Gospel Story Finder

My maternal grandfather, Alma Benjamin Larsen, was only 34 years old when he woke up one morning and noticed that he had problems seeing. Shortly thereafter, he lost his sight entirely. Grandfather had served a mission and been a faithful member of the Church. He was a farmer with a wife and three children, and he could not imagine life without sight. Grandfather’s wife and small children now had to bear the extra burdens of helping on the farm, and money became tight.
During this time of physical darkness, many people became instruments in God’s hands to help my blind grandfather. One experience that had a powerful impact on his family happened in 1919. It was a year of great financial difficulty for all the people in Grandfather’s town. Farms were being foreclosed, and businesses were going broke. There was a sizable mortgage on his farm, and Grandfather received a statement saying he would have to pay $195 in order to carry the mortgage over for another year. For him, paying this bill was like demanding a pound of flesh. Nearly everyone was in the same condition, and it seemed impossible to obtain that much money. If he had gathered everything that the farm produced—the horses, cows, and machinery—he could not have sold them for $195. Grandfather asked a neighbor to butcher two or three of his cows, and he sold them and some other products. He had extended credit to his neighbors with the understanding that they would pay at the end of the year, but none of his debtors was able to pay him. The economic situation for his family was bleak.
In his journal, Grandfather recounts: “I shall never forget that cold evening, just before Christmas of 1919. It looked as though we would lose the farm. My daughter, Gladys, laid a slip of paper in my hand and said, ‘This came in the mail today.’ I took it to her mother and asked her what it was. This is what my wife read to me, ‘Dear Brother Larsen, I’ve had you on my mind all day today. I am wondering if you are in financial trouble. If you are, I have $200 you may have.’ The letter was signed ‘Jim Drinkwater.’ Jim was a small, crippled man, and he would have been the last man on earth that anyone would have thought had that much money on hand. I went to his house that night and he said, ‘Brother Larsen, I received a wireless message from heaven this morning, and I could not get you off my mind all day. I was sure you were in financial trouble.’ Brother Drinkwater gave me $200 and we sent the $195 to the mortgage company, and with the extra $5 we bought boots and clothes for the children. Santa Claus did come that year.”
My grandfather then goes on to bear his testimony: “The Lord has never let me down. He has touched the hearts of others as He touched the heart of Brother Drinkwater. I bear witness that the only safety and security that I have ever found has come through trying to keep the commandments of the Lord and upholding and sustaining the authorities of this Church.”

Years ago, I was preparing dinner and realized that I was missing a couple of ingredients. I didn’t have the energy to load up all six children for a run to the grocery store. So, I asked our oldest son Chase if he could watch his siblings while I made the quick trip with our youngest son. I would be back in 20 minutes tops! He assured me that they would be fine and he would call if they needed anything.
As I rushed out the door, our second youngest son Ethan asked if he could come. “Sure!,” I replied, but I was in such a hurry that it didn’t occur to me to tell Chase that I was taking his two youngest siblings.
When I returned a short time later, I could immediately tell something was amiss. First, the house was silent…in a home with six children that is very unusual. As I walked around a corner, the next thing I encountered was a red-eyed son who calmly but soberly told me how he and his siblings had been searching for Ethan, and before I could say anything, he continued to explain how they had looked in every closet and under every bed, had walked the perimeter of our home, had run up and down the street, and had knocked on neighbors’ doors, but he had failed to find his brother. At just that moment, Ethan came walking in behind me, and again, before I could apologize and explain, Chase grabbed Ethan, wrapped him in his arms and just sobbed.
The silver lining of my unintentional but horrible error was witnessing both Chase’s efforts and Ethan’s reaction. In an instant, Chase’s anguish was turned to complete relief and sheer joy at finding his brother! He and his siblings had been in relentless pursuit of their little brother and did everything they could think of to find him and bring him home.
Ethan was quiet, pensive, and a bit confused at his big brother’s sudden sobs and massive hug. I quickly explained my mistake and what Chase and his siblings had done in their exhaustive search for him. Ethan was deeply touched and could feel his older brother’s love for him.
I have reflected on this experience for many years. There were so many lessons learned that evening, like the importance to “repent daily!” I did a lot of repenting that night!
Why did Chase search so relentlessly and respond with so much emotion in finding his brother? Because he loved him. Love is the greatest motivator. The evidence of Chase’s love for his little brother that day was powerful and tangible.
Like Ethan, who was never truly lost, neither are we. We can never escape the loving eyes of our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.

In the lives of the Wirthlin family, it all began over a hundred years ago with my great-grandfather, Leopold Wirthlin. He was born in Switzerland. As a young man, he embraced the gospel and was promptly disowned by his parents. This motivated him to make the long, hard trek to the Salt Lake Valley. Some years thereafter he received a call from President Brigham Young to serve a mission in Switzerland. He readily accepted. So that he could go, he sold all of his possessions. My great-grandmother sewed salt sacks at a penny apiece to support her family in his absence.

I should like to conclude with a declaration of my great-grandfather as my deepest conviction and join his words and mine together as an everlasting witness. Leopold Wirthlin said in sincerest humility, “I know that when I discharge my duty properly I feel blessed, and that when I am negligent, I am not happy. Therefore, as members of the Church, we should watch ourselves closely and see to it that we are discharging our duties faithfully.”

May I add to his words these of my own: I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ and that the Father and Son appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith. Through him the true and everlasting gospel was restored among us, that we might attain the heights of a glorious exaltation as the beloved children of our Heavenly Father. To this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Months later, the young single adults in my area were planning a trip to visit the Freiberg Germany Temple in the next year. We were challenged to prepare our own family names beforehand to bring with us.
I visited many family members and a priest in a village where my ancestors had lived to gather information and records. I also prayed for guidance to help me find other members of my family who needed their work done.
In the end, I collected and prepared about 40 family names to be baptized during my first temple trip. But there was one ancestor in particular that I was truly excited about.
On the day we visited the temple, one of my dearest friends (who eventually became my husband) grabbed my hand and led me into the baptismal font to complete my grandma’s baptism. And when he lowered me into the water and raised me back up, I was struck by the warmest feeling from the Holy Ghost.
I knew immediately that my grandma was with me and that she was grateful to finally become a member of the Church. I was grateful to her for helping me truly realize just how much the work we do in temples matters to our ancestors.

In the face of persecution, Hyrum exhibited faith in the Lord’s promises, including a guarantee to escape his enemies if he so chose. In a blessing Hyrum received in 1835 under the hands of Joseph Smith, the Lord promised him: “Thou shalt have power to escape the hand of thine enemies. Thy life shall be sought with untiring zeal, but thou shalt escape. If it please thee, and thou desirest, thou shalt have the power voluntarily to lay down thy life to glorify God.”
In June 1844, Hyrum was presented the choice to live or to lay down his life to glorify God and to “seal his testimony with his blood”—side by side together with his beloved brother Joseph.
A week before the fateful trip to Carthage, where they were murdered in cold blood by an armed mob of cowards who had painted their faces to avoid detection, Joseph recorded that “I advised my brother Hyrum to take his family on the next steamboat and go to Cincinnati.”
I still feel great emotion as I remember Hyrum’s reply: “Joseph, I can’t leave you.’’
So Joseph and Hyrum went to Carthage, where they became martyrs for Christ’s cause and name.
The official announcement of the martyrdom stated the following: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, … has brought forth the Book of Mormon, which he translated by the gift and power of God, and has been the means of publishing it on two continents; has sent the fulness of the everlasting gospel, which it contained, to the four quarters of the earth; has brought forth the revelations and commandments which compose this book of Doctrine and Covenants, and many other wise documents and instructions for the benefit of the children of men; gathered many thousands of the Latter-day Saints, founded a great city, and left a fame and name that cannot be slain. … And like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, [Joseph] has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood; and so has his brother Hyrum. In life they were not divided, and in death they were not separated!”

The borrowed white tablecloths and snowmen centerpieces gave the cultural hall a festive look as last-minute preparations were being made for our family Christmas party.
As we waited for our guests, my gaze drifted to a table where an empty jar—labeled “Sub for Santa”—sat. I prayed that by the end of the night, the jar would be full.
During our party preparations we had discovered that my cousin’s husband had been out of work for over a year and a half. Her family’s main source of income consisted of handling five paper routes, which required them to begin each day at 3:30 a.m. The majority of their income went to paying the mortgage and other necessities, leaving little for things they wanted, such as Christmas presents.
My cousin’s family was one of the first to arrive. I watched as they made their way toward the dining tables, past our Christmas jar. As they approached, my cousin’s husband stopped to read the sign on the jar. Without hesitating, he took out his worn wallet, pulled out a couple of dollars, and tossed them in the container, oblivious to who the family “in need” was.
Emotion welled up in my throat, and I instantly recalled the New Testament story of the widow and her two mites. Wealthy men were flaunting their large donations to the treasury when “there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites” (see Mark 12:41–42).
No one would have blamed my cousin’s husband for walking past the jar thinking, “If I had I would give” (Mosiah 4:24). His great example of charity and love for his fellowmen touched not only me but also other members of my family who were watching him. I knew his family would be fine because “charity is the pure love of Christ, … and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him” (Moroni 7:47).
We had hoped to give his family something that night, which we did later on, but by giving in the midst of his own time of need, he showed us that when it came to what mattered most, he was already a rich man.

My youngest daughter loves her birthday. She begins planning her next birthday about 51 weeks in advance. So, it was wonderful to celebrate her 13 th birthday a few weeks ago. As part of the celebration, I took her to lunch. During our visit, we discussed the past and the future and, as part of the conversation, I asked her to share some of her earliest memories. With virtually no hesitation, she said, “Dressing up.” I thought you might like to see a few of the photos we’ve captured of her dress-ups over the years. Maybe you can see why dressing up is one of the things she remembers. These pictures provide wonderful memories for my wife and me when we see them and think about the brief time our children were small.

My dream since childhood had been to play the piano. When I was 12, a beloved member of the Church taught me to play. Later I received a keyboard as a present from my father. However, the enchantment of playing began to diminish because I became nervous when trying to play in sacrament meeting. I made many mistakes, felt ashamed, and did not want to play anymore. I told myself that I would try it again only after I had practiced a lot and could play almost perfectly. But I became discouraged and ended up selling my keyboard and hiding this talent.
Years later, one Sunday there was no accompanist. The sister who played the piano in our ward had moved. When I saw the members singing without a piano or organ to accompany them, I felt the Spirit encourage me to talk to the bishop. I said, “Is it all right if I play?” He accepted.
After years of avoiding the piano, I conquered my fear of making mistakes. To my surprise, I began to play as though there had not been much time since I stopped. I made mistakes on some notes but not many. That experience gave me the strength to suggest to my bishop that I would commit to play every Sunday.
I practice every week, and I have learned to love the piano again. Whenever I practice, I feel the Spirit strongly in my home. Sometimes when I play, my family members who are doing housework join in singing. We become one, singing the same hymn.
Many members of the ward have noticed my progress and congratulate me. I am grateful to contribute to the spirituality of my ward’s meetings and grateful that I went back to a talent that I had left behind.
I have learned to appreciate piano music; the calmness it brings is marvelous. I hope that in heaven we will hear this style of music, and who knows, I might be there playing in the celestial choirs!

Little brothers can be such a bother, Erin thought as she knelt to pick up her scattered postcard collection. She knew how much her little brother, Evan, loved to look at all the beautiful postcards. She didn’t mind showing them to him, but she didn’t like it one bit when he went into her room and helped himself.
“What do I need a little brother for, anyway?” she said aloud as she gathered the postcards. If only she could lock him out of her room forever!
Her scowl softened as she caught sight of her most treasured postcard. She picked it up and looked at the picture of the Seattle Temple, remembering the day she got to go inside.
It was only last December, on a cool, sunny day, that she had gone there with her mother and father, Evan, and both sets of grandparents. In the temple nursery, she had helped Evan change into the white suit that one grandma had made for him. Then she put on the outfit the other grandma had sewn for her—a beautiful white eyelet dress that she would wear again six months later at her baptism.
When Erin and Evan were ready, a kindly woman with hair as white as Erin’s dress took them to an elevator and then up to a beautiful sealing room that seemed like heaven to Erin. She was very happy to see her mother and father and grandparents there. She knew that Evan didn’t understand what was happening—he was only three years old—but she was almost eight and knew that they were there to have him sealed to them at last.
Before Evan was born, she had prayed constantly for a brother. On the day he was given to them, she had gone home from the adoption center and thanked Heavenly Father for sending her a baby brother.
As she finished gathering her postcards, she suddenly realized that she didn’t feel angry anymore. Just then her mother called her into the kitchen. “I need you to do me a big favor,” her mother said. “I made these hot muffins, and I thought that it would be nice to take some to Sister Taber. She’s home from the hospital after having knee surgery, and I know that she’d enjoy them. Would you like to take Evan for a walk over to her house?”
“Sure!” Sister Taber had been her favorite Primary teacher. She wished she could go alone, because her little brother always slowed her down, but she knew how much he loved to go for walks.
“Please try to hurry, dear,” Mom said. “Dad will be home soon, and dinner is almost ready. Do you want me to draw a map for you?”
“No thanks,” Erin replied with confidence. “I’m sure I can find it just fine.” She took the basket of warm muffins in one hand and her brother’s hand in the other. As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Evan wanted to stop and look at some leaves, but Erin gently tugged on his arm to urge him forward. “This is going to take forever with him along,” she mumbled to herself.
They reached the first corner and carefully crossed the street. Then Evan saw some bright yellow dandelions growing in the corner of a yard. “Look at the pretty yellow flowers!” he said, heading toward them.
“I’m sorry,” Erin said, “but we don’t have time to stop and pick dandelions. Mom told us to hurry, remember?” She grabbed Evan’s hand again, and kept walking. When they reached the next corner, they turned right. Erin was sure she’d recognize Sister Taber’s house when she saw it.
As they passed the next house, Erin felt Evan stop. He jumped up and down, yelling, “That’s just like ours!”
Erin looked where he was pointing and saw a red, white, and blue basketball backboard identical to the one Dad had put on their own garage. She and Mom loved to watch Evan and Dad play basketball. Evan always made everyone laugh.
But this wasn’t the time to be distracted. “Come on now, Evan,” Erin said impatiently, taking his hand and starting back down the sidewalk.
They crossed the street and headed for the cul-de-sac where Sister Taber lived. They were almost there when Evan began tugging at Erin’s arm and shouting, “Quack, quack, quack, quack!”
She turned around and saw him standing next to a mailbox with a painted duck on it. “Evan Michael, please come with me!” Erin scolded. “We can’t stop and look at everything!” I wish I hadn’t had to bring him along, she thought.
As they entered the cul-de-sac, Erin felt a little unsure about which house belonged to Sister Taber. She looked at each one carefully, then recognized the flower bed in front of one of the houses. This is it, she thought. This is where we had our last Primary achievement activity. She and Evan went up to the door and she let him ring the doorbell.
Sister Taber’s daughter answered the door. She thanked Erin and Evan for the muffins and told her that her mother would really appreciate them.
Erin felt good inside. Then, as she and Evan headed home, she realized that she wasn’t sure how to get there. They stood at the corner leading out of the cul-de-sac while Erin looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go. She began to feel a little panicky until she remembered something her mother had told her many times: “If you ever feel lonely or afraid, tell Heavenly Father your troubles. He always hears your prayers and will help you.”
Erin quickly and quietly asked Heavenly Father to help them find their way home again. Once more she looked up and down the street. Suddenly she spotted the duck mailbox that Evan had stopped to see. Holding her brother’s hand tightly, she left the cul-de-sac. After they crossed the street, she saw the red, white, and blue basketball backboard. We turn left at the next corner, she said to herself.
When they turned the corner, Erin saw the dandelions that Evan had wanted to pick. She realized that rather than feeling angry with him, she was grateful that he had noticed all the things that were helping them find their way back.
When they reached home, she took him inside and told her mother what had happened. Then she bent down, gave her little brother a big hug, and whispered in his ear, “Would you like to come and look at my postcard collection?”

The initial rejections I received in my courtship with Christiane made me a little discouraged. I had just about decided to begin a fruitful career as a young single adult in the Church, but one day I had a special spiritual impression. I was participating in an ordinance in the Swiss Temple when I heard a voice in my heart saying something to this effect: “Erich, if you do not seriously strive to marry and enter into the new and everlasting covenant, all these teachings and promised blessings really make no difference for you.” It was a wake-up call that I received at the young age of 21, and from that moment I tried even harder to be worthy of that blessing.

When I was about four years old, my family and I spent Easter with relatives in Ephraim, a small town in Utah. We went for a picnic there, and it was then that I saw a cactus for the first time. I ran back to my family, and my uncle was the first person I saw. “I’ve just seen something I’ve never seen before,” I told him. I described what it looked like. “What is it?”
“It’s a cactus,” he said. “You know what cactuses are for, don’t you?”
“No, what are they for?” I asked.
“They’re for sitting on.”
I ran back to the cactus I had seen, and I sat on it. The rest of the afternoon was spent with my mother picking out the painful prickles from the cactus. I learned then that when someone tells you something, you have to pay attention to whether he’s serious or just having fun!

Bishop Benson told how he was prompted by the Holy Ghost to check on Sister Henderson during the week. Sister Henderson was a widow who lived about two kilometers up a dirt road off the main highway into town. When the bishop went to see her, he found her furnace had broken down. She didn’t have a telephone and was no longer able to drive, so she had prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The still, small voice had told her all would be well.

Later, Christopher’s Primary teacher, Sister Woolett, gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost. She told about when the still, small voice warned her to check on her sleeping baby. When she did, everything seemed all right.
But as she turned to leave, the voice again told her to check on her little boy. This time she went over to the crib and looked closely at him. There, next to him, was a large, jagged piece of glass. A framed picture that had been hanging above the crib had fallen. Most of the glass and the frame were behind the crib, but the large, jagged piece had fallen next to her sleeping son.
Sister Woolett also related an incident from the lesson manual about one of the prophets being warned of danger by the still, small voice.

Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that after his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.
“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

Many of the students said they became involved with Adopt-a-Grandparent in about the same way Sharon Pritchett of Atlanta, Georgia, did. “Julie had been praying about finding people who wanted to get involved, and I had been feeling lonely and praying for ways to get to know new people,” Sharon said. The two met on their way to a religion class they had together, and after class Julie invited Sharon to a staff meeting the same day. Soon Sharon was publicity chairman for AAG.

The volunteers also said they felt their leaders had been inspired in matching them with particular elderly participants. “The Lord guides us a lot in what we do,” Julie said. “You wouldn’t believe the backgrounds of these people,” another supervisor added. “One man used to catch broncs by the tail and then train them. Another was born in Czechoslovakia and was a concert pianist. Now he’s paralyzed in one hand, but he still plays. His name is Rudy.” The supervisor also said it’s a goal of the program to place volunteers and participants with similar interests together. One fellow watches football games each Saturday with the gentlemen from a rest home. A young lady is learning how to crochet. Others work on sewing, knitting, and lapidary (making jewelry from rocks) projects with their elderly friends.

Kathleen Koch, of Carbondale, Illinois, often discusses genealogy with Alberta Campbell, her special friend. They spent one day together watching a general conference session, eating lunch, and visiting with Sister Campbell’s friends in other rooms of the convalescent center.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

Besides visiting their elderly friends, the students meet on their own at least once a month for a fireside and often have social gatherings. Wendy Ius of Trail, British Columbia, said fireside speakers are usually experts in social work, psychology, or human relations. The meetings help group members feel like a team, sharpen their skill in dealing with others, and provide a time for sharing ideas and experiences. A periodically published newsletter also helps to unite the group.

From time to time special activities are held at the rest home, especially on holidays. “We had a home evening a little while ago,” Karen said, “at which she (Sister Strong) bore her testimony. It was really uplifting. We had my entire home evening group out here, and she spoke about relying on the Lord.”

Linda Barr, of Brunswick, Georgia, said AAG “makes you more concerned because you find out how lonely some people are, what little joy they have, how they feel they’re not worth anything. You want to make them feel better. And it makes you feel better to think you’re important to them.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they’re not people. They’re up-to-date, not living in the ’20s. The person inside will be the same, now or later on,” Julie said.

And Sharon Wendell, of Bountiful, Utah, added, “They have lots to offer, unless people forget them.” Colette Johnson, of Boise, Idaho, commented, “It’s hard to know if I’ve changed because of the program. It was so great to start out with, how could it get any better?”

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”

Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

When I served in the Africa Southeast Area, I was inspired by the history of a group of Saints in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They were faithful members, living where the Church was strong. Then, due to political unrest, in 1993 they were forced to move more than 625 miles (1,000 km) away. They arrived in Luputa, a remote area with no organized Church units. But that small group of families chose to live the gospel.
They studied the scriptures and worshipped in their homes. Each Sunday, they met as a group in a small house. They paid to use it by working in the owner’s field. Although they weren’t authorized to bless the sacrament, they faithfully donated tithes and offerings. They kept this money in a safe place for three years until two brethren journeyed 625 miles to give it to the proper priesthood leader.
Finally, after four long years, a branch was organized in Luputa. The Church grew fast. Soon a district was formed. Then, in 2011, a stake was organized. All this growth came through the work of members and branch missionaries. No full-time missionaries had been assigned to Luputa, yet more than 100 full-time missionaries had been called from Luputa to serve in other places.
In 2012, Sister Cook and I visited Luputa. We drove for two days in a four-wheel-drive vehicle to get there. As soon as we arrived, we joined the Saints for fast and testimony meeting. After the sacrament, it was time for testimonies. Many people rushed to the front of the chapel. The brother conducting the meeting asked some of the members to return to their seats and wait for next time.
About 40 Saints bore brief, heartfelt testimonies about Jesus Christ. They focused on the blessings of the gospel rather than their trials. We felt deep love for them.
After the meeting, I asked the stake president, “Is it always like this?”
“Yes,” he said. “Is that OK?” It was very OK.
“How did your stake grow and progress without missionaries?”
“We had branch missionaries, good ones, just like it says in the handbook.”
“How do you handle welfare concerns amid so much poverty?”
“Everyone here has family.” He referred to the principles in the handbook. “We should care for our own welfare and then ask family members to help. Only after doing this should we ask for help from the Church.”
“You meet in simple, crowded buildings. Are they good enough?”
“We are working on it.”
“What problems do you have?”
He sounded surprised. “We don’t have problems,” he said. “We have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The Lord gave the Saints of Luputa strength “that they should suffer no manner of afflictions, save it were swallowed up in the joy of Christ” (Alma 31:38). I know He will do the same for us, because I have felt His joy over and over again in my life.
The Lord gave the Latter-day Saints in Luputa strength “that they should suffer no manner of afflictions, save it were swallowed up in the joy of Christ” (Alma 31:38).
Photograph courtesy of the author

One March night, the phone jangled into my dreams until Dad yanked me out of a deep sleep.
“Beth,” he hissed into my dark room as a sharp shard of hallway light spilled onto my pillow.
“Mmmmph,” I growled into my down comforter.
“Beth, Annemarie is on the phone for you. It sounds like something is wrong.” Immediately I leaped out of bed, glaring at the glowing green digital clock—4:13 A.M. Something was certainly wrong. I had only gone to bed three hours earlier after returning from junior prom. I thought Annemarie and her date left around the same time.
“Hello. What’s wrong?” I said as I picked up the receiver.
There was a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Nothing,” she said finally. “I’m okay. I’m stranded though. Can you come pick me up?”
At 4:30 A.M., I pulled into the empty parking lot of Sanders Market, a small grocery store at the edge of town. Annemarie stepped out from beside the pay phone and hobbled in her dainty high heels over to my car.
“What happened?” I demanded. Annemarie wiped the mascara streaks from her cheeks.
“We went to a party after the prom. It was all right for a while, but now everyone is drunk. I won’t tell you what Kevin tried, but it definitely wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been drinking.” Annemarie sniffled again. “Beth, I used to like parties, but you and I have so much fun without them. I wish you weren’t practically the only person in our high school who understands that you don’t need beer to have fun.”
“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “It probably wasn’t easy to walk away.”
She shrugged, her voice gathering strength as she spoke. “Not really. I knew I could count on you.”

A hundred young people with their adult leaders in the Centralia Washington Stake reenacted the excursion of a handcart company. The group used authentic handcarts loaded with their food and supplies for overnight camping.
The route taken by the group had landmarks renamed to match the ones passed by the actual pioneers. These new pioneers were plagued by rain and cool weather, but they persevered. When faced with the possibility of calling off the event, the young people responded, “The pioneers did not give up and neither will we.”
It turned out to be a long, hard trip, yet some of the pioneering spirit took hold. Two large streams and many mud holes had to be navigated. At the top of a hill, several youth would run down and help the next cart make the top. It was a good experience to feel what the pioneers must have felt as they helped each other make it into camp.
At the end of the trek, the group met for a fireside and testimony meeting. Each of the 11 wards represented presented an original camp song. The next morning as the group looked down into a misty valley in Washington, they could feel the joy of accomplishment that the original pioneers must have felt as they arrived in their new home.

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.
For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.
On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.
Your friend,
Jody
Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.
The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.
When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.
Dear Jody,
Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.
Jody took out her pencil and wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?
Your friend,
Jody
Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:
P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?
The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.
“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”
Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.
“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.
“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”
“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:
Dear Jody,
I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)
Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!
I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.
Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.
Love,
Jody
P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

One day Julie’s younger sister, Maddie, was feeling very sad. She was not having a good day. Julie wondered how she could help Maddie feel better. Then she had an idea!
Julie sat down next to her sister and asked Maddie to play a game with her. They would take turns telling something they were grateful for—something they could see, touch, hear, taste, or smell. At first it took Maddie a while to think of something. But after a few turns, it was easier, and she began to look happier. Soon Maddie forgot all about her worries, and Julie felt more cheerful too.

Thank you so much for the article called “What Does It Mean to Be Perfect?” (Jan. 2006). Lately, I have been unhappy with who I am and what I am achieving. I didn’t realize this was due to my perfectionist personality. As I read this article I knew that the Lord was watching out for me and blessing me. I am now learning how to deal with this perfectionism. Whenever I lose heart, I read this article again. I now know that I don’t have to be perfect immediately, but it is a process. Thank you for printing this article.Name withheld

It’s been years since that happened, and Jess now has a husband and children of her own. She still has unanswered questions and struggles every day with the consequences of her brother’s death. But over the years, she has found some peace. And she’s seen firsthand how the teachings of the gospel and love from other people help in healing.

Over time, peace can come. “I would love to say that the ache in your heart goes away, but it doesn’t,” Jess says. “But Jesus Christ’s Atonement has healed me in ways I never thought possible.” Reading scriptures, praying, and attending church help her see the light at the end of the tunnel. Through those small things, she’s received revelation for other ways that she can find help, such as meeting with a professional counselor. Now she takes things “a minute at a time” and tries to fill her day with gratitude and service.

“I have a strong testimony that our Heavenly Father loves every single one of His children.”