Gospel Story Finder

In 1982, when we arrived in Dubai, no Latter-day Saint services were being held. We found three Latter-day Saints there: a sister from the United States and two Filipino brethren. Sacrament meetings began in our living room. Our children used to say that for a year they didn’t go to church—church came to us!
Within eighteen months, however, new move-ins helped our branch membership grow to twenty-four; and by 1985, the small branch had grown to thirty-six. We rent space in the American school for meetings. Our branch offers the full program of the Church for our age groups, including early morning seminary.

He was a staunch supporter of the missionary program and invited the elders home as often as possible. Stephen was thrilled the day his brother, James, received his mission call. He enjoyed the preparations and being able to travel to Salt Lake City to take James to the Missionary Home there. Stephen firmly believed he would serve a mission too, and he studied diligently to prepare himself for it. His patriarchal blessing stated that he would go on a mission. He didn’t expect to do such a great thing as tracting, but he was sure there was a place for him.
Each day found him a little weaker. His body grew more and more distorted until he was bent almost double and spent his time, awake and asleep, draped over a chair. He didn’t complain; he accepted things the way they were.
Writing and directing the New Westminster Ward roadshow was his last big venture. The Vancouver British Columbia Stake produced the combined roadshows from all the wards. When the judges came back with their verdict, Stephen’s roadshow had won “Best All-Round Entertainment.”
As the applause died down, the stake MC approached the microphone. “Stephen Farrance, writer and assistant director of the winning roadshow, died this morning. We’ve kept this sad news until now we didn’t want to influence the judges. We’d like to congratulate the cast and crew for going on tonight, with special mention to Stephen’s family, who did such a fine job. We dedicate the roadshows to Stephen.”
“How could his family be here tonight?” someone asked, and the reply was, “After living with Stephen, what else could they do?”
“I’d like to bear my testimony and thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings … thank him for the sure knowledge that I will receive a perfect body in the resurrection, for my knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’m thankful for my membership in this church …”
Stephen had the blessing of a keen mind, a lively sense of humor, and the ability to see problems for what they were. He put all these things together and accomplished a full life, all 18 years of it. But he was not superhuman, neither a paragon of virtue nor a saint, but a warm, loving, normal human being with ups and downs, likes and dislikes.
About the time when many young LDS men are entering the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City at the start of their two-year missions, Stephen Farrance completed his mission here on earth. Did Heavenly Father send him out from the realm of pure love to give us an example to follow? Are we not all, to some extent, crippled in mind, if not in body, and in need of each other’s strength? Was this his mission?
In a letter to Stephen’s brother, James, their former stake president wrote: “Stephen had such a great desire to follow you into the mission field. Now he has received his call. He is eminently prepared to preach the gospel and will yet fulfill a great mission. But on his mission he will not have the heavy burden of his affliction. His spirit now stands straight and tall, and he can walk forth to preach the gospel with power and conviction, even as you are doing. Be of good cheer, Elder. Your brother is about his Father’s work, even as you are.”
A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.
Stephen lived 18 years. He achieved much, and he was a great example to many of us. Although he lived with a crippled body and suffered much pain, he died in the manner that the Savior has promised to the faithful: “Those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”

Years ago my adventurous son Jeff and I found ourselves on an old bus bouncing along on a dirt road in Central America at 1:00 a.m. We took the early, early bus because it was the only bus that day. A half hour later, the driver stopped for two missionaries. When they got on, we asked them where in the world they were going so early. Zone conference! And they were determined to do whatever it took to get there. At 2:00 a.m. two more elders boarded the bus and enthusiastically hugged their fellow missionaries. This scene repeated itself every half hour as the bus climbed the remote mountain road. By 5:00 a.m. we had 16 of the Lord’s finest as fellow passengers and were basking in the Spirit they brought on board.
Suddenly we screeched to a halt. A massive mud slide had buried the road. Jeff said, “What do we do now, Dad?” Our friends Stan, Eric, and Allan had the same concern. Just then the zone leader shouted, “Let’s go, elders. Nothing is going to stop us!” And they scrambled off the bus! We looked at each other and said, “Follow the elders,” and we all sloshed through the mud slide, trying to keep up with the missionaries. There happened to be a truck on the other side, so we all hopped aboard. After a mile we were stopped by yet another mud slide. Once again the elders plowed through, with the rest of us close behind. But this time there was no truck. Boldly the zone leader said, “We will be where we are supposed to be even if we have to walk the rest of the way.” Years later, Jeff told me how those missionaries and this photo inspired and motivated him tremendously as he served the Lord in Argentina.
Although we overcame the mud slides, we were all spotted with mud. The missionaries were somewhat nervous about standing before their president on zone conference day when he and his wife would be carefully checking their appearance.
As you and I slosh through the mud slides of life, we can’t help getting a few mud spots on us along the way either. And we don’t want to stand before the Lord looking muddy.
When the Savior appeared in ancient America, He said, “Repent, all ye ends of the earth, and come unto me and be baptized in my name, that ye may be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me at the last day” (3 Nephi 27:20).
Alma warns us about some of the ways we become spotted with mud: “For our words will condemn us, yea, all our works will condemn us; we shall not be found spotless; and our thoughts will also condemn us” (Alma 12:14).
Alma also said:
“Ye cannot be saved; for there can no man be saved except his garments are washed white; yea, his garments must be purified until they are cleansed from all stain. …
“… How will any of you feel, if ye shall stand before the bar of God, having your garments stained with blood and all manner of filthiness?” (Alma 5:21–22).
He also tells us about “all the holy prophets, whose garments are cleansed and are spotless, pure and white” (Alma 5:24).
He then asks us how we are doing as we cross through the mud slides of life: “Have ye walked, keeping yourselves blameless before God? Could ye say, if ye were called to die at this time, … that your garments have been cleansed and made white through the blood of Christ?” (Alma 5:27).
Because of repentance and the Atonement of Jesus Christ, our garments can be spotless, pure, fair, and white. Moroni pleads, “O then ye unbelieving, turn ye unto the Lord; cry mightily unto the Father in the name of Jesus, that perhaps ye may be found spotless, pure, fair, and white, having been cleansed by the blood of the Lamb, at that great and last day” (Mormon 9:6).
In 1 Samuel we read, “Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; … for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).
The Nephites were looking on the outward appearance of the Lamanites, for Jacob declared, “Wherefore, a commandment I give unto you, which is the word of God, that ye revile no more against them because of the darkness of their skins” (Jacob 3:9).
Our Father knows and loves His children all over the world, from Boston to Okinawa, from San Antonio to Spain, from Italy to Costa Rica. In Ghana, President Gordon B. Hinckley recently thanked the Lord “for the brotherhood that exists among us, that neither color of skin nor land of birth can separate us as Thy sons and daughters” (Accra Ghana Temple dedicatory prayer, in “Brotherhood Exists,” Church News, Jan. 17, 2004, 11).
We invite men and women everywhere, whatever language or culture, to “come unto [Christ] and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; … [for] all are alike unto God” (2 Nephi 26:33).
We come to this world in many colors, shapes, sizes, and circumstances. We don’t have to be rich, tall, thin, brilliant, or beautiful to be saved in the kingdom of God—only pure. We need to be obedient to the Lord Jesus Christ and keep His commandments. And we can all choose to do that regardless of where we live or what we look like.
When the four sons of Mosiah taught the gospel to the wild, ferocious Lamanites, a mighty change of heart occurred:
“As many of the Lamanites as believed in their preaching, and were converted unto the Lord, never did fall away.
“For they became a righteous people; they did lay down the weapons of their rebellion, that they did not fight against God any more, neither against any of their brethren” (Alma 23:6–7).
Today many of their descendants are reading about this in their own copies of the Book of Mormon and are choosing to follow Christ. I love meeting the children of Lehi in spotless white in the numerous temples in the Mexico South Area, where I am currently serving. I feel as President Gordon B. Hinckley did at the dedication of the Guatemala City temple:
“Thou kind and gracious Father, our hearts swell with gratitude for thy remembrance of the sons and daughters of Lehi, the many generations of our fathers and mothers who suffered so greatly and who walked for so long in darkness. Thou hast heard their cries and seen their tears. Now there will be opened to them the gates of salvation and eternal life” (Guatemala City Guatemala Temple dedicatory prayer, in “Their Cries Heard, Their Tears Seen,” Church News, Dec. 23, 1984, 4).
I have seen humble descendants of Lehi come down from the mountains to that temple and openly weep as they stood there in awe. One gave me an abrazo and asked me to take that hug of love, appreciation, and brotherhood back to all those beloved missionaries who brought them the gospel and to all the Saints whose tithing faithfulness has brought temple blessings within reach. Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can all stand spotless, pure, and white before the Lord.
With great gratitude I lift my voice with Nephi: “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children [and our grandchildren] may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26).
My wife and I love this scripture so much that she painted it on a wall in our living room, below a beautiful white porcelain Christus. They are a constant reminder for us to live Christ-centered lives.
One day our son was reading the scriptures with his family. Our seven-year-old grandson Clatie read, “‘And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ’—Hey, that’s what Granny and Grandpa have on their wall!” Now that’s one of his favorite scriptures.
On another occasion we were at the visitors’ center on Temple Square with these same grandchildren. Two-year-old Ashley was tired and wanted to leave. Sister Mask asked her if she wanted to see a big Jesus like the one on our wall. She asked, “Is He as big as me?” “Even bigger,” Sister Mask replied. When that tiny, little girl looked up at the majestic Christus, she ran and stood at the feet and gazed up reverently for several minutes. When her father indicated it was time to go, she said, “No, no, Daddy. He loves me and wants to give me hugs!”
The road of life is strewn with spiritual mud slides. Whatever our sins and imperfections, may we attack them with the same missionary zeal that those elders attacked their mud slides. And may we thank our Father daily for sending us His Son, Jesus Christ, to forgive us our mud spots so that we may stand spotless before Him. Ashley was right. He does love us and will say to us at that great day, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: … enter thou into the joy of thy lord” (Matthew 25:21).
I bear witness that He lives and He loves us. He is our Savior and our Redeemer. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When Anna Nadasdi participates in temple work, her enthusiasm is obvious. It is easy to understand that enthusiasm when one knows her story.
Sister Nadasdi was born in Hungary and raised in the Greek Catholic faith. Her father, who had worked in the United States as a young man, told her many stories of that distant “land of promise.”
She was a young woman during World War II when her country was invaded. During those perilous years, she always carried her family genealogy records to prove to the authorities that she was not Jewish. The records, covering one hundred years, were carefully wrapped in a handbag made from braided cornstalk leaves.
After the war, she married. She and her husband decided to leave Hungary, but they could not get exit permits. The only route open to them was through a minefield covered with barbed wire and guarded by soldiers in gun towers. After a period of consideration, they decided on a night to make the dangerous journey. In the agonizing crawl across the minefield they were expecting any moment to be blown up by a mine, ensnared by the barbed wire, or be shot. “The Lord must have been guiding us,” Sister Nadasdi says, “because we crossed safely into Austria. All we had with us were the clothes we wore—and my genealogy. I felt I had to bring my genealogy records with me even though it made crawling across the minefield even more difficult.”
Unable to find a sponsor in the United States, the couple emigrated to Australia. But memories of her father’s stories about the United States stayed in her mind.
One night, Sister Nadasdi had an unusual dream. She saw a beautiful building with many towers, surrounded by lovely grass and trees. She saw happy people entering and leaving the building. When she awoke, the memory of the building was clear in her mind, but she had no idea of what or where it was. She would often think about her dream and wonder what it meant.
In 1954, Sister Nadasdi and her husband separated.
The years passed, and she was successful in her work as a government clerk, but Sister Nadasdi felt something important missing in her life. As this feeling grew stronger, she decided to pray to God. Feeling lonely and desperate, she found a secluded spot and she began to plead with the Lord. After recounting the many difficulties in her life, she asked, “If there is another way, why don’t you show it to me?”
Almost immediately after her prayer, she met two Latter-day Saint missionaries who had just entered her apartment building. After they introduced themselves and explained the purpose of their visit, Sister Nadasdi thought, “As I was talking with the Lord, these two young men were already on their way into my life. Surely they must have an answer for me.”
Sister Nadasdi was receptive to the gospel message, but she was particularly affected when they showed her a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and she recognized the beautiful building of her dream. “If I hadn’t been supported by the arms of my chair,” she later said, “I would have fallen off on to the floor!” In response to her keen interest, the elders explained the doctrine of temple work for both the living and the dead.
“I finally understood why I had brought my family genealogy with me when I left Hungary,” she says. As the missionaries talked, she knew she would join the Church and one day go to Salt Lake City to do the temple work for herself and for her family.
Sister Nadasdi was baptized, and she did make the long round trip from Australia to Salt Lake City for her own temple ordinances and for those of her family.
In 1983, after visiting Hungary, the land of her birth, she moved to Salt Lake City to retire and to fulfill her greatest desire to serve in the House of the Lord of which she had dreamed so many years before.

June 7, 1955
This afternoon I watched the girls play outside. They were having so much fun making necklaces out of dandelions. They laughed and giggled at the silly things each would say and do. As I quietly watched, Elizabeth noticed me and ran over to give me a big, yellow dandelion. “I love you, Mom,” she said.
In my heart I thanked Heavenly Father for such precious children. They are like the sunshine that lights my day. I continue to pray and work toward the blessing of being sealed as a family in the temple. Until that day arrives, I will put my trust and faith in the Lord.

Astrid and Jennifer, sisters, found the Church before the missionaries could find them. Jennifer was interested when she heard about the Church in a religion class at school and did some research. In the local library she found German translations of the Book of Mormon and William E. Berrett’s The Restored Church. She and Astrid read them together. Skeptically, they looked in the Bremen phone book to see if they could find a reference to this “American” church. They were pleasantly surprised to find a meetinghouse in their very own hometown. They wrote to the meetinghouse, asking how to go about joining this restored Church of Jesus Christ. Of course, we were glad to help.

I remember vividly my first view of an iceberg. In 1937 Sister Kimball and I made our first crossing of the Atlantic Ocean by ship from Montreal, Canada, out through the St. Lawrence River and into the North Atlantic Ocean.
One day when we were well out into the ocean, there was excitement on the ship. An iceberg had been sighted. Most of the passengers rushed to the deck to see this sight. We could see it in the distance—a great white object against the dark sea and the azure blue of the sky.
There it floated quietly in the water like a sharp peak of a high mountain range, a thing of beauty to behold. All my life I had heard about them, and now, for the first time, it was there before my eyes—a sharp mountain peak of ice.

The second thrill happened after I retired from professional football. A young man became interested in the gospel through some discussions we had. I invited him to my home. He brought his girl friend with him, and the full-time missionaries taught them the gospel. They were converted. I had the opportunity of baptizing these two young people. A year later they came to Salt Lake City, and I had the privilege of going through the Salt Lake Temple with them when they were sealed for time and eternity.
The experience of seeing those beautiful young people accept the gospel and be united forever was a great thrill. It was a different kind of thrill than the touchdown pass. There were only a few people present in the “sacred silence,” but it was still very exciting.

Even the committee’s biggest worry—where to house everyone—was resolved in laughter. Member homes are scarce in Fairbanks, and some are only rustic log houses.
“It was really funny,” chuckled one girl on the steering committee. “Some families were called and asked to take youths, and they would say, ‘Well, I can, but all we have is a honey bucket, and I don’t think girls would want to stay here.’” Everyone was finally given a place to stay, although it was real Alaska frontier-style for some—no running water, electricity, or telephone, but clouds of mosquitoes.

I became friends with Kerstin when I was 14 years old. We went to the same school. I had known who she was for a long time, but I had not known her personally before because she was 12.
We got to know each other better when we both tried out for the school play. We soon became good friends, even though there was a two-year age difference. It wasn’t long before we met together in the afternoons to go on walks and talk. One spring afternoon, on one of our walks, she asked something that would change her life forever.
Kerstin wondered why my brother and I didn’t participate in the school’s religion class like most of the students in Austria. I told her about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then I bore my testimony and invited her to come to a youth activity. Later I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and the Liahona.
Since then Kerstin has participated in every Church activity and attends Church meetings every Sunday. She has even attended youth conference. Whenever we can, we walk to a little river that is close by to read our scriptures and work on Young Women Personal Progress.
Unfortunately, Kerstin cannot be baptized until she is 18. Her parents don’t want to cause any arguments with her extended family members. Despite this obstacle, Kerstin has already managed to get her mother to attend church.
Kerstin also works with the missionaries. She speaks about the Church with everyone she meets and has helped get her father excited about the family history program, even though he has no interest in religion.
Kerstin is an example to me of how easy it is to speak with others about the gospel and how our Father in Heaven prepares people to hear His word. We need only open our mouths and have faith. The rest will take care of itself.

Most of my customers are great, but a couple of them give me nothing but headaches. The biggest skullbuster is—or rather was—Mr. Cory. He’s the kind of guy who would complain if you gave him a solid gold watch that wasn’t set to the right time.
Last Saturday, after putting it off as long as I could, I went to his house to collect. His tall wooden fence had signs all over it, saying “Keep Out” and “Beware of Dog.” I was a believer. The first time I went through that gate, Mr. Cory’s big doberman, Slash, had tried to use my leg for a chew bone. Anyway, on Saturday, I peeked through a knothole to make sure Slash wasn’t on duty.
Mr. Cory answered the door the third time I knocked. He kindly left the screen door latched so that Slash, who was pushing his nose against the mesh and snarling at me, couldn’t get to me.
Mr. Cory was a sour-faced, dried-up little man, stooped with age—but his faded blue eyes were sharp and suspicious beneath bushy eyebrows. “Is it that time again, Rosa? It seems like I just paid you.” He always said that.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s been a month.”
“Well, if you’re sure … ,” he grumbled, tottering off to write a check, leaving Slash and me to glare at each other.
Mr. Cory opened the screen door a crack, slipped the check through, and took his receipt before he started complaining. “I wish you’d try to hit the porch once in a while. I don’t know why you kids don’t do your job like you’re supposed to, but I do know that I’m getting tired of chasing out in the damp grass in my slippers!”
“If I could get into the yard I’d put it right on your doorstep,” I told him. “It’s hard to throw over a six-foot fence and hit the porch.”
“And don’t throw it on the roof,” he continued as though I hadn’t even tried to explain. “I don’t want my roof covered with papers.”
“I only did that once, four months ago, Mr. Cory, and I gave you another paper.” I had even offered to climb up there and get the dumb paper, but he’d said, “No, leave it there. Maybe it’ll remind you not to be so careless.” It was still there, right by the upstairs bedroom window. I knew what window it was because if I even sneezed in the morning, that’s the one he hollered at me from.
“One more thing,” he growled. “I don’t feel well, and I’ll probably want to sleep late in the morning. Try not to disturb me!” He ended the conversation by slamming the door in my face.
The next day started out like a typical Sunday. The papers were fat with sale circulars and weighed in at a ton per copy. I reached the Cory house about seven and peeked through my favorite knothole. Slash was waiting there, all teeth and snarl.
I was getting ready to take a blind shot at the porch, when I noticed smoke pouring out of the back of the house. It didn’t seem likely that Mr. Cory, sick as he was, would be barbecuing in the backyard at that hour.
I backed off far enough to see the upstairs window and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Mr. Cory! Fire, Mr. Cory!” The only thing that happened was that Slash growled louder. I tried screaming once more, with the same result.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wake someone in one of the other houses and have them call the fire department, but the smoke was getting thicker and blacker, and I thought I should rouse Mr. Cory before the fumes got to him.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran a few steps, then flung that Sunday edition like a pro quarterback heaves a football.
It went just where I aimed, smashing through the upstairs window. A couple of seconds later Mr. Cory stuck his head out and started bellowing at me.
Lucky for me, the house was on fire.
The next day, the paper said, “Due to the fast thinking of Chronicle carrier Rosa Martinez, damage was slight and no one was injured.” I bought ten copies of that edition.
Mr. Cory was waiting for me Monday morning. He opened the gate, and I almost panicked when I saw there wasn’t anything between me and Slash. Then I saw that Mr. Cory had him on a tight leash.
The old man smiled at me for the first time. “Come in here a minute, Rosa. I want you and Slash to make friends. We’ll do this every day until he recognizes you as a pal. Then you’ll be the only person besides me who can come into this yard whenever you want to.”
It worked too. After a few days I had enough confidence to carry the paper right to the doorstep. Slash would just dance around, whimpering excitedly and wiggling his entire back end until I petted him.
The best thing, though, happened just a couple of days ago. The paper printed a letter to the editor from Mr. Cory saying that I was the smartest, most reliable, most courteous newspaper carrier he had ever had the pleasure to do business with. And the old guilt paper was gone from the roof.

“But, Pa, I’m bigger now! See?” Joshua said as he stood on his tiptoes.
“I do see how big you are,” Pa said. “Come over here to the measuring wall. We’ll measure again.”
Joshua ran over to the measuring wall and stood as tall as he could. Pa took a pencil and put a mark on the wall just above Joshua’s head. It was a little higher than the last one.
“Well, I’ll be!” Pa said. “You’ve grown one-eighth of an inch!”
“I knew it! Can I ride Dugan today?” Joshua asked as he jumped up and down.
“I think you just might be big enough to ride the horse,” Papa said.
Joshua was so excited! He went to the corrals with Pa and watched as Pa put a bridle and harness on Dugan.
“Why didn’t you put a saddle on her?” Joshua asked.
“Because today we have work to do with her,” Pa explained. “We are building a fence. You and Dugan will get to help.”
“Really? How?” Joshua asked.
“We will put a chain around the poles that are in that pile by the barn. Then we will hook them to the harness on Dugan and she will pull the poles where they need to go,” Pa said.
Joshua sat on the fence as Pa put a chain around the poles. He looked at Dugan. “She is a really big horse,” he thought. He began to feel nervous.
Pa finished chaining the last pole. “Ready, Joshua? Come over here and I’ll lift you up.”
Joshua climbed down the fence slowly and walked over to Pa with his head hung low.
“What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind?” Pa asked.
“Maybe I better wait until tomorrow,” Joshua mumbled. “I’ll be even bigger then.”
“I bet you won’t be scared anymore after you get on the horse. I won’t let you get hurt. I’ll walk beside you and lead Dugan to the place where we unload the poles,” Pa said.
“Really? You’ll be with me?” Joshua asked.
“You bet I will,” Pa said. He reached down and lifted Joshua onto Dugan’s back in one big swoosh.
“Wow! Look how high I am!” Joshua said. He grinned from ear to ear.
As he rode, Joshua looked at Pa. He realized that Heavenly Father would always be there to help him too. He would lift him up. He would walk beside him. And knowing that, Joshua could do anything—even ride a really big horse.

My name is Avery, and I am 13 years old. Even though I am still too young to go to seminary, my friends and I have found a fun way to prepare for it.
Every weekday morning, I wake up and get ready for school. Then I walk across the street to my friend’s house, and I meet up with two of my friends. Next we walk a little up the street to my Young Women leader’s house. We meet up with a few other friends, and we begin our walk over to the bus stop.
“OK,” I say, “today is my turn.” I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and read it out loud. On it is a scripture I copied down the night before. I read it and ask my friends what they think it means. We talk about it until we reach the bus stop. We each take a turn during the week looking up a scripture or a quote.
I enjoy doing this every morning because it helps me in many ways: (1) I learn more about the terms and meanings in the scriptures, (2) I learn to ponder about the things I have read, and (3) I am able to use the things I learn every day.
We also challenge each other to read the Book of Mormon and to learn about the lives of the prophets. Even if you don’t go to seminary yet, there are still many ways to start your day off with the Spirit.

Sometimes while they gardened, Mom told Vanessa stories about what it was like to grow up on a farm. One day she said, “My mother used to tell me: ‘You reap what you sow. If you plant cucumber seeds, you get cucumber vines and cucumber blossoms, and, eventually, cucumbers. You’ll never get cauliflower from cucumber seeds. If we sow acts of kindness, we reap friendship and happiness.’”
“But if we sow evil and unkindness, then we reap the consequences—unhappiness and sadness,” Vanessa added. They were silent for a few minutes before Vanessa asked, “It can take a long time to see the results of what you’ve sown, can’t it, Mom?” She was thinking of a girl who had started at their school before Christmas and was extremely shy. Vanessa had been nice to her, but it had taken until February to get the girl to respond. But Vanessa’s persistence paid off; the girls were now good friends.

Elder Cuthbert and his family are converts to the Church. “We were baptized on a January evening in 1951,” he said, “and we didn’t have a beautiful chapel such as those located in many parts of the world. Our meeting place was in an old house, where the missionaries had constructed a baptismal font under the floorboards. My family was among the first group to be baptized in the font. We were very happy and excited and had been looking forward to our baptism, because each of us knew it was what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted us to do. Although it was a very cold evening, we felt warm as we went into the baptismal font.

“After our baptism and confirmation, we had an even warmer feeling because we knew we had been baptized into the Lord’s true church. It helped us to start again and to feel clean and pure.”

A grouchy neighbor became a friend to one family who chose to serve him rather than take offense. “We felt prompted to go over as a family and offer Mr. Sloan some service,” says the father. “We took him some homemade bread and washed his outside windows because they were hard for him to reach.
“The children claimed they had never seen him smile before. But they’ve seen that smile a lot since that day. Bobby, seven, collects Mr. Sloan’s mail for him every day after school. Susie, twelve, walks Mr. Sloan’s dog on a leash around the block. And Peter, fifteen, mows his lawn.
“Serving Mr. Sloan has taught our family to love him, and we think he has learned to love us.”

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once attended an ox pulling contest, where he drew out an analogy. He said of the experience: “A wooden sledge was weighted with cement blocks: ten thousand pounds [4,535 kg]—five tons. … The object was for the oxen to move the sledge three feet [91 cm]. … I noticed a well-matched pair of very large, brindled, blue-gray animals … [the] big blue oxen of seasons past.”
In speaking about the result of the contest, he said: “Teams were eliminated one by one. … The big blue oxen didn’t even place! A small, nondescript pair of animals, not very well matched for size, moved the sledge all three times.”
He was then given an explanation to the surprising outcome: “The big blues were larger and stronger and better matched for size than the other team. But the little oxen had better teamwork and coordination. They hit the yoke together. Both animals jerked forward at exactly the same time and the force moved the load” (“Equally Yoked Together,” address delivered at regional representatives’ seminar, Apr. 3, 1975; in Teaching Seminary: Preservice Readings [2004], 30).

Our last daughter left for college this past month, and the eighteen years of daily living with her were suddenly over. Where had they gone? What minute, what hour, what day or night had swallowed up all those joyous, giggling, growing-up years? The first night she was away, I slipped into her bedroom, looked at her record player, and thought of all those times I had mechanically said, “Would you turn down the music!” And I thought, too, how often in the days ahead we’d be longing to hear the music. Thank God she and her parents have many wonderful memories to savor in the years ahead.

Sister Braithwaite relates one experience that was “a special spiritual awakening” for her. “One year there was a young man on a motorcycle going through town during pageant time, and he stopped to ask what was going on. I told him and asked him if he knew anything about the Mormon church. He said, ‘Not a thing,’ so I invited him to stay with my family and watch the pageant. At first he said ‘No, I’m too grubby,’ but I told him he could shower and get cleaned up, and he agreed. He did watch the pageant and slept on our lawn in a sleeping bag that night. Well, we didn’t hear from him again for a year and a half. Then we got a letter from him in the mission field.” She pauses to blink back tears. “You know, I could just see the light of Christ in his eyes. That’s what this pageant is all about. And just recently, another lady and I were in Provo making some purchases for the pageant. A man in the shop heard who we were and walked up to us and said, ‘I owe the conversion of my son-in-law to the Mormon Miracle Pageant.’”

I should like to give you another example. One of our most respected community-minded citizens began to act as though his feelings had been hurt and to stay away from socials where, in the past, he had gone and taken a most active part. People started accusing him of being a sorehead, a poor sport, antisocial, etc., and even evaded him whenever possible. Later, a medical diagnosis showed he was suffering from a brain tumor, which had been the cause of his lack of interest in activities that he had previously attended and even sponsored.