the Longs’ place that afternoon, but I didn’t think any more about further home teaching. After all, it wasn’t something that preyed on my mind often. I had lots of other things to worry about.