Gospel Story Finder

In school, if the children had been well-behaved, the teacher might reward them by having a railroad spelling bee after the afternoon recess. All the children lined up next to the wall. One day little Mary was at the front of the line, so she could spell any word that she wanted to. She correctly spelled cat. Then Charles, who was next in line, had to spell a word beginning with t, the last letter in Mary’s word. He spelled tail. Laura was next, and she had to spell a word beginning with l. She slowly spelled, “l-i-v-e-l-e-e.” Then, because she had misspelled lively, she had to sit down. The game continued as Henry correctly spelled a word beginning with y. All too soon the railroad spelling bee ended—it was time for the children to go home. But the next day they would return to the one-room schoolhouse to study and play again.

Brother Michael Kagle took a convoy of trucks loaded with equipment from his own company to Mississippi. Many employees, who are not of our faith, volunteered to go with him every weekend to give assistance in the storm-stricken areas. Walkie-talkies were used for communication along the way. Mike’s high priests group leader, while driving along with them in his pickup truck, said he had white knuckles from driving so fast. Trying to slow the convoy down, he got on the walkie-talkie and said, “Gentlemen, do you realize we are going 80 miles per hour?” One of the truck drivers came on and said, “Well, you have to understand that’s all these big trucks will do. We can’t go any faster.”

Hundreds of letters of gratitude have been received. One woman, a nurse from Mississippi, wrote: “I was speechless. Had God answered my prayers so quickly? Tears immediately began to roll down my cheeks as men in hard hats and boots, with chain saws of all shapes and sizes, appeared out of the debris. It was absolutely, unequivocally, one of the most supreme sacrifices that has ever happened to me personally.”

If you feel burdened or unsure about your responsibilities at home, the Lord can bless you to know what to do. At one particularly stressful time in my life, I felt like the daily load was more than I could bear. One night I had a dream—I saw myself placing a large bundle at the feet of each of my children. When I woke the next morning, I realized my children were responsible for their agency, not me, and that it was good for them to share in the work of our home. But I still had a very large bundle and wondered how I could manage it. Amazingly, the next night I had another dream, and this time I saw myself placing my bundle at the feet of the Savior. How I love Him. I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve had over the years to draw closer to the Savior as a result of working, learning, and growing in my home.

In October 1997, Sister Bednar and I hosted Elder and Sister Maxwell at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College). Elder Maxwell was to speak to the students, staff, and faculty in a devotional assembly.

Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.

I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. “Dave,” he said, “I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.”

His response to my inquiry was a principle with which he had gained extensive personal experience during his chemotherapy. In January 1997, on the day he was scheduled to begin his first round of treatment, Elder Maxwell looked at his wife, reached for her hand, breathed a deep sigh, and said, “I just don’t want to shrink.”

In his October 1997 general conference message, Elder Maxwell taught with great authenticity: “As we confront our own … trials and tribulations, we too can plead with the Father, just as Jesus did, that we ‘might not … shrink’—meaning to retreat or to recoil (D&C 19:18). Not shrinking is much more important than surviving! Moreover, partaking of a bitter cup without becoming bitter is likewise part of the emulation of Jesus.”1

Elder Maxwell also did not shrink. This mighty Apostle pressed forward steadfastly and was blessed with additional time in mortality to love, to serve, to teach, and to testify. Those concluding years of his life were an emphatic exclamation point to his example of devoted discipleship—through both his words and his deeds.

The girls enjoy going to Primary in the nearby town of Belfair. Their teachers lovingly challenge them to learn and grow in the gospel. Larisa’s teacher, Sister Crowell, helps her make fun things, like a faith plant and paper dolls from different countries. Michelle’s teacher, Sister Reynolds, challenged her class to bear their testimonies. Michelle said that one of the hardest things she’s ever done was follow Sister Reynolds up to the front of the chapel to bear her testimony, but that afterward she felt very good and was glad that she had done it.

Blake Heinze, a teacher in the Selah Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, achieved many outstanding awards during his first year of cross-country running. Blake is a freshman at Selah High School, which has an enrollment of just over 900 students.

Blake placed second in his flight at the Richland Invitational. In the state AA competition, Blake took second for the Selah team and seventh overall. He was the only freshman in the top 15 finishers. Approximately 120 harriers ran at state.

In AAU regional competition in Spokane, Blake again came in second, behind a four-year runner, and went on to National AAU competition in St. Louis, Missouri. There he came in 22nd out of 90 starters. The boys ran in freezing 20 degree F. weather.

The high school team practices both mornings and after school, but Blake finds time to attend seminary, run his four-mile workouts, and still be to school by 8:30 weekday mornings.

In addition to his love of sports, Blake is a member of the high school band. He was a starter on the ninth grade basketball team and will participate in track during the spring.

Blake is currently first counselor in the teachers quorum, has been president and second counselor in the deacons quorum, and is a regular attender in priesthood, Sunday School, sacrament meeting, and activity night.

“We’re going to America!” Eleven-year-old Henry was excited. His parents had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints before he was born. His family loved the gospel, but not everyone in England felt the same way. Some of their neighbors wouldn’t speak to them, and some people at school were mean to Henry and his siblings because of their faith. But in America they could go to Utah and be with other members of the Church.
Henry looked at his parents, and his smile faded. They didn’t look excited. “Aren’t you happy to be going to America?” he asked.
“It costs a lot of money to get there,” his father said. “It will take a long time to save enough for all six of us to go, and we don’t want everyone to have to wait that long. So we have decided to go to America one at a time. And Henry, we want you to go first.”
“All by myself?” Henry asked.
His father nodded. “You will take a boat across the ocean, from England to New York City,” he said. “Then you can go by train to Salt Lake. Once you get to Utah, you will stay with our cousins the Lowes. In the meantime, we will stay here and save our money so we can join you soon.”
Henry’s stomach dropped. Going to America was something he’d dreamed about, but he didn’t want to go without his family. “I don’t know, Papa,” he said. “I’m not sure I can go all by myself.”
“We have faith in you,” Papa said. “You are brave and smart, and Heavenly Father will protect you.”
Henry thought hard about it. Even though some people had been mean to his family, he liked his life in England. He had friends, and he had his family. He liked going to school, singing in the church choir, and playing with his brothers and sisters in the countryside. He knew these things would change if he went to America.
What if I don’t like it there? he wondered.
Then he looked at his parents. He knew they wanted him to be happy, and he knew they would come to Utah as soon as they could.
“Do you think you can do it?” Mama asked.
Henry took a deep breath. “I can do it.”
She gave him a hug. “We’re very proud of you.”
A few weeks later, Henry and his family woke up early and walked to the dock. Everything Henry owned was packed in a wooden trunk his father had made for him. They had painted his name on the front, along with the words Salt Lake City.
The dock was crowded, and Henry walked close to his family. How will I find my way around in America when I’m all alone? he wondered.
Finally they reached the S.S. Nevada, the ship that would carry him to America. Henry swallowed hard as he looked up at it. It was the biggest boat he’d ever seen!
Henry hugged his family goodbye, then boarded the Nevada. He stood at the railing and waved to his family until he could no longer see them. He said a prayer in his heart that Heavenly Father would protect them. Someday they would all be together again in Utah.
I can do this, he told himself. God will watch over me, and everything will be all right once I get to Utah.
To be continued …

I joined the Church as a convert in 1976, just a few days after my ninth birthday. I was baptized on the same day as my parents. Together my mom, dad, younger sister and I made the transition from being non-attending Presbyterians to active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And what a transition it was! Sundays, in the 1970s, consisted of at least two trips to the church-one for Sunday school and one for Sacrament meeting. And Primary was held after school on a weekday! While I am sure I learned quickly, I still remember feeling awkward when I didn't know the answers even to the easy questions in Primary. It was not until I had children of my own that I realized how much gospel learning could take place in the first eight or nine years of a child's life.

Perhaps due to my late start, I've often felt somewhat less spiritually mature than many of my LDS peers. Nevertheless, like David of the Old Testament, I had experiences in my youth that to me, particularly in hindsight, have allowed me to believe in a loving Heavenly Father who knows me personally.

I am certain that if each of us thinks carefully enough, we can recall an experience in which we felt--even knew--that Father in Heaven was cognizant of us as an individual.

One of the more powerful such experiences of my youth occurred in late August or early September of 1985, just a few days before I was to begin my freshman year at BYU. I had worked hard to fit my schedule together--you know how tricky it can be to get into each of the classes you need at the times you need them. Having completed this tedious task, I don't know why I was still perusing the course schedule. Nevertheless I still vividly remember sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' home, flipping through the pages, when my eyes landed on the bold-type word "Chinese"--the catalog heading for the Chinese courses offered that semester. At that moment I experienced a feeling quite unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It was almost as if I'd been shocked by some unseen electrical source--not a painful shock, but clearly some sort of physical feeling. Not simply an idea or brainstorm or a thought popping into my head. I knew--I knew--at that very instant that I must study Chinese.

Prior to this profound impression to study Chinese, I had only a small handful of remote recollections of even hearing references to China. The first was a memory of a radio news broadcast announcing the death of Mao Zedong, leader of the People's Republic of China. That would have been in September of 1976, when I was eight years old. I remember a high school classmate writing a report on Genghis Khan, whose progeny overthrew the Chinese empire in the 12th century. And finally, I remember overhearing a friend of another classmate talking about a trip to China he and his brother planned to make after they graduated. That's it. So this crazy compelling feeling to study Chinese was really "out of the blue."

Lacking confidence, I made my way to the office of Professor Gary Williams, then chair of the Department of Asian and Near Eastern Languages at BYU. Professor Williams was patient with my naïve inquiries and encouraged me to sign up for Chinese 101.

My life has been richly blessed because of my decision to follow the promptings I felt to take that first Chinese class. I was better prepared to serve the Lord in Taiwan, where I was called as a missionary a year after taking that first Chinese class--to serve under Mission President Gary Williams, coincidentally! Upon completing my mission I taught Mandarin in the MTC. And there are many other experiences that resulted from that decision to register for Chinese 101. I would not likely be a professor of Chinese at BYU-Idaho today had I not followed that initial impression.

In hindsight, I recognize that it was my belief and my faith that a loving Heavenly Father had spoken to me that gave me the courage to follow the inspiration to begin studying Chinese. But from where did that feeling come? And why was it so powerful to cause me to take such seemingly baseless action?

I know, unequivocally, that the experience I had that impelled me to begin my study of Chinese nearly twenty-five years ago, was Heavenly Father informing me, through the power of the Holy Ghost, of a path I could choose that would bring many blessings into my life. Having followed that powerful prompting and made that decision, and personally experiencing its consequences, I have come to know with certainty that we are children of a loving Heavenly Father; that he communicates with us, that our life on Earth has purpose, and that these principles I have discussed today are true.

For 67 years, Marjorie Pay Hinckley kept pace with her husband, President Gordon B. Hinckley, as he traveled the world. On 6 April 2004, her mortal journey ended. Surrounded by family and loved ones, Sister Hinckley quietly passed from this world to the next due to causes incident to age. Born on 23 November 1911, she was 92.
As evidence of the countless lives she touched, thousands attended a public viewing, some of them standing in line outside on a blustery spring day for more than three hours. Thousands attended the funeral held in the Tabernacle on 10 April, and tens of thousands more watched on television and by satellite broadcast.
“She conversed with kings and queens. She loved little children,” President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, said of Sister Hinckley’s ability to relate to people from all walks of life. “There was no flaw in her character. … Like the Master, Marjorie went about doing good.”
“She had such a good life,” said President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “All of us would benefit from following her faith, commitment, and devotion.”
During the funeral services, the Hinckleys’ five children—Kathleen, Richard, Virginia, Clark, and Jane—shared quotes from Sister Hinckley and gave expressions of gratitude to their mother. Clark Hinckley read a letter written by President Hinckley to his wife after nearly 60 years of marriage. “My darling, … I have known you for a long time … and it has turned out as I had hoped it would. … Now we have grown old together. … And when in some future day the hand of death gently touches one or the other of us, there will be tears, yes, but there will also be a quiet and certain assurance of reunion and eternal companionship.”
Sheri L. Dew, former member of the Relief Society general presidency and biographer of President Hinckley, said that while 12 million members together cannot take Sister Hinckley’s place, each would be praying that President Hinckley would have the strength to carry on. She said that each member would try a little harder in order to ease the prophet’s burden.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higgenson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higgenson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of “Mother” touched every man’s heart.

As a father I was blessed to see great futures in God’s kingdom for my daughters as well as my sons. When I prayerfully sought guidance, I was shown a way to help my daughters recognize the trust God had placed in them as servants who could build His kingdom.
When my daughters were young, I saw that we could help others feel the love of those beyond the veil, throughout the generations. I knew that love comes from service and inspires hope of life eternal.
So we carved breadboards on which we placed a loaf of homemade bread and went together to deliver our offering to widows, widowers, and families. The legend I carved on each of those breadboards read, “J’aime et J’espere,” French for “I love and I hope.” The evidence of their unique spiritual gifts appeared not just on the boards I carved but more clearly as we distributed them to those who needed, in the midst of pain or loss, reassurance that the love of the Savior and His Atonement could produce a perfect brightness of hope. This is life eternal for my daughters and for each of us.

Michele grew up physically in a comfortable upper middle-class environment in upstate New York. It was not until after having left that world, when she found herself “on the streets” in New York City, that she really began to mature spiritually. Like many of this generation she came to earth with a spirit capable of giving and loving equal to the challenge of today’s world. But it is one thing to love and another to learn how to effectively give. In seeking to fulfill herself, Michele sought many avenues for giving. Before coming to know the gospel, she saw how many ways people suffer in this life. For a time she lived in an apartment leased by the county to two heroin addicts and their three children. The parents were always on the streets in pursuit of drugs or the money to purchase drugs. What care the children got, Michele gave. Simultaneously she worked at fund raising for and as a volunteer in a hospital for children with cerebral palsy and also spent up to six hours a night on the telephones at a crisis center. Michele spent more hours working for others than one body can really stand—she kept going by taking speed. It is amazing that she kept going as long as she did.
When Michele found the Church, she had been involved in so many of the snares Satan has set for this generation that she knew she had to break cleanly with the past. She moved to another town and set about rebuilding her life according to the gospel plan. When I first met her, she was still struggling to overcome many of the temptations from her past and through repentance be reborn in Christ. As she trusted me, we talked out many of her problems and often cried together, sharing the sorrow and joy that can only come through regaining the Lord’s Spirit. Some problems I could only ask her to work out with her bishop, and after great struggles, she did. Other problems she brought to me because she felt I could understand, having known the world she knew. Late one night she revealed what seemed her greatest problem. She felt a continuing desperate urge to return to using speed. It was not the craving of an addict that drove her, however. As she learned more of the gospel of Christ and our responsibility to serve our fellowmen, she again became involved in many avenues of service to others. But this time it was not so easy. She tired quickly and could not do as much as she had previously. She felt her capacity to serve was lessened. Wouldn’t it be justified, she asked, to use speed to enable her to do more? If the drug took some toll on her body, was that so wrong, considering why she was doing it?
I knew that when she spoke of doing things for others, it was no simple rationalization. Michele really wanted to help others. It took more than a few moments of silent prayer before I was able to answer. Finally, I said, “All right, you want to give, but what do you want to give? What, for instance, did you give those three children? Can you tell me?” Though she knew I had heard the story, she repeated how she had washed clothes, fixed meals, dried tears, and tucked the children in at night. To that I responded, “Yes, but what did you give them?” This puzzled her. She started to repeat herself and then, realizing that I was asking something else, remained silent. Finally I talked for a moment about the unbelievable advances made by technology—we are on the verge of making machines that can do almost anything—and asked her what she had done for those children an existing machine or some machine that might be invented soon couldn’t have done. What, I asked, had she really given; what could she really give to anyone? She started to answer that she had given them love, but I stopped her. “Michele, tell me about speed. What does it mean when you crash?” The change took her back. Slowly she answered, reciting how methamphetamines can keep you up for only so long and then you come down physically, whether you want to or not. We talked about why it’s nice to be able to fall asleep as soon as you crash, and how if you don’t, problems start. She remembered how emotions, real and deep emotions, would well up from where the drug had suppressed them, suppressed them for as long as she had been high, and the wave of depression that followed those emotions. We talked about how being “wired” was a way to operate physically while ignoring the real-life, day-to-day sufferings that go on around you. One could do countless tasks without really feeling anything. And then I asked her again, “Michele, what did you really give those children? Even when you cuddled the little boy and bandaged up his knee, did you really feel his hurt and cry with him, feel and share his pain as we have cried together? What did you really give them?” She fell silent. “Michele,” I finally asked, “what can any human being give that is worth giving?” Gradually we began to talk again. We made a distinction between presents, things people buy, and gifts. I reminded her of how Christ contrasted the gift of the widow’s mite, a gift based on sacrifice, with the offerings made from the rich man’s surplus. We saw how every real gift involves a sacrifice on the part of the giver, a willingness to suffer for the good of others if need be. And as we talked, Michele gradually began to understand that she had been tempted to return to speed because the kinds of social commitments she knew she should make weren’t so much physically tiring as they were emotionally draining. She admitted that in trying to do the things she had once done so easily she found herself suffering with the people she wanted to help, and she recognized that it was bearing other people’s burdens, crying with them and praying for them, that left her tired, not the physical effort. It became apparent that she could not do as much physically as she once had, but by resisting the temptation to take speed, she was placing herself in a position where she could give much more. Only by keeping spiritually in tune and open to sharing could she truly give a gift worth giving, a gift no machine could duplicate. For real gifts involve the love and sacrifice of the giver; they can never simply be bought or sold. When Christ set us the example of the Good Samaritan as an ideal, the epitome of the Christian life, it seems obvious that he had in mind more than giving ambulance service to the wounded Jew. We must ask ourselves whether the Samaritan simply bore the Jew’s physical burdens, taking him to the inn and paying his lodging and care, or if he sought to comfort the Jew, offering him love and concern and fasting and praying for him. Did the Good Samaritan seek to bear the Jew’s emotional burdens; did he seek to love him? The answer seems obvious. And so we both learned a lesson about Christ-like service.

Sean Kimball loves to surf. So, naturally, he tried out for his high school surfing team. On the team he was expected to practice before school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, even though that meant missing early-morning seminary. After a while, however, Sean noticed that things just didn’t go as well for him on those days.
When did you realize that seminary was more important to you than the surf team? I had been torn between surf team and seminary, but I knew then that I needed to give up the surf team so I could go to seminary every day. I talked to the coach. He knows my family, and he understood. My friends told me I was letting the team down, but once I’d made up my mind, nothing stopped me. But a cool thing happened when school started this year. My surf coach called and asked if I’d be willing to compete in the Thursday-morning surfing contests as long as he places me in the heats that are scheduled after seminary. He respects that I’m going to seminary, but he really wants me on the team, so he’s going to make sure I can do both.

One Sunday at church, I found myself in the hallway with my young daughter as the sacrament hymn finished. I was trying to teach her to be quiet during the passing of the bread and water. As we fought our battle of wills for yet another Sunday, I began to feel a great weight of discouragement.
Was I doing the right thing? Would she ever learn? How long had it been since I’d been able to reverently partake of the sacrament myself?
An older man shuffled out of the chapel with the tray of bread. My daughter thrashed in my arms, and I felt close to tears. As he held the bread out to me with one hand, he gently placed his other hand on top of my daughter’s head.
I looked up and the man smiled at us both. His eyes were full of compassionate understanding and love. My overtaxed mother’s heart was able to refocus on the true meaning of the sacrament. My impatience with my daughter dissolved, replaced with love for her and for my Savior. I knew my Savior wasn’t disappointed in my efforts to teach my daughter. I wasn’t failing her or Him. He loved her. He loved me.
With time, my daughter learned to sit quietly, so I’m no longer worried about her actions distracting others while they reflect on the Savior and renew their covenants. Now the deeper concern in my heart is that she learn to recognize the meaning behind the ordinance and the power of the covenants.
My daughter’s testimony is just starting to take root. Some Sundays she is more focused on the sacrament than others. But when I remember the man from my ward all those years ago, I feel hope in her ability to learn and in the future of her faith. We all learn step by step. My desire is that one day the bread will be passed to her from the hand of a worthy priesthood holder and she will see in him the hands of her Savior.

When you are away from home and family, prayer can provide the shield of protection you will need. Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light that stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

Mom, look!
“You’re invited to Dante’s birthday party!”
Can we go get Dante’s present now?
OK. But we don’t have much money for gifts.
Can we get this?
I’m sorry. We don’t have enough.
How about this?
Well, Dante does like candy bars …
Besides, your friendship is the best gift you can give.
Is a candy bar enough? Maybe it would be better if I didn’t go.
At the party …
Cool! Thanks, Hannah!
I LOVE these! Thank you, Ben!
Really?
Yeah, they’re my favorite!
Thanks for coming to my party! I’m glad we’re friends.
Mom was right! Friendship is the best gift of all.

Some years ago while on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet—a water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was out walking, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy the room, Sneaky headed for the open door. The attendant slammed the door in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in it, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the attendant, and a time of weeping on the part of our children. Now, there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

My grandmother, Mary Kishiye Terazono, was born and raised in Kailua Kona.
She danced the hula professionally and sold encyclopedias door to door. My grandmother met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was married with young children. She invited them in to feed them dinner, just to be kind. They began teaching her the Gospel and gave her a Book of Mormon. At the time, she was an active leader in a Buddhist congregation in her community. After she and her father read the Book of Mormon, they both joined the Church. She said when she heard about the doctrine of the premortal life, it rang true and was something she had always felt.

The ward Primary presidency were deep in thought as they contemplated the organization’s needs for the coming year. “What shall we do about Jenny?” one of them asked. “She is the only eleven-year-old in the whole ward. Don’t you think we should just combine the classes? You know how difficult it is to get teachers, especially to teach just one child.”
The Primary president nodded. “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “But I just don’t feel right about that solution. The Anderson family is having some problems with Jenny’s older sister right now, and I don’t think that Jenny is getting all the attention she needs. I think we should be particularly prayerful about this decision.”
At that time, Primary was held on a week-day afternoon, and it was difficult to find people who could teach Primary during the week. And to find someone who would be willing to teach only one child seemed an impossible task.
The next day, the Primary president studied the ward membership list. It seemed that all those who might be suitable already had more than one calling. So she took the problem to Heavenly Father—and prayed again about finding a teacher for Jenny.
The next time she looked at the ward list, she felt drawn to Sister Conner’s name—an unlikely choice, she thought, because Sister Conner said she was not a good teacher. In fact, Sister Conner had said many times, “I’m just not a teacher. I makes me nervous to stand in front of people.” Sister Conner had said it so often that everyone in the ward believed her. But there was no mistaking the Spirit’s promptings, so the Primary president took her request to the bishopric.
Sister Conner was surprised to receive the call. “Are you sure?” she asked the bishop. “You know I can’t teach.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” came the answer. “The Lord needs you in this calling, Sister Conner. We suggest that you pray about what you can do to help Jenny.”
Sister Conner was so nervous about her new calling that she was actually relieved that there was only one child in her class. Jenny was delighted when she found out that she was really going to have a teacher all to herself. Her parents were relieved and impressed that Sister Conner had accepted such an unusual calling.
The Primary year began. Every Primary day Sister Conner and Jenny could be found in the same small classroom. Sister Conner gave the lessons, and they planned projects and had fun together.
One winter day, Jenny came home from school looking as if she was getting sick from a cold. When her mother said that she had better stay home from Primary, Jenny burst into tears. “Mom, you don’t understand. I have to go. Sister Conner needs me. If I don’t go, she won’t have anyone to teach, and that would make her feel very sad!”
As the year progressed, friendship and love grew between Sister Conner and Jenny. Sister Conner taught Jenny to sew, and Jenny taught Sister Conner how much it meant to her to have a teacher of “her very own.” Jenny learned many new skills that year, and Sister Conner learned that she could indeed teach—and that she loved teaching!
As the time for Primary graduation grew closer, Sister Conner and Jenny decided that they wanted Jenny’s graduation to be a special time. Jenny’s mother bought fabric for a new dress, and Jenny and Sister Conner sewed it together.
At last, graduation day arrived. The program was a beautiful, spiritual ending to a unique year, and Jenny looked lovely in the dress she and Sister Conner had worked on together.
Jennifer is a grown woman now—beautiful and self-confident. After nine years of marriage, she has been blessed with only one child. But she learned long ago the value of “just one child”—from Sister Conner.
Meanwhile, Sister Conner has become a great Primary teacher. She still prefers teaching small classes, and when questioned about the year she taught Jenny, she says, “I didn’t do much. It wasn’t a sacrifice for me at all; it was really fun. I just loved Jenny. I enjoyed that year more than almost anything I have ever done. Even after all these years, I still miss her.”

As his love for the Maori people blossomed, Elder Cowley had even more of a desire to learn their language. Soon after rising, he would turn to his books. “I studied until noon and then had dinner and took a little rest,” he wrote. “The rest of the afternoon was also spent in studying.”5

Years later, Elder John Longden, an Assistant to the Twelve, told how Matthew, when he was only 17, was blessed to learn Maori. “He had only been out for two and one half months, and a district missionary conference was called. … Brother Cowley had an opportunity to speak. … He spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes in a fluent Maori tongue, so much so that it amazed the older Maori people in the congregation.

“After the meeting … the district president said … ‘How did you master this Maori language in such a short time?’ …

“Brother Cowley said, ‘When I came here I did not know one word of Maori, but I decided I was going to learn twenty new words each day, and I did. But when I came to put them together, I was not successful.’ By this time they were passing a cornfield, and Brother Cowley said, ‘You see that cornfield? I went out there, and I talked to the Lord, but before that, I fasted, and that night I tried again, but the words just didn’t seem to jell. So the next day I fasted again, and I went out into that cornfield, and I talked to the Lord again. I tried that night with a little more success. On the third day I fasted again, and I went out into the cornfield, and I talked to the Lord. … I told him that I had been called by this same authority to fill a mission, but if this was not the mission in which I was to serve to please make it known because I wanted to serve where I could accomplish the greatest amount of good.’

“That was the spirit of Brother Cowley. He said, ‘The next morning, as we knelt in family prayer in that Maori home, I was called upon by the head of the household to be mouth. I tried to speak English, and I could not. When I tried Maori, the words just flowed forth, and I knew that God had answered my prayer and this was where I should serve.’”6