Gospel Story Finder

Remembering some of her experiences in Primary and Sunday School, Sister Smith said, “One time after I had given a two-and-a-half minute talk, I thought I had done quite well. But a certain brother said, ‘I was really disappointed in you.’ I felt crushed and asked, ‘What didn’t I do?’
“He said, ‘You didn’t smile.’
“I think that made me realize that you need to smile often if you want people to feel comfortable with you. Now that I’ve learned how to genuinely smile at people, it has made a big difference in my life. Smiling is a signal of friendship. Heavenly Father has told us that one of our purposes here is to experience joy. I think that smiling is one way to reach that goal.”

Let me tell you an experience of the girl who later became my wife. At one time she was a member of a stake Sunday School board. As such, it was her responsibility to instruct teachers in a union meeting class. The lesson for a particular session was the Prophet’s vision of the Father and the Son. She was aware that in the class there would be a graduate from the University of Idaho who was not a Latter-day Saint and who did not believe the gospel. It occurred to her that the account of the Father and the Son’s coming to the Prophet Joseph Smith would not be accepted by this educated, refined, and lovely woman. Thinking about it, she became greatly disturbed. She was not sure that she herself knew it was true. She was so distraught that she sought out her mother. Weeping she said, “Mother, I can’t give that lesson. I don’t know that Joseph Smith had that vision. That woman will laugh at me and ridicule me.”
Her mother was not an educated woman, but she did have a testimony. She said to her daughter, “You know how the Prophet got the vision, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered her daughter, “he got it by praying to God for wisdom.”
“Why don’t you try that?” said the mother to her daughter.
The daughter went to her room and tried it; she “wrestled” with God, as did Enos. The result was that she went to that union meeting and gave the lesson convincingly, with power beyond her natural abilities. How could she do it? Well, the Holy Spirit came to her in response to her inquiry. She received a burning within her soul. She knew that Joseph Smith had seen the vision, as well as he knew it. She had not seen exactly the same things with her eyes that the Prophet saw, but she had the same knowledge. She knew from Joseph Smith’s description what he had seen, and she had a witness from the Holy Ghost that his account was true.

The last time a hurricane made landfall in Florida, USA, I was a little boy. The year was 2005. At the time we lived in Utah and were visiting Florida on a family vacation. My parents say I was not happy to wake up at 3 a.m. to evacuate when the eye of the hurricane was headed directly toward us.
The day after that hurricane passed, we woke up and went outside. My mom said the sky was a beautiful blue and the ocean was calm, but the city looked more like my little sister’s bedroom—a disaster zone.
Fast-forward to now. It’s the first week of October 2016. My family and I have lived in Florida for eight years, and there’s a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean that’s destroying everything in its path. It’s moving toward us.
Every day we wake up, have family prayer, and then watch the news before we leave for school. My siblings and I all watch to see the damage the hurricane has caused and to track the path the meteorologists think the storm will take. The only good news about the storm so far is that school is canceled on Friday.
It’s 5 a.m. on Sunday morning, and my dad wakes me up and says it’s time to go. Just like in 2005, we’re up early and drive for several hours. I really don’t want to be awake this early in the morning, but this time we aren’t running away from a hurricane—we’re going toward its aftermath.
We’re driving a vehicle filled with chainsaws, gas cans, wheelbarrows, ladders, and a bunch of other tools. Hundreds of members of our stake are headed to a chapel in Daytona Beach, an area hit hard by the hurricane, to meet up with nearly 1,500 other Latter-day Saints from other stakes across the state.
The closer we get to Daytona, the lighter it gets outside, and we can actually start to see around us. Everything is a mess. Most of the businesses are closed, even the ones that are usually open 24 hours (yes, even McDonald’s!). Very few of the gas stations are open for business, and if they are, they don’t have any gas. Billboards on the side of the road are torn apart. The frames holding highway street signs have been twisted and snapped. Fallen trees and other debris litter the roadways, businesses, and people’s homes. The destruction is overwhelming at times.
At the chapel, volunteers from each ward are organized into teams of 10–15. It’s Sunday, so inside we can still go in and partake of the sacrament. Outside, we each get a uniform: a Mormon Helping Hands yellow T-shirt. Then each team is given their service assignment.
The two teams from our ward are assigned to go work in Flagler, about 15 miles north. We drive to the courthouse to meet with county officials, who have a long list of homes and businesses that need assistance.
Our team has to navigate roadblocks and downed power lines on our way to the first home, which the county officials said has a large tree that has fallen in the yard. After we arrive, I jump out of the vehicle and take my saw in hand. I can’t believe how big the tree is. But in less than 15 minutes we have completely cut it up and piled the pieces by the road for pickup. One of the most special times of the day is when we have a prayer with the home’s family before we move on to the next home.
We travel from home to home and even make a stop at the local First Methodist Church, clearing fallen trees and helping them repair the damage. We finish up just before their Sunday worship service. The reverend comes out to personally thank each one of us, then offers up a beautiful prayer asking the Lord to bless us for our service.
By lunchtime, both teams from our ward have completed all of the assignments we were given. I’m exhausted, but there are still plenty of people in the area we can serve. We take a short break for lunch, and then we begin looking for the next person to help.
We only have to drive past a few homes before we find that person. The rest of the day goes like this: we look for a home in need, we stop, we ask if they need help, we help, we pray with them, and then we look for the next person. Every time we finish helping someone, a member of our group says, “Let’s find just one more home.”
It’s hot outside, and we’re dirty, sweaty, hungry, thirsty, tired, and sore. But at some point during the day, I think we all forgot about how hard the work was because we were having so much fun serving. And at the end of the day, we all look around at each other and notice two things in common.
First, our actual “Mormon helping hands” had become filthy from the work we’d accomplished, but we’re all proud of it. It’s our badge of honor.
The second thing is that we are all smiling. It reminds me that we are all blessed to be a part of this great Church, where we are taught the importance and the benefit of Christlike service.
It was the most exhausting Sunday of my life, but the great thing about this on-the-job Sunday School lesson is that we were living our Christian convictions at the same time we were learning them.

The words of the second verse especially struck me. “The truths and values we embrace / Are mocked on ev’ry hand.” Immediately I thought of my high school experience. I saw peers, coaches, and teachers snickering, giggling, and even laughing and making fun of the way I live my life, specifically the choices I made to attend early morning seminary, to behave and dress in a modest way, and not to play soccer on Sundays.
Sometimes I felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, as if that stage of my life would continue indefinitely. But I realize Heavenly Father gave me those experiences because He loves me, and that is enough. He knows what is best for me, and though I look back on my high school years with very few fond memories, I know it was when I built my own testimony. I learned to pray about anything and everything and to trust in my Savior. I decided for myself that the Lord and His Church are worth anything I have to sacrifice in order to stand up and be counted as a disciple of Christ.

EZRA: So what am I doing here? I was walking down Main Street in Salt Lake City one day when Brigham Young, President of the Church, happened by. “Afternoon, Brother Cooper,” he said. “The Lord wants you in Long Valley.”
“Long Valley! What’s down there?”
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s why. But you won’t be on your own. We’re settin’ up the United Order. Settin’ it up all over the Church. Got to make the Saints one—start developin’ a perfect society.”
When I got my teeth back in my mouth, I said, “Brother Brigham, that’s impossible! There must be some mistake!” “There’s no mistake,” he said. “But don’t take my word for it. You go home and pray about it.”
So I went home and prayed about it. And here I am!
[He starts off again, then stops and smiles.]
Over seven hundred people, working, living, eating together—everybody equal, sharing the good and the bad. Oh, there are problems. Some say the meat cuts aren’t all the same size. But by and large [with pride], it’s working. And all because we try with our whole hearts—weak as they are—to live the greatest of all commandments—love!

I joined the Church at age 15, and four years later I submitted my missionary application. At the interview with my stake president, he complimented me for deciding to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. Then that inspired leader said something that made a profound impression on me: “Brother, from now on, strange things will happen in your life to try to get you to change your mind about your decision to serve the Lord.”
While waiting for my mission call, I was working as a trainee at Xerox. This work made it possible for me to obtain some of the things that I would need for the mission field and to help my mother with expenses at home. Things were going very well.
Unfortunately, “strange things” did begin to happen. First, my mother was assaulted and almost died from her injuries, but a kind Heavenly Father miraculously spared her life.
At that time, my mother, two younger sisters, and I were living in a rented house. We lived off my income and a small benefit that my mother received because of my father’s death years before.
Some people, including Church members, would ask, “Are you going to have the courage to leave your mother like this and go on a mission?” Hearing this question over and over began to cause doubts in my heart.
One day my stake president called and told me that my mission call had arrived and asked me to come to his office that evening so he could give me the much-awaited envelope from Church headquarters. I was both nervous and happy at the news.
On the same day, my manager at work asked to talk to me before lunch. When I entered his office, I was greeted in a friendly manner, and we talked for a few minutes about my training and what I had learned at the company. Then, that powerful man in the organization said something that was the dream of most of the people in the city: “You have done a good job here as a trainee, and we want to hire you and keep you on the team. What do you think?”
This was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. The seconds felt like eternity. It seemed that I could hear people asking me if I was going to abandon my mother without my financial support and go to the mission field.
Nevertheless, I remembered the things I had learned from the scriptures and my Church leaders, and in a very sacred way, I knew with an unshakable certainty that God wanted me to serve as a full-time missionary of His Church. I knew that He would take care of my family, that I could trust Him, and that everything would be fine.
I explained the situation to my manager, and his reply still echoes in my mind: “I thought that you were such a level-headed young man, and here you are throwing away the opportunity of your life.”
I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for his offer, and 28 days later I reported to the missionary training center in São Paulo, Brazil.
During my mission, the Lord provided for my family’s needs through Church friends and in miraculous ways. My mother’s health was restored and new job opportunities arose for my sisters and her.
“Strange things” really do happen when we decide to serve the Lord. Yet I would humbly add my testimony to the testimonies of thousands of others who have embarked in the service of God that missionary service has profoundly affected my life.

Another brother, Craig (7), is known as a hero at the local elementary school because he donated half his birthday money to a fund-raising activity for victims in New York and Washington, D.C. Craig was also a hero in preschool when he had the courage to invite his teacher to the open house of the Louisville Kentucky Temple (Louisville is just across the river from Jeffersonville). Both the teacher and her husband attended. “She said it was beautiful,” Craig remembers.

One of Néstor’s students there, Carolina Urrutia, was particularly impressed by him. She felt that he was different, somehow, from other gifted people—so much so that she decided to find out why. Néstor was very willing to tell her about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and as a result, he had the privilege of baptizing her. Subsequently, she and Néstor were influential in the conversion of another of his students, an actress and teacher named María Reiñanco.

Usually I didn’t like milking our mean cow Georgina, but the afternoon that Dr. Steed checked Father’s leg was one time when I wanted to be anyplace but in the house. Ever since his accident, Father had been in terrible pain. I prayed that Dr. Steed would do something to help Father, because I couldn’t bear to hear his moaning any longer.
Georgina seemed to know that I was upset—she didn’t cause me one lick of trouble. Grabbing the one-legged stool and the tin pail, I sat down to milk.
Even though I was only eleven, I had been milking cows since I was five. Today, I was milking fast and furiously, my mind a jumble of worries and fears.
Up until Father’s accident two days earlier, everything had gone well for us. Our crops were growing better this year than any time that I could remember. Not a single calf or cow had died during the winter or spring, which was probably a first. Father had even started building a new barn. We figured to have it finished before we brought in the third crop of alfalfa hay in August.
Father had been on a scaffold working on our barn when he slipped and fell 30 feet (over 9 m), landing horribly hard on his right leg.
The first time Dr. Steed looked at Father’s bulging, bloody ankle, he shook his head. “It looks mighty bad. The bone’s shattered. There’s nothing to set—it’s just a bunch of bone fragments.”
“What do we do?” Mother’s face was a mask of wrinkled worries as she clutched Father’s hand.
Father gritted his teeth and managed a faint smile that looked strange and out of place on his gray, tense face. “The good Lord will look after us, Dr. Steed,” he said weakly but confidently. “A busted leg doesn’t mean that the Lord doesn’t have His eye on us.”
I had always believed my father, especially when he talked about the Lord, but I began to wonder how He was watching over us when disaster hung over our home like a thick, heavy black cloud. Was He going to grow Father another leg?
The pain didn’t go away in Father’s leg. It got worse, lots worse! His leg from the knee to his toes swelled up something fierce. It looked as though it was going to burst. The skin turned almost black in places. Father wanted to wait longer to see if his leg would get better on its own, but Mother finally insisted that Dr. Steed take another look.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Georgina’s warm flank as the pail started filling up with the white foamy milk. I didn’t know what we were going to do with Father laid up. I knew that I was still too young to run the farm by myself. Maybe I could do it a day or so, but when it came time to cut the hay, harvest the grain, and bring in the corn, I’d need more help than my two little brothers could give me.
The shed door squeaked open. Mother stood there, her eyes wide and her face white as her apron. She wet her lips. “Your father’s leg …” The words died in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. “Charlie,” she got out, “Dr. Steed says your father’s leg has to come off from the knee down.”
“Cut off his leg?” I jumped up.
“Charlie, it’s his leg or his life,” Mother said softly, looking away. “Dr. Steed can’t save it. If he doesn’t take it off soon, your father will die. There’s no other way. Run and get Bishop Hunt. Your father wants a blessing before Dr. Steed starts cutting.”
I raced over to Bishop Hunt and gave him the bad news, but I didn’t go back to the house with him. Instead, I went down to the creek and hid in the bushes, wanting to be as far from Father’s moans and groans as I could get.
It was dark when I finally returned to the house. I crept into the house and stole silently down the hall to Mother and Father’s half-open bedroom door.
Father lay on his back, his eyes closed, his face ashen. Mother sat in the rocker next to the bed, holding his hand. Tears trickled down her cheeks. I studied the blanket covering Father and stared at the horrible empty place where his foot and lower leg should have been.
Mother saw me and smiled weakly. “Dr. Steed thinks he’ll be all right if he can rest through the night. Pray for him, Charlie. The Lord’s blessed us plenty. We need to ask for another blessing from His hand.”
I turned away. “How has the Lord blessed us?” I wondered. “Father is lying there without his leg. We still have the farm and the cows to take care of. The barn isn’t finished. And how can Father do any of those things with only one whole leg?” I fought back bitter tears of frustration and fear, wishing desperately that I were older so that I could carry the load.
I was busy from early morning till late at night, doing my very best to run the farm. Two days after Dr. Steed took off Father’s lower leg, I dragged into the house late, tired clear to the bone. I was shocked to see Father sitting in the rocker by the kitchen table with his stub leg propped up on a pillow in a chair. He looked better than he had since his accident. “Well, Charlie,” he said with a faint smile, “your mother says you’ve been doing a mighty fine job keeping things up around here. You’re a real man.”
I heaved a sigh and felt a hard lump in my throat, thankful for Father’s praise and mighty glad that he was doing better. Even so, I was overwhelmed by the huge job before me. I dropped down on a kitchen chair. Mother set a plate of hot food in front of me. I was almost too tired to lift my fork to feed myself. “I don’t know if I can do it alone,” I gulped.
“We won’t be doing it alone, Charlie,” Father said gently. “The Lord’ll be there. He always has been.”
“How can you say that?” I burst out, my mouth full of Mother’s homemade bread. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Father’s stump wrapped in white bandages.
The younger children were in bed and Mother and Father didn’t say anything while I quietly ate. As I wiped my plate clean with a chunk of bread, I heard the faint strum of a lone guitar. At first I wasn’t even sure I’d heard it until the guitar was joined by the low moan of a harmonica and then a fiddle. There was no mistake about it—there was music playing! Voices began to sing.
Mother and Father looked at each other and then at me. “Who do you suppose that could be?” Mother dried her hands on her apron.
I pushed back from the table and charged for the door. Flinging it open, I peered out into the night.
Four people were holding lanterns, three men strummed guitars, two played harmonicas, and one had a fiddle up to his chin. Crowded around them were other neighbors. All were playing or singing, “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.”1
Then I saw our front porch—loaded with flour and sugar and potatoes—and my mouth dropped open. There was a basket of apricots, fresh summer squash, green beans, and a few ears of early corn, too. There were also a couple pies, a sack of shelled walnuts, and a plate of fudge.
I felt Mother come up behind me. Touching me on the shoulder, she whispered, “I think your father would like to see this.”
It wasn’t easy getting Father to the front porch. With Mother on one side and me on the other, we helped Father out onto the porch and eased him down into a rocker.
“Well, George,” someone called from the crowd when they finished the hymn, “a few of us got together and figured you could use a little serenading. We might not make the best music in the world, but we sing with a whole lot of feeling.”
“We figured you could use a little something in the kitchen, too,” a woman called out. “If that isn’t enough, we’ll bring more.”
“And don’t fret about your barn being half done,” another voice called from the crowd. “There are enough hands around here to make short work of that little project. And when it comes time to mow your alfalfa, there’ll be a crew here.”
I glanced at Father. Big tears coursed down his face. “You folks are …” His voice quavered and the words died in his throat. “You folks are mighty kind,” he started again. “You treat me so fine that I’ll be tempted to go out and break my other leg.”
Everyone laughed, and then they began to play and sing again. They stayed for 30 minutes and serenaded us, singing our favorite songs and hymns. When they left, they all filed past Father, shook his hand and assured him that he didn’t have to worry about things.
When Mother, Father, and I were alone again on the porch, Father turned to me and said quietly, “That was the best music I’ve heard in a long, long time. It sounded like it came straight from heaven.” He took a deep breath and added, “Charlie, like I told you earlier, the good Lord is watching after us. We might stub our toes along the way, but he’s always there to lift us up and help us through.”
Swallowing back the big lump in my throat, I grabbed the sack of flour and nodded. As always, Father was right.

Kelly Ricketts, president of his teachers quorum in the Courtenay Branch, Victoria British Columbia Stake, steadfastly refuses to box on Sunday, although it is one of the busiest days for the boxing club he belongs to.
Instead of training on Sundays, Kelly chooses to practice at other times with both his father and his younger brother. Despite this sacrifice, Kelly has had much success in boxing. He won a bronze medal in the Canadian Junior National Amateur Boxing Championships and is both the provincial and Golden Gloves champion.
Kelly also enjoys wrestling and is on the merit list at his high school.

Beehives from the Vacaville Third Ward, Vacaville California Stake, decided to do something about the environment in their area, and started their own ward recycling program, calling it “BEE-A-RECYCLER.”
The Beehives sent a sign-up sheet around the ward for those who wanted to participate, and twice a month the girls went to those homes, picking up the plastic, newspapers, glass, and aluminum that were set out for them. They then placed thank-you notes on each door. Everyone who participated felt they were making a real contribution toward helping the environment.

When I was a young missionary serving in Hong Kong, there was a part of the city that had many apartment buildings with security guards. It was very difficult to get permission from the guards to go inside those buildings to tract. We often tried but usually failed.
But one afternoon, my companion and I felt we should go to that part of the city. During the bus trip there, we saw an older woman pushing a wooden cart up a steep hill. She seemed heavy laden, so we determined to help her. We got off at the next stop and ran back to help the woman. Her load was so heavy that it took two young missionaries 15 minutes to push it to the top of the hill.
We didn’t realize that anyone had seen us helping the woman. But some of the security guards must have been watching, because later that day, when we walked into their buildings, they simply let us pass. That afternoon we had much success—we found three new investigators, and one of them was later baptized.
Through following the Lord’s example of obedience and charity, we were greatly blessed. I’m so grateful for a perfect example to follow.

The light of the temple has come into many lives. “Before I became a member of the Church I did not know what my life would be after death,” explains Marguerite Teriinohopua. Her family learned of the Church because another family prayed to find them. Ernest Montrose, now first counselor in the Faaa Tahiti Stake presidency, was at that time bishop of the Heiri Ward. When missionaries encouraged members to pray to find investigators, “I figured our family should go first.” Inspiration came. Bishop Montrose invited a coworker, Danielson Teriinohopua, to bring his family to a home evening with the missionaries.

“We were at the same time praying to be guided to the truth,” recalls Danielson, who is now a member of the high council. “At the end of the evening, we told them we wanted to know more—immediately.” Bishop Montrose scheduled another meeting the next night, then the next and the next. Within weeks the Teriinohopuas were baptized and confirmed, and a year later they were sealed in the temple. “Today I have a response to my questions,” Marguerite says. “In the temple I feel great peace and joy.”

Chanterel Hauata of the Heiri Ward also knows the joy of attending the temple. Although a benign brain tumor caused him to go blind six years ago, in the temple he sees clearly. “It is a place of clarity,” he explains. “In the temple we learn of eternity. It lifts us beyond this mortal life.”

The Pepe Mariteragi family has also felt the blessings of the temple. When they gathered at the family home in Paea in October 2003, they spoke about Tepahu, Pepe’s wife—their mother and grandmother. “She passed away seven months ago,” explained Lucien, one of her sons, “but our hearts are still turned toward her.”

“It is thanks to the gospel that we are able to deal with such things,” said Jean-Marie, another son. “The blessings of the temple give us the understanding that we can be an eternal family.”

Olivia burst through the door after school. “Mom! I’m supposed to write about the strongest person I know! Who should I write about?”
Mom looked up from her computer. “The strongest person you know, huh? Well, how do you know if someone is strong?”
Olivia flexed her arms. “They have really big muscles!”
“What else?”
Olivia thought for a moment. “Um … they can lift really heavy things.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Mom said. “When is your paper due?”
“In two weeks,” Olivia said. “I’ll keep thinking about it.”
Later that night, Olivia watched her little brother, Reese, play with their stepdad, Trevor.
“Can you lift me over your head?” Reese asked.
“Sure!” Trevor swung Reese into his arms and held him up high. “How long do you want to stay up there?”
Reese giggled. “Forever!”
Olivia laughed too.
At first she hadn’t been sure about Trevor, after her parents divorced and Mom married Trevor. He was all right, but he wasn’t her dad. She had clashed with Trevor over a lot of things, especially when he tried to give her chores. But then she started getting along better with him. He liked a lot of cool things, like biking and running. And she could see that Trevor really cared about her family.
Reese started flapping his arms. Trevor had been holding him up there for so long that Reese was pretending to be a bird. Suddenly Olivia had an idea. She ran to the kitchen.
“I’m going to write about Trevor!” Olivia said. “He’s been getting ready for his half marathon, so he’s really strong.”
“I think that’s great!” Mom said. “Are you going to tell him about it?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’ll show him when it’s all done and graded. I want it to be a surprise.”
After dinner Olivia got out a clean sheet of paper. She wrote, “The Strongest Person I Know” at the top. Over the next two weeks, Olivia wrote a little bit every day. At first, she wrote about how Trevor lifted heavy weights and went on long runs.
Then she started noticing all the things he did for their family, like helping Olivia shop for silly hairbows the night before her school’s “crazy hair day.” Or when Mom got sick and he stayed home from work to take care of the family. That week, Trevor hadn’t been able to train for his half marathon, even though it was only a week away. He was too busy doing laundry, cooking meals, and helping Mom feel better. But Trevor said he didn’t mind. “Family comes first,” he told Olivia.
Olivia realized that there were many ways to be strong, like doing hard things. She wrote about how being strong meant choosing the right. It meant making sacrifices to help those you love.
On the day of Trevor’s half marathon, the whole family came to cheer him on. Olivia found Trevor stretching before the race and handed him her essay. The teacher had given her an A+!
“I wrote this about you,” she said.
Trevor read it. There were tears in his eyes. “Thank you!” he said. “This means so much to me.”
Olivia grinned. “Good luck,” she said. “We’ll see you at the finish line!”
Mom, Reese, and Olivia watched excitedly as runners made it to the end of the race. When they saw Trevor, they waved and cheered.
Nobody cheered louder than Olivia.

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there some 30 years ago. He had been where the fighting was bitter and the losses as tragic as in any area of Vietnam. On two occasions he was wounded. He saw a tragically large percentage of his brigade become casualties, many of them killed in action. The men of his unit loved and respected him. His superior officers honored him.

He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern United States he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.

One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit. In two and a half weeks they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed. Sweet are the fruits of teaching done under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. They feed the spirit and nourish the soul.

A beloved hymn states, “The errand of angels is given to women; and this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim.”6 We have much to offer in lives of those we love. Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has shared stories of how the spiritual strength of two women affected his life:
“When I was a young child, my father was not a member of the Church and my mother had become less active. … Some months after my eighth birthday, Grandmother Whittle came across the country to visit us. Grandmother was concerned that neither I nor my older brother had been baptized. I don’t know what she said to my parents about this, but I do know that one morning she took my brother and me to the park and shared with us her feelings about the importance of being baptized and attending Church meetings regularly. I don’t remember the specifics of what she said, but her words stirred something in my heart, and soon my brother and I were baptized. …
“Grandmother used just the right amount of courage and respect to help our father recognize the importance of his driving us to the church for our meetings. In every appropriate way, she helped us to feel a need for the gospel in our lives.”7

I was far from home on my mission in San Francisco, California, and I thought everything was great. Every day that I got a letter became a great day, until I received one I did not want. I had lived in four states already, and the thought of my family moving to another was almost more than I could bear. Nonetheless, I knew that my parents would soon move our family again.
“I applied for a new job,” my father wrote. They would be moving to Virginia.
When the day came that I would leave my mission, I felt awkward going to a “home” I had never been to. When the airplane pilot announced five minutes until arrival, I felt like I was at the circus on opening night. I stepped off the plane, and for the first time in two years I saw my family.
“Justin!” came a shout down the hallway.
Stories were shared. We rambled nonstop as we drove down the strange streets and unfamiliar country. I felt at ease knowing my family was there.
I realized it was not the location that made my home but where my heart would return. And my heart was with my family. Like a flash of lightning, many questions were answered. My family was close because our home was with each other. It was not a house or location that made it home; it was the love of our family.

I’m Dallin. I love singing, acting, playing instruments, and doing basically anything outdoors. My teacher asked me to join her choir. I told her I would but I would not perform on Sunday. She said she had other Mormons in her choir, so she never had performances on Sunday. I was so happy that there were others before me who stood up for their standards. I know Heavenly Father will provide a way for you to be happy and keep your standards.
Dallin P., Arizona, USA

Over the years, Sally has served in many callings. She has always had a love for music and one of her favourite memories is singing ‘The Heavens Were Opened’ with her fellow Relief Society sisters—affectionately known as ‘the singing housewives’—in St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow. President David O. McKay, then president of the Church, was there and enjoyed it so much he asked them to sing the song again. It’s a moment Sally still remembers with joy.

One summer morning Elizabeth saw a big moving van pull up in front of the house next door. New neighbors! Wouldn’t it be fun if the new family had a girl close to her own age?
Later that day, while Elizabeth was playing croquet by herself in the front yard, she saw a car drive up next door. A man and woman got out of the car. And then a girl with bright red hair got out. She looked just the right age! Elizabeth ran over to meet her.
The new girl’s name was Becky. Elizabeth smiled at her. Becky smiled back.
“I’m playing croquet,” Elizabeth said. “Do you want to play?”
“I’ve never played it before …” Becky said shyly.
Elizabeth smiled and held out a croquet ball. “Want to learn?”
Becky nodded and ran over to play.
From then on Elizabeth and Becky were always together. During the day they played and ate snacks in their clubhouse. At night they sat by their bedroom windows and yelled to each other so they could keep talking.
One night as the girls were yelling back and forth, Elizabeth’s older brother stopped by her room. “You know what you two need?” he said. “Soup-can phones.”
“What are those?” Elizabeth asked.
“All you do is connect two cans with some string. You run the string between your windows. And then you won’t have to yell.” He promised to help set it all up tomorrow.
The next night Elizabeth and Becky had their first soup–can phone conversation.
The rest of the summer was filled with playing tennis, picnicking in the park, roller-skating, and playing more croquet. And of course, every night they talked using their soup cans.
All too soon summer turned to fall. With homework and dancing lessons (for Elizabeth) and swimming lessons (for Becky), they didn’t see each other as much as they had during the summer. But almost every night, they sat by their windows and talked using their soup-can phones.
They talked about lots of things. If Elizabeth had a hard day at school, she told Becky about it. And if Becky had good news to share, she always told Elizabeth.
One day Becky left for her grandma’s funeral. She didn’t know how long she’d be gone.
“I’ll miss you,” Elizabeth said.
Becky nodded and hugged her goodbye.
That night, after saying her prayer and getting in bed, Elizabeth couldn’t sleep. She missed talking with her friend.
A thought came to her: Why not pray? But she prayed every night before going to bed. And besides, she had already said her prayer tonight.
But the thought came again: Pray. Pray as if you’re really talking with Heavenly Father.
And so she got on her knees again and prayed. Only this time she didn’t just repeat what she usually said. This time she really talked about how she felt about things—small things and big things.
Prayer isn’t just a bunch of words you say, Elizabeth thought as she climbed back in bed. Prayer could be like a real conversation—like her soup-can conversations with Becky.
In her prayers Elizabeth started talking about things that had happened to her earlier in the day. She talked about her problems and her feelings. She felt like she’d found another friend.
Elizabeth was glad when Becky finally came home. That night they had their usual soup–can phone conversation. And later, just before she went to bed, Elizabeth had another special conversation—with her Heavenly Father.