Gospel Story Finder

Once, when I was trying to develop a habit of getting to bed early, a ward member heard me talk one Sunday about my hope to get more sleep that week. He asked me what I was going to do to make it happen. I committed to go to bed by my desired time at least one night that week. “I’ll ask you about it next week,” he said. I believed he would, so I kept my commitment.

Sure enough, the next week at church he asked if I had met my goal (I had!), and he asked if I would do it again the next week. I knew he would follow up, so I did it. The next week, he encouraged me to meet my goal twice that week. And the next week? He committed me to three nights. He kept encouraging me each week until my plan was a real habit.

Years later, I told that story to another friend at church because I had fallen out of my good habit and knew I needed to start again. “I’ll help you be accountable,” she said. So each week she followed up with me until I developed a habit of good sleep again. Over the years, family and close friends have helped me with goals to get enough sleep, but the two times it has been most effective were when ward members—with whom I wasn’t especially close—helped me set and keep a goal and then followed up with me in an encouraging way.

Through the desire of my heart, I decided to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. In Doctrine and Covenants 4:3 it says “Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work.”
When I finished everything that I needed to do to become a missionary, and I received my call, I was assigned to serve in Ghana Accra Mission. It was an English-speaking country, and I was very sad because I didn’t know English at all. The day I left home to begin my mission, I cried so much because I didn’t know how to speak a single word of English. In my mind I kept asking, why, why, why? Why would God send me to Ghana when He knows I cannot speak English.
In my MTC classroom, I was the only person who could not speak English. I spent nine weeks in the MTC and still could not understand any English. My date to go into the mission field was coming up. Elder Prince Siaw was my teacher. He was from Accra Ghana and speaks English and a little French. I asked him “Why are you sending me to the field when I can’t speak English yet?” I then added, “Would it be possible for me to stay at the MTC one more month and then when I can speak English, I can go to the field?”
My teacher said, “No, you have to go to the field because you won’t learn all the English here.”
That answer broke my heart. But Brother Siaw told me that I should not worry, that everything would be fine. That made me feel better and happy.
I had my first interview with my mission president soon after I arrived. I did not understand anything that he was saying, but through God, I was able to make it through the interview. I was sad for the first two weeks in the field.
One day, the Spirit prompted me to go to the gospel library. As I was looking, I saw the Articles of Faith. I started reading them and the seventh article of faith spoke directly to me. It was addressing my challenge. “We believe in the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healing, interpretation of tongues, and so forth.”
After reading the seventh article of faith, the Spirit told me I should believe in the gift of tongues and so I prayed specifically to God and asked for His help with learning the new language.
Later in the day, I decided to put all my French scriptures aside. I took my Book of Mormon, my Bible, and some of the books that were in French, and I put all of it outside of our bedroom. I put my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I thought of a scripture, James 2:17. “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone”.
I put in the work, and I started studying and reading aloud in English. I set a goal to study the whole Book of Mormon in English. When I started studying the Book of Mormon, everything started improving very fast. My English, my testimony, and my teaching all improved in five months in the field. By the time I was a missionary for one year, my English became so good that when I tell anyone I’m from DRC, they always think I’m lying, and some call me a black American.
After listening to the talks of the prophets and hearing them testify of the power of the gift of tongues and of praying for help and fasting, my prayers were answered! My tongue was loosed! I started teaching in a language that was not mine. It’s a miracle that I will never forget.

Kiera (11), Dane (10), and Annie (7) Bennion know the true meaning of family togetherness. While most families see each other only in the morning, after school, or on weekends, the children in the Bennion family see each other all day long, every day. That’s because the Bennions don’t go to a regular public school like most of the children in Beaverton—they and their brothers and sisters have school at home, with their mom as their teacher. Home schooling isn’t for everyone, but the Bennions felt that it was necessary for them.
“We really wanted to focus on family unity and self-worth,” their mother, Sandy, explains. So she and her husband, Gary, looked into the possibility of teaching their children themselves. They found out that their local school district allowed them to do so as long as they registered with the district and made sure that the children passed a state test once a year. After fulfilling these requirements, Sandy was given permission to teach her eight children in their own home.
Recently, as a home school project, they had a preschool in which the five older children—Aaron, Brittany, Kiera, Dane, and Annie—taught the three younger ones—Michelle (6), Ammon (4), and Lehi (2), as well as eleven other paying students. It was a good experience for them all, but not an easy one. “Sometimes it was pretty hard to keep the smaller kids under control,” Kiera admits.
During the school year (they usually get summers off, like regular school), the family starts off each day with a devotional. They wake up early and gather in the living room, where they say a prayer, sing hymns, and read the Bible. “We read our Book of Mormon at night,” Annie adds. The family also uses this time to practice singing. They enjoy singing in parts and sometimes prepare musical numbers to perform for a special event like their ward talent show.
They also do an annual Christmas “open house,” where they go caroling at a number of houses in their ward and neighborhood. Everyone who hears them delights in the Bennions’ performances. The practicing is hard, and sometimes performing is scary, but all their hard work pays off in the joy they bring to other people through their music.
Of course, the family isn’t always practicing for a performance. Most of the time, they just sing hymns or fun songs together. According to Dane, they may not perform for others more than five or six times a year, but they’re always singing on their own.
While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.
Dane is considered the family mechanic. He likes to tinker with things and figure out how they work. When he grows up, he wants to be a pilot or an engineer because he likes planes and he likes fixing things. He visits the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science Industry) to see the neat things that they have there. Dane also has a playful streak. He’s always making funny faces in photographs or teasing his brothers and sisters.
Annie, short for Annelise, likes to wear bright colors like red and yellow. Anyone who knows her enjoys her happy smile and playful, fun-loving nature. She’s very adventurous and wants to be a mountain climber someday, if not a famous singer. She has a great voice for being only seven.
One of the fun things about the Bennion family is that all the boys have Book of Mormon names: Aaron, Dane Nephi, Ammon Jared, and Lehi. Dane says that he would like to be more like Nephi because his middle name is Nephi.
While Annie doesn’t have a Book of Mormon name, she says she wants to be like Nephi, too, because she’s like Dane and Dane is like Nephi. Kiera’s favorite Book of Mormon story is about the Brother of Jared and how he was able to see Jesus Christ because of his great faith. She knows that everyone on earth has the opportunity to earn that same blessing if they are faithful and obedient to the commandments of God.
The Bennions love to do active things together. Almost every member of the family has his or her own bike. One of their favorite vacations is to camp with their ward on the coast, an hour and a half away, and ride their bikes on the roads and trails there. Dad has also promised the family a long biking trip in Utah in the near future.
There are lots of fun things to do at home too. They have a basketball hoop in front of their house, and all the kids spend lots of time practicing. They also like climbing the tree in their backyard, jumping on their trampoline, or picking blackberries for Mom to make into a pie.
Another member has just joined the family. Little Moroni was born in October 1997, bringing great joy to his family. He is showered with affection from his eight brothers and sisters. After all, there always will be plenty of love for one more in this large, talented, fun-loving family.

Kamla Persand was from the Mauritius island, attending medical school in Bordeaux, France, when we met her in February of 1991. We had prayed as a family to be able to share the gospel with someone who was seeking the truth, and we taught her in our home. I was privileged to perform her baptism, but we were not the most significant influences in Kamla joining the Church. Friends, missionaries, and even family members had been “witnesses of God” in her home country, and one day in France, when the time was right for Kamla, she made the decision to be baptized. Now, 25 years later, the blessings of that decision are all around her, and her son is a missionary in Madagascar.

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and the grocery store was crowded with shoppers. Jeff and his mother stood near the end of a long line at the checkout.
Suddenly the young woman in front of them gasped. “My purse! I’ve lost it!” The baby in her shopping cart blinked and started to cry.
Jeff’s mother stepped forward. “My name’s Sara Yoder,” she said. “Maybe my son and I can help you.”
Oh, no, thought Jeff. If we lose our place in line, we’ll miss the beginning of tonight’s TV mystery.
The young woman picked up her baby and turned around. “I’m Melanie Ross.” She patted the infant and sighed. “My husband’s paycheck is in that purse.”
Jeff looked at the food in Melanie Ross’s cart. There was a turkey, a carton of milk, butter, bread, celery, and a package of cranberries. This lady’s Thanksgiving dinner is not going back on the shelves, Jeff decided. Not if I can help it.
“Mom can check the dairy case, and I’ll search the produce section and the bread aisles,” Jeff suggested. “Mrs. Ross, maybe you could check the frozen meat case.”
“Leave your carts where they are, and I’ll save your places,” the man behind them offered.
Mrs. Ross looked relieved. “Oh, thank you,” she said.
The three of them left to look for the purse. Very slowly, Jeff walked up one side of the bread aisle and down the other. He looked carefully at each shelf, but he didn’t see a misplaced purse. Then he walked to the produce section and searched just as carefully—no purse.
Jeff returned to the checkout line. Mrs. Ross and his mother were already there. Their hopeful looks disappeared when they saw that he, too, was empty-handed.
Mrs. Ross started pushing her cart out of line. “Thanks, anyway,” she told Jeff and his mother.
“Wait!” said Jeff. “There’s something else you can do.”
“What’s that?”
Jeff pointed to a small room with a window. “Try the lost and found.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Ross returned to the checkout line, still holding the baby and nothing else.
Just then a voice came over the loud-speaker: “A red clutch purse has been lost in the store. If anyone has found it, please bring it to the lost and found office. Thank you.”
The line moved forward. Soon it was Mrs. Ross’s turn to pay for her groceries.
“Trade places with us while you wait for someone to turn your purse in,” Jeff’s mom suggested.
“Is there any chance that you left your purse at home?” Jeff asked as the carts were switched. “Or in your car?”
Mrs. Ross patted the baby, who was now sleeping on her shoulder. “I rode the bus here, so I had my purse with me then, and I remember having it when I put my baby in the cart.”
Jeff’s mother exchanged glances with him before she turned back to Mrs. Ross and offered, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You can leave your cart here,” the cashier put in kindly. “The stock boy will return the food to the shelves.”
Moments later, shuffling through the snow in the parking lot, Jeff remarked, “It doesn’t seem much like Thanksgiving, does it?”
“To me it does,” Mrs. Ross disagreed.
“How can it?” Jeff asked. “What do you have to be thankful for?”
Mrs. Ross smiled. “I’m thankful that I live in a city where strangers go out of their way to be helpful.”
Jeff opened the car door for Mrs. Ross and the baby. As Jeff climbed in, he asked, “What is a clutch purse, anyway?”
Jeff’s mother put the key in the ignition and explained, “A purse without handles.”
“Wait just a minute,” Jeff said excitedly, getting out of the car again. “I’ll be right back.” He raced toward the store. Soon afterward he came back, clutching a red purse!
“That’s it! Oh, thank you! Where did you find it?”
“In the frozen meat case,” Jeff answered. “Behind the turkeys.”
Jeff watched as Mrs. Ross opened the purse and looked through it. “But I searched there,” she said. “I didn’t see it.”
“I couldn’t see it, either,” Jeff explained. “It was too far back and way at the bottom.”
Jeff’s mother looked at him. “If you couldn’t see it, how did you know where it was?”
“Your shopping cart had a clue in it,” Jeff answered. “Let’s go get your groceries, and I’ll show you.”
The women followed him back to the store. Mrs. Ross’s cart of groceries still stood by the counter. Jeff pushed it back in line. “Watch,” he said as he took the items out of the cart one by one and put them on the conveyer belt. “It takes two hands to lift out the turkey. Everything else I can pick up with one. Since clutch purses don’t have handles, you must have set it down to pick up your turkey.”
“That’s just what I did,” Mrs. Ross admitted. “I remember now. Then my baby started crying, and I forgot all about the purse. I’m sorry that I caused all this trouble.”
“Forget it,” Jeff told her. “Not many kids get a chance to solve a grocery-store mystery.”
“We’re just glad that everything turned out all right,” Jeff’s mother said. “And we’ll still drive you home.”
Jeff looked at his wristwatch. The TV mystery was half over, and he didn’t even care anymore.

Jacob’s heart pounded as he bent into position. He shifted his weight back and forth at the starting line. The starter pointed his gun straight in the air and everything went silent.
“Bam!”
Jacob dashed into the water and began kicking his legs and churning his arms as fast as he could. This was Jacob’s first triathlon, and he wanted to do his best. He had been training hard. He was on the neighborhood swim team, and he had competed in a lot of running races. He knew he had a good chance of doing well.
Jacob finished the 50-meter swim in second place and ran to his bike. He dried off, threw on his shirt and shoes, fastened his helmet, and pedaled out of the transition area.
Jacob was supposed to ride about two miles (3.2 km) on his bike, but he wasn’t sure how long it would take. He came to an orange cone, but there wasn’t anyone to direct him. It looked like another boy had turned around at the cone, so he did too. He pedaled back to the transition area and got ready to run.
Jacob ran the last part of the course so hard he thought his lungs would burst, but he felt good when he crossed the finish line. He felt even better when he realized he was in first place!
He found Mom in the crowd, but she wasn’t smiling. “Jacob, are you sure you did the bike part of the race right?” she asked.
“I think so,” Jacob said.
“Your time is so fast,” Mom said. “I think you missed part of the course.”
“Let’s go walk through the bike course,” Dad said. “You can tell me where you rode your bike.”
Jacob and Dad started walking along the course, with Dad holding the course map. When they got to the orange cone, Jacob saw other bikers going past the cone—not turning around. Dad checked the map. The cone wasn’t the turn-around point. Jacob had accidentally missed a third of the course.
Jacob held back tears. He knew he had to tell the race officials he had made a mistake, but he didn’t want to. That meant he would be disqualified and that he wouldn’t get the first-place trophy.
Jacob walked up to a race official. “Excuse me,” Jacob said. “I wanted to tell you that I made a mistake. I missed a part of the bike course, so my time probably shouldn’t count.”
“It took a lot of courage to tell us that,” the official said. “Thanks.”
Jacob nodded, but his eyes filled with tears. Mom gave him a hug.
“I want to go home,” Jacob said. He felt tired and defeated.
But then he heard the race official on the microphone.
“It’s been quite a race!” he said. “And we saw a great example of good sportsmanship today. We had a boy who would have won first place, but he was honest enough to admit that he made a mistake on the bike course. I want everybody to give him a big cheer.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. It took Jacob a second to realize what was happening. They were cheering for him! Not because he had won, but because he had done the right thing.
On the way home, Dad told Jacob stories about other athletes who had made mistakes. He learned that everybody makes mistakes. He also learned that sometimes being honest gets you the biggest cheer of all.

Candy Sharp kept thinking about feelings she had while teaching Tiffany Evans [also a cadet] about the gospel.
“She said it was like a pot of gold she wanted to share with everyone. I thought about that a lot. The gospel brings me joy, too. That’s why I wanted to serve a mission. I knew Heavenly Father wanted me to go, so everything else would work out.” After a mission in Puerto Rico, Candy is now in her senior year.
Kinamo Williams, who ended up as Candy’s zone leader in Puerto Rico, says he hadn’t been totally solid in the Church until he arrived at the academy. “Seeing all the examples around me changed everything. Committing to serve Jesus Christ full time became a simple choice.”
The LDS institute program was also a key to maintaining spirituality, Kinamo said. “Monday was always one of my best days at the academy, because we had the opportunity to go to institute, to feast on the words of the Lord Jesus Christ and get the spiritual strength to go on.”

One tragedy of love has already occurred this year. A beardless youth became so enamored of a young miss (although she did not encourage him) that each day for 47 consecutive days he wrote her a special-delivery letter, until finally, on the 48th day, she eloped with the mailman. The lad is probably blessed, since all he had to offer the lady was a mission yet unserved, a college education one quarter complete, and no funds (he had spent all of his money on stamps).

A number of years ago a friend of mine called me on the telephone and asked me if I would come to the hospital and give him a blood transfusion. Then as I lay there and watched the blood run out of my arm, I asked the nurse how many blood transfusions I could safely give in the course of a year, and she said that it would be perfectly all right if I gave four. That is, if it were necessary, I could save the lives of four people each year by a transfusion of my blood.
A few years later I found myself on the other end of this great miracle of transfusion. During and after some major surgery, I was given nine blood transfusions wherein a majority of my total blood supply was exchanged. One afternoon when the intern wasn’t very busy, he figured out for me that in this process I had received 27 billion white corpuscles, and as he described their function, I thought of these 27 billion little medical men dressed in white uniforms going throughout my system killing the disease and fighting the infection that otherwise might have terminated my life. But then, in addition to that, he pointed out that I had also received 18 trillion red corpuscles. These were the little engineers that carried oxygen and nutrition to every one of my locations to keep me in business. And all of this came for just the few dollars that I had previously put into the blood bank. (Incidentally, I asked the intern if he would figure out how much money I was paying per corpuscle, but he thought that problem would be a little bit complicated.)

The Prophet’s natural disposition to do good was demonstrated during Zion’s Camp. In May 1834, the Prophet and his brethren were in the process of pitching their tents on the Illinois prairie when some of the brethren suddenly discovered three rattlesnakes and were about to kill them. The Prophet immediately intervened, teaching: “Let them alone—don’t hurt them! How will the serpent ever lose his venom, while the servants of God possess the same disposition, and continue to make war upon it? Men must become harmless, before the brute creation; and when men lose their vicious dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together, and the sucking child can play with the serpent in safety” (History of the Church, 2:71). The Prophet Joseph lived as he preached.

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “Thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, ‘Thanks a lot’? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

On my second night of study abroad in St. Petersburg, Russia, I met with my friends downtown to play American football. After the game I decided to experiment with taking the bus home. I had never taken the bus in Russia, but my host mother had told me that bus 7 or bus 1 would take me home. So when bus 7 arrived, I climbed aboard.
As we drove along, I looked at the shops and watched the people mingling on the sidewalk. Slowly, the area began to grow unfamiliar. I checked my watch and realized that I had been riding for 30 minutes.
Suddenly the bus stopped, the lights went out, and everyone got off. Trying not to panic, I looked around for assistance. I knew that if I could locate the metro, I could arrive home safely. I spotted a young couple down the street and walked toward them.
“I am lost,” I said. “Do you know where the metro is?”
“The metro is very far from here,” the man said. “But there is a bus stop over there. Get on bus 5, and it will take you to the metro.”
I thanked him and walked quickly down the street. When a bus approached the stop, however, it was not a number 5 but a number 1. I thought back to my host mother’s words: “Get on bus 7 or bus 1, and it will take you home.”
I reluctantly got on, but once again we drove and drove. The passengers exited one by one until I was the only one left.
Finally, the bus pulled to the side of the road.
“You must get off,” the driver said. “This is the last stop.”
My whole body shook as I struggled to breathe and hold back tears. It was getting late, and if I couldn’t find the metro before it closed, I would have to spend the night on the streets of St. Petersburg.
“Help me, Father in Heaven,” I prayed quietly and began walking. Then, breaking into a run, I started waving at passing taxis. None stopped.
I soon came to another bus stop, which was crowded with people. The lights of an approaching bus—a number 7—shone down on us. I hesitated. Buses had only gotten me lost, but a strong force from behind pushed me up the steps and into the bus. I sat down heavily in a seat, glancing at my watch. It was 11:50 p.m. The metro would close in 10 minutes.
I closed my eyes, whispering again, “Help me.” When I opened my eyes, I saw the bright lights of a metro station as the bus came to a stop. I ran off the bus and into the metro to catch the last train of the night.
As I sat down, I thought of how our Father in Heaven numbers His sparrows (see Matthew 10:29–31), and I silently thanked Him. I knew on that dark night in that vast city, He had led me home.

The story is about a girl named Eva. There are two important things you should know about Eva. One is that she was 11 years old in this story. And the other is that she absolutely, positively did not want to go and live with her great-aunt Rose. Not at all. No way.
But Eva’s mother was going to have surgery that required a lengthy recovery. So Eva’s parents were sending her to spend the summer with Great-Aunt Rose.
In Eva’s mind, there were a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea. For one thing, it would mean being away from her mother. It would also mean leaving her family and friends. And besides, she didn’t even know Great-Aunt Rose. She was quite comfortable, thank you very much, right where she was.
But no amount of arguing or eye-rolling could change the decision. So Eva packed up a suitcase and took the long drive with her father to Great-Aunt Rose’s house.
From the moment Eva stepped inside the house, she hated it.
Everything was so old! Every inch was packed with old books, strange-colored bottles, and plastic bins spilling over with beads, bows, and buttons.
Great-Aunt Rose lived there alone; she had never married. The only other inhabitant was a gray cat who liked to find the highest point in every room and perch there, staring like a hungry tiger at everything below.
Even the house itself seemed lonely. It was out in the countryside, where the houses are far apart. No one Eva’s age lived within half a mile. That made Eva feel lonely too.
At first she didn’t pay much attention to Great-Aunt Rose. She mostly thought about her mother. Sometimes, she would stay awake at night, praying with all her soul that her mother would be well. And though it didn’t happen right away, Eva began to feel that God was watching over her mother.
Word finally came that the operation was a success, and now all that was left for Eva to do was to endure till the end of summer. But oh, how she hated enduring!
With her mind now at ease about her mother, Eva began to notice Great-Aunt Rose a little more. She was a large woman—everything about her was large: her voice, her smile, her personality. It wasn’t easy for her to get around, but she always sang and laughed while she worked, and the sound of her laughter filled the house. Every night she sat down on her overstuffed sofa, pulled out her scriptures, and read out loud. And as she read, she sometimes made comments like “Oh, he shouldn’t have done that!” or “What wouldn’t I give to have been there!” or “Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard!” And every evening as the two of them knelt by Eva’s bed to pray, Great-Aunt Rose would say the most beautiful prayers, thanking her Heavenly Father for the blue jays and the spruce trees, the sunsets and the stars, and the “wonder of being alive.” It sounded to Eva as though Rose knew God as a friend.
Over time, Eva made a surprising discovery: Great-Aunt Rose was quite possibly the happiest person she had ever known!
But how could that be?
What did she have to be happy about?
She had never married, she had no children, she had no one to keep her company except that creepy cat, and she had a hard time doing simple things like tying her shoes and walking up stairs.
When she went to town, she wore embarrassingly big, bright hats. But people didn’t laugh at her. Instead, they crowded around her, wanting to talk to her. Rose had been a schoolteacher, and it wasn’t uncommon for former students—now grown up with children of their own—to stop and chat. They thanked her for being a good influence in their lives. They often laughed. Sometimes they even cried.
As the summer progressed, Eva spent more and more time with Rose. They went on long walks, and Eva learned the difference between sparrows and finches. She picked wild elderberries and made marmalade from oranges. She learned about her great-great-grandmother who left her beloved homeland, sailed across an ocean, and walked across the plains to be with the Saints.
Soon Eva made another startling discovery: not only was Great-Aunt Rose one of the happiest persons she knew, but Eva herself was happier whenever she was around her.
The days of summer were passing more quickly now. Before Eva knew it, Great-Aunt Rose said it would soon be time for Eva to return home. Though Eva had been looking forward to that moment since the day she arrived, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it now. She realized she was actually going to miss this strange old house with the stalker cat and her beloved great-aunt Rose.
The day before her father arrived to pick her up, Eva asked the question she had been wondering about for weeks: “Aunt Rose, why are you so happy?”
Aunt Rose looked at her carefully and then guided her to a painting that hung in the front room. It had been a gift from a talented dear friend.
“What do you see there?” she asked.
Eva had noticed the painting before, but she hadn’t really looked at it closely. A girl in pioneer dress skipped along a bright blue path. The grass and trees were a vibrant green. Eva said, “It’s a painting of a girl. Looks like she’s skipping.”
“Yes, it is a pioneer girl skipping along happily,” Aunt Rose said. “I imagine there were many dark and dreary days for the pioneers. Their life was so hard—we can’t even imagine. But in this painting, everything is bright and hopeful. This girl has a spring in her step, and she is moving forward and upward.”
Eva was silent, so Great-Aunt Rose continued: “There is enough that doesn’t go right in life, so anyone can work themselves into a puddle of pessimism and a mess of melancholy. But I know people who, even when things don’t work out, focus on the wonders and miracles of life. These folks are the happiest people I know.”
“But,” Eva said, “you can’t just flip a switch and go from sad to happy.”
“No, perhaps not,” Aunt Rose smiled gently, “but God didn’t design us to be sad. He created us to have joy! So if we trust Him, He will help us to notice the good, bright, hopeful things of life. And sure enough, the world will become brighter. No, it doesn’t happen instantly, but honestly, how many good things do? Seems to me that the best things, like homemade bread or orange marmalade, take patience and work.”
Eva thought about it a moment and said, “Maybe it’s not so simple for people who don’t have everything perfect in their lives.”
“Dear Eva, do you really think that my life is perfect?” Aunt Rose sat with Eva on the overstuffed sofa. “There was a time when I was so discouraged I didn’t want to go on.”
“You?” Eva asked.
Aunt Rose nodded. “There were so many things I wished for in my life.” As she spoke, a sadness entered her voice that Eva had never heard before. “Most of them never happened. It was one heartbreak after another. One day I realized that it would never be the way I had hoped for. That was a depressing day. I was ready to give up and be miserable.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing for a time. I was just angry. I was an absolute monster to be around.” Then she laughed a little, but it was not her usual big, room-filling laugh. “‘It’s not fair’ was the song I sang over and over in my head. But eventually I discovered something that turned my whole life around.”
“What was it?”
“Faith,” Aunt Rose smiled. “I discovered faith. And faith led to hope. And faith and hope gave me confidence that one day everything would make sense, that because of the Savior, all the wrongs would be made right. After that, I saw that the path before me wasn’t as dreary and dusty as I had thought. I began to notice the bright blues, the verdant greens, and the fiery reds, and I decided I had a choice—I could hang my head and drag my feet on the dusty road of self-pity, or I could have a little faith, put on a bright dress, slip on my dancing shoes, and skip down the path of life, singing as I went.” Now her voice was skipping along like the girl in the painting.
Aunt Rose reached over to the end table and pulled her well-worn scriptures onto her lap. “I don’t think I was clinically depressed—I’m not sure you can talk yourself out of that. But I sure had talked myself into being miserable! Yes, I had some dark days, but all my brooding and worrying wasn’t going to change that—it was only making things worse. Faith in the Savior taught me that no matter what happened in the past, my story could have a happy ending.”
“How do you know that?” Eva asked.
Aunt Rose turned a page in her Bible and said, “It says it right here:
“‘God … will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.
“‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”
Great-Aunt Rose looked at Eva. Her smile was wide as she whispered, with a slight quiver in her voice, “Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard?”
It really did sound beautiful, Eva thought.
Aunt Rose turned a few pages and pointed to a verse for Eva to read: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”
“With such a glorious future,” Aunt Rose said, “why get swallowed up in past or present things that don’t go quite the way we planned?”
Eva furrowed her brow. “But wait a minute,” she said. “Are you saying that being happy means just looking forward to happiness in the future? Is all our happiness in eternity? Can’t some of it happen now?”
“Oh, of course it can!” Aunt Rose exclaimed. “Dear child, now is part of eternity. It doesn’t only begin after we die! Faith and hope will open your eyes to the happiness that is placed before you.
“I know a poem that says, ‘Forever—is composed of Nows.’ I didn’t want my forever to be composed of dark and fearful ‘Nows.’ And I didn’t want to live in the gloom of a bunker, gritting my teeth, closing my eyes, and resentfully enduring to the bitter end. Faith gave me the hope I needed to live joyfully now!”
“So what did you do then?” Eva asked.
“I exercised faith in God’s promises by filling my life with meaningful things. I went to school. I got an education. That led me to a career that I loved.”
Eva thought about this for a moment and said, “But surely being busy isn’t what made you happy. There are a lot of busy people who aren’t happy.”
“How can you be so wise for someone so young?” Aunt Rose asked. “You’re absolutely right. And most of those busy, unhappy people have forgotten the one thing that matters most in all the world—the thing Jesus said is the heart of His gospel.”
“And what is that?” Eva asked.
“It is love—the pure love of Christ,” Rose said. “You see, everything else in the gospel—all the shoulds and the musts and the thou shalts—lead to love. When we love God, we want to serve Him. We want to be like Him. When we love our neighbors, we stop thinking so much about our own problems and help others to solve theirs.”
“And that is what makes us happy?” Eva asked.
Great-Aunt Rose nodded and smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes, my dear. That is what makes us happy.”
The next day Eva hugged her great-aunt Rose and thanked her for everything she had done. She returned home to her family and her friends and her house and her neighborhood.
But she was never quite the same.
As Eva grew older, she often thought of the words of her great-aunt Rose. Eva eventually married, raised children, and lived a long and wonderful life.
And one day, as she was standing in her own home, admiring a painting of a girl in pioneer dress skipping down a bright blue path, she realized that somehow she had reached the same age her great-aunt Rose was during that remarkable summer.
When she realized this, she felt a special prayer swell within her heart. And Eva felt grateful for her life, for her family, for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and for that summer so long ago when Great-Aunt Rose taught her about faith, hope, and love.

About those dinosaurs that need painting. The Ogden Weber Heights Stake wanted service to the community to be part of their youth conference. The city had been building a parkway along the river. One of the attractions was a dinosaur park with full-size replicas of several species of dinosaurs as they must have looked when they roamed the area. The trouble is, replicas have to stay out in the sun and snow, weather that can destroy paint jobs. So paint colors like brontosaurus brown and pterodactyl tan were soon speckling the clothes, faces, and hands of some willing painters. It’s hard to feel down when you’re hanging around the neck of a dinosaur with a paintbrush.

Then the whole stake planned a day to plant trees along the parkway. Jeff Walker, 16, from the Skyline Ward, said, “It’s nice to do something to help make our community look better. After the service project, I drove by with one of my friends. He said, ‘Man, that sure has been cleaned up a lot.’ I told him I helped with that.”

When asked what she would tell other teens in her ward and stake who were wavering about making the decision to participate, Dieuwke Stohel, 17, of the Grandview Ward said, “I would tell them, When you get done, the day cannot go wrong. Once you’re there, you’ll be really glad you went.”

A true story from Bermuda.
Colin tied two long pieces of wood together to make his kite. Then he looped string tightly around the outside of the kite to make it strong. Now it was time to add the colorful paper.
Uncle Ladd pointed to his own kite. “Am I doing this right?”
“Yeah. Now pull the strings tight,” Colin said.
“And choose some cloth for the tail,” said Alec, Colin’s younger brother. He pointed to the strips of cloth on the table. “That helps it fly.”
Colin and his family were making kites for Good Friday. Good Friday was a big holiday in Bermuda. It was the Friday before Easter. Everyone celebrated by going to the beach to fly their kites. Uncle Ladd was visiting Colin’s family. He had never made a kite before.
“Why do you fly kites on Good Friday?” Uncle Ladd asked. He chose red and blue paper for his kite.
“The kites flying in the air remind us that Jesus Christ was resurrected,” Colin said. “He went to be with Heavenly Father again. So we will all be resurrected someday.”
Alec nodded. “Everyone in Bermuda flies kites to celebrate.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Uncle Ladd asked.
Colin chose some colored paper. “I like that it brings us closer to God. And we get to spend time with family and friends.”
“I like that so many people celebrate together,” Alec said.
On Good Friday, Colin and his family went to the beach. They took their kites, fish cakes, and hot cross buns.
There were already lots of people at the beach. Colorful kites filled the sky. The wind blew everyone’s hair around, and the bright blue sky matched the color of the ocean. It was a perfect day for kite flying!
They sat on the beach to eat. The fish cakes were warm, and the hot cross buns were soft. Colin and Alec waved at friends walking by.
Then they walked with Uncle Ladd down the beach. Colin held his kite tightly. He had to run and try a few times before the wind picked up the kite and held it in the air. He watched his colorful kite dance in the breeze.
“I’m glad Jesus lives again,” Alec said.
Colin stared up at his kite and smiled. “Me too.”

When I visited Hyderabad in 2014, John Murala told me his story and much of the Church history that he has been diligently gathering. He also introduced me to his wife, Annapurna, who told me one of the most powerful Latter-day pioneer stories I have ever heard.

Annapurna was 12 years old in 1991 when her brother Murthy was taught the gospel by two missionaries in Hyderabad. Annapurna’s parents didn’t allow her to listen to the missionaries or attend church. However, Murthy gave her a Book of Mormon and a constant stream of Church literature for her to read. For seven years, Annapurna studied the gospel on her own and gained a strong testimony of its truth. She dreamed of being baptized, serving a mission, and being married in the temple but did not have permission from her parents.

Annapurna faced a difficult decision in her life when she was introduced to John Murala. John had remained strong in his testimony since his baptism in 1978 and was looking for a member of the Church to marry. After a very brief meeting where Annapurna shared her testimony of the gospel, John was convinced that he had met his future wife. Annapurna knew that if she married John, she would be able to be baptized and one day be sealed in the temple. However, at about the same time, Annapurna’s parents were planning to arrange a marriage for her.

Annapurna made the difficult decision to leave home and marry John. She felt it was the only way she could join the Church. She said she was “totally heartbroken” to leave her parents. But even today she affirms, “For everybody’s salvation, … for my posterity and for my parents and their ancestors, to do their temple work, I had to take that step.”8

John and Annapurna are grateful that her parents have now accepted their marriage. Many members in India have made sacrifices, just like the early pioneers, to become members of the Church. Yet these Saints pressed forward with faith because they picture themselves as pioneers and welding links for their families on both sides of the veil. I cherish the many stories of faith, sacrifice, and courage that I have heard from members blazing trails in new gospel frontiers. I still think about pioneers pulling handcarts and crossing icy rivers, but now I can picture modern pioneers in India and all over the world.

We called him Grandpa, but everyone else in town knew him as P. A. My earliest recollection is watching Grandpa, dressed in blue and white pin-striped coveralls and a neatly pressed white shirt, hoeing and pruning in his garden.
Grandpa was blessed with an appreciation of beauty, and was a talented sculptor. When he was a young man, Cyrus E. Dallin, a famous sculptor, invited Grandpa to come to Boston and study under him. Grandpa planned to accept Mr. Dallin’s offer, but in the meantime he worked as a fireman on a train to provide for his growing family.
One foggy day, there was a mix-up in schedules and two trains collided head-on. Grandpa was caught beneath the engines of both trains. Escaping steam scalded his face and arms. Seeing that his left leg was pinned in the wreckage and partially amputated, he free himself by completing the amputation with his pocketknife. Blood poured from the wound, and the faithful priesthood holder, in the name of Jesus Christ, commanded the bleeding to stop. It did. The stump of his leg turned white and did not bleed again.
Later, in the hospital, doctors amputated his other leg below the knee. During his long period of recuperation, Grandpa spent much of his time visiting and encouraging other patients.
After the accident, Grandpa traveled in several neighboring states representing a coal distribution company, taking orders and collecting money. Many a hitchhiker found himself riding in Grandpa’s car, sharing his lunch and his philosophy of life.
Sometimes Grandpa’s generosity got him in trouble. A hitchhiker once pulled out a gun and tried to rob him. Grandpa said, “I have only the money in my wallet. Take that and go.”
Apparently the man knew that Grandpa collected money from the coal company’s customers and was expecting to find a few thousand dollars. But after a thorough search of every possible hiding place in the car, all he got was a five-dollar bill from Grandpa’s wallet. After letting out the frustrated thief at the edge of town, Grandpa chuckled and drove away—with ten thousand dollars in collection money tucked safely inside his artificial legs!
Later, Grandpa became the owner of a roadside cafe. At Christmas time he gave the widows in our town a supply of coal and groceries. Grandpa took very seriously the admonition of Christ to visit the widows and fatherless in their affliction. In fact, no one who came to him for help was ever turned away. One cold winter’s day, a couple with five young children came to the cafe. Despite the freezing weather, they wore only lightweight summer clothing.
The family was travelling through to another state where a job had been promised. Their car had broken down, and they had walked many kilometers into town through the snow. Grandma fixed them a hot meal in the cafe while Grandpa drove the father to town and bought winter clothing for all of them. Then he paid for a mechanic to tow in the car and repair it. The next morning, as the family prepared to leave, Grandpa pressed a helpful amount of money into the father’s hand. The man cried and embraced Grandpa, asking God to bless him.
Heavenly Father truly did bless Grandpa. Losing both legs at a young age could have turned him into a self-pitying, embittered man. But he turned his feelings outward and lost himself in the service of others.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948–2020), the former chief rabbi of the United Kingdom, once spoke of attending a football match at Highbury Stadium (home to Arsenal) with the archbishop of Canterbury. Arsenal was playing Manchester United. After the public address announcer noted the religious leaders’ presence, Rabbi Sacks said, “You could hear the buzz go around the ground that whichever way you played this particular theological wager, one way or another, that night, Arsenal had friends in high places. They couldn’t possibly lose.

“That night,” he added, “Arsenal went down to their worst home defeat in sixty-three years.”

The next day a British newspaper ran an article that said, no doubt in jest, that if the presence of these two prominent religious leaders couldn’t bring about a victory for Arsenal, then “does this not finally prove that God does not exist?” To which Rabbi Sacks rejoined, “It proves that God exists. It’s just that he supports Manchester United.”

Rabbi Sacks said this amusing story contains seeds of serious insight about the importance of interfaith and global harmony. “What if God is not only on my side, but also on the other side?” he asked. “What if God cares about the game, not just the team? … Our common humanity precedes our religious differences.”2

Then a year or two ago, almost thirty years after Peter’s death, I dreamed that I was on a business trip, driving my car on a highway that ran alongside the ocean. I think I was supposed to be in northern California.
In my dream I was admiring the beautiful coastal scenery and listening to the car radio.
Suddenly, in my dream, coming toward me on the other side of the road was Peter. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I stopped the car, got out, and ran to him. We hugged and danced like two happy little boys. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty ocean as a backdrop and talked eagerly for about fifteen minutes.
Never mentioning death, or saying “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, Peter finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you going?”
“To take care of some business,” he said simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Andrew also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Peter again, to hug him and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Peter and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.

They also talk about another ingredient in their recipe for a happy home—family home evening. But that wasn’t always the case. “I remember when our family home evenings were mostly very long lessons,” says Christoffer, 18, with a playful glance in his mother’s direction.

“Sometimes I would get bored and fall asleep,” adds Andreas, who was only about five at that time. “But then I’d wake up, and there would be refreshments.”

Brother Ronndahl explains that when the children were quite young, Sister Ronndahl would regularly prepare lessons that were over an hour long. The lessons were difficult for the young children to sit through. Now the Ronndahls have eight children, ranging in age from 8 to 23 years old—the oldest, Rebecka, has served a full-time mission and is now attending college in the United States.

Brother and Sister Ronndahl decided to change their approach to family home evening. “We gathered the family together and said, ‘Hey, what do you like to do?’” says Sister Ronndahl. The parents weren’t too surprised to learn that the kids liked the food, the games, and singing hymns—they even liked the idea of a lesson, if it were only shorter. Brother Ronndahl sums it up well when he says the right ingredients were there but maybe not in the right amounts. “We discovered we should focus on the fun side of things too,” he says.

Sister Ronndahl decided to make an extra-nice dinner so Monday would start out as a special night. Then for family home evening they added a healthy measure of games and singing. They also shortened the lessons to about 10 minutes. The mixture worked well. “The children started to look forward to Monday nights,” says Kristina. “Everybody loved it.”

Now that the children are older, the lessons have lengthened and deepened. Rosanna, 20, says, “We actually can do very good lessons nowadays. We love to discuss the gospel and other things. It’s fun because we have so many opinions and ideas. Now it is more interesting because we’re talking about things that we want to talk about.” But the music, games, and refreshments are still part of the recipe.

“My favorite things are the refreshments and games,” says Josefin, 12.

“Refreshments and games of course,” echoes Christoffer.

“I think the songs and music are the best,” says Rosanna.

“The lessons,” Isabelle chimes in meekly. Her brothers and sisters immediately offer Isabelle some good-natured teasing. “No, really,” she adds earnestly.

“I think the whole family home evening is my favorite,” says Andreas. “The lesson, songs, games, refreshments—all of them together make it very fun. If we had a family home evening without a lesson or games or songs, it would feel like something was missing.”

“I love it when Brynolf and I don’t have to do anything for family home evening,” says Sister Ronndahl. “We can just sit aside, and the children lead and they have the lesson and they have the refreshments. They do everything. That’s my favorite.”