Gospel Story Finder

For many years, I have visited my mother’s home to help her with her housework. She is 80 years old and is a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My mother has lived alone since my father passed away. Her greatest pleasure is visiting the home of each of her three children, spending time with them and her grandchildren, and cooking food that warms the soul.
Every time I visited my mother’s house to clean it and make sure everything was in order, I found an old cushion on the floor. Over and over I would pick it up and place it on an armchair, complaining to myself about my mother’s carelessness.
The next time I would return to visit and help my mother, I would again find the cushion on the floor. I never said anything to my mother about the cushion, but one morning I finally figured out why it was always on the floor.
My mother needed a soft surface on which to kneel and pray. She was an old woman, but her unshakable faith led her to her knees in prayer every day. She would pray for her children and grandchildren. She would pray for her friends. She would pray for those most in need. And she would pray for those she had always loved and, even in her old age, still generously cared for.
Today, I no longer complain to myself when I see the cushion on the floor. At times, I even kneel on its soft surface to pray to Heavenly Father, expressing gratitude for my mother’s faith and example.

Some years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks told about a group of Boy Scouts who went cave exploring. The narrow trail was marked with white stones and lighted in sections as they went. After about an hour they came to a huge, high dome. Below it lay an area called the Bottomless Pit, so called because the floor of the cave had collapsed into a deep, gaping hole. It was hard not to jostle each other on that narrow path. Pretty soon, one of the bigger boys accidentally pushed a smaller boy into a muddy area away from the light. Terrified as he lost his footing, he screamed in the darkness. The ranger heard his cry of terror and came quickly. The boy let out another cry as the beam of the ranger’s light showed that he was right on the very edge of the pit. (See Improvement Era, June 1957, 444–51.)
In this story, the boy was rescued. But this does not always happen. So many times young people go to the very edge or even beyond it. With only a precarious toehold, it is easy to be seriously injured or even die.

When Jessica attended an Especially for Youth program at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. In one class, the teacher asked if any of those attending had met any of the General Authorities or President Hinckley. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”

“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person and a grandfather and as a prophet. What an amazing thing that is.”

As a young man, Chad Webb was attending the College of Eastern Utah (now Utah State University Eastern) when he had a foundational spiritual experience that deepened his testimony of the gospel. That experience started with a desire to strengthen his faith.
Amid doing schoolwork and playing basketball on his college team, Brother Webb made studying the scriptures, praying, and pondering a priority as he prepared to serve a full-time mission in Veracruz, Mexico.
One cold night he went for a long walk around Price, Utah, and thought about everything he was learning. Heavenly guidance came as he entered an empty parking lot.
“I felt that all the answers to my prayers and questions came, and I felt very deeply how true the gospel and the Church are,” he said. “Those truths came with great clarity in my mind, along with the feeling that Heavenly Father was aware of me. I felt His love and His direction. That was one of the early impactful experiences I had to deepen my testimony.”

Several years ago I worked with a client, Rachel (name has been changed), who had a problem with drinking. It had become a crutch and a means to release the stress of her difficult life. She determined that she was going to overcome her addiction, and with some help and encouragement, she stopped drinking. Before fully overcoming her drinking problem, she didn’t belittle herself for her weakness. She recognized it. Then, with determination and the help of a good bishop, the Lord, and a few key people, Rachel determined that she would stop drinking. Last time I spoke with her, she reported no desire to drink.

I’m glad this question was directed to me, because it’s a problem I have struggled with several times in years past. I thought for years that being called as president of the Relief Society was the greatest achievement for an LDS woman. If that did not happen then being called as president of the Primary or of the Young Women would be almost as satisfying.

Instead, I found myself serving as everything else. Several times I was a counselor in Relief Society, but never president.

I found reasons: “I wasn’t called because I have too many young children.” Then the next president would have four children not yet old enough to go to school. “I wasn’t called because I’m too young.” The next president would be younger. “I wasn’t called because I’ve only been in the ward five years.” The next president would be someone who had just moved into the ward.

Finally, there was to be another change, and everything seemed to indicate that I would be released as Junior Sunday School coordinator and called to lead Relief Society. I was sure my time had come. The bishop made an appointment with me “to talk about how things are going in Junior Sunday School,” but I knew he just wanted me to be surprised when he called me to a Relief Society position. I was ready with a list of things I thought would be new ideas; I had even decided who I would request for counselors.

Then came the meeting with the bishop. And do you know what we talked about? The Junior Sunday School!

I was really disappointed. I complained to my husband that the bishop must not think I was capable. When he gently replied that callings are from the Lord, I started to cry: “It doesn’t make me feel any better that the Lord doesn’t think I’m capable, either.”

Yes I really suffered at the time, but something happened to me, and I have never felt those feelings again. Like you, I was shocked and ashamed of my negative feelings; I really desired to change my attitude. And I finally did what I should have done before: instead of finding “reasons” for why someone else was chosen, or suppressing my disappointment, I went before the Lord, confessed my feelings—all of my feelings—and searched more deeply than before for the Lord’s reasons. When I was ready to learn, he was ready to teach me. Over the next few weeks, a process began that is still continuing. Gradually my understanding was opened, and the true nature of callings in the Lord’s kingdom was impressed on my heart. I’ve come to know the following things:
A calling is an opportunity to serve, not a reward. We sometimes carry over from the business world the idea that unless we are able to “work our way up” and become president of an organization our abilities have not been properly recognized. We have to be aware that the Lord is not giving us rewards by calling us, but is asking for wholehearted service. A calling may prove to be a blessing to us, it is true, but that depends upon our efforts after the call.
The true hierarchy of the Church is a hierarchy of righteousness. The Lord judges our hearts and actions, not the “level” of our callings. We have celestial visiting teachers in many wards, and celestial choristers and teachers. It’s character that pleases the Lord, not calling.
We cannot anticipate (or predict) the actions of our Heavenly Father. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith Lord.” (Isa. 55:8.) Sometimes when we look back after a few years we can see the purposes of the Lord unfolding in our lives. It may be as hard for us to see this as it sometimes is for our own children to understand the direction we give to their lives. We marvel that the Creator has worked things out with such delicate balance in nature. Why not trust him, then, and strive for understanding? Why not truly say with Mary, “Be it unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38.)
We can fulfill our own callings better. President Duane Lloyd, a counselor in the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake Presidency, comments, “No one is doing his own calling as well as he could be doing.” He recommends redoubling our efforts in our present callings as an antidote to desiring the callings of others. It means to change your attitude so that you feel your calling is the best one in the Church. It is really effective.
We need to be humble. Jesus told several parables and gave much counsel on the importance of being humble. He knew that we (and those around us) will be happier when we are not lifted up in our pride, happier when we are not coveting another’s opportunities. One of Lehi’s sons, Jacob, appropriately summarized all these thoughts when he said, “Wherefore, brethren, seek not to counsel the Lord, but to take counsel from his hand. For behold, ye yourselves know that he counseleth in wisdom, and in justice, and in great mercy, over all his works.” (Jacob 4:10.)
My earnest hope in sharing these experiences and thoughts with you is that your heart may be softened to the ways of the Lord, and that you can come to know that your Father loves you and cares for you. Who knows but that your service, wherever it may be, might be an example to someone who, unknown to you, models his attitudes on yours.

One day as Christmastime approached, my parents announced that we were going to a drive-in movie. For a seven-year-old, this was very good news, but I thought I could make it even better.
“Can Kenny come too?” I asked. Kenny was my age and lived next door.
Dad smiled. “Of course, if it’s OK with his parents.”
I grew up in a small house in a small town. Mom and Dad often talked about struggling to get by on a teacher’s salary, but we must have been wealthy compared to Kenny’s family. When I invited him that afternoon, he was overjoyed. I could tell that he seldom got to see a movie.
That night we drove up in front of Kenny’s house in our station wagon. When Dad honked the horn, Kenny came running out carrying a brown lunch bag spotted with grease stains.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
Kenny smiled shyly. “Some snacks for the movie.”
“What kind of snacks?”
“Oh, just some fried calf liver that my mom cooked up.”
“Wow!” I said. “I’ll trade you some popcorn for some of your liver.” I knew that Kenny couldn’t afford to buy popcorn, but I wasn’t just being nice. Liver was my favorite food.
December soon brought lights and carols and secret shopping. The whole world felt alive and full of wonder. Finally, after an endless wait, the best moment of the year arrived—Christmas morning!
We awoke early, as usual, and had all the presents opened before 6:00 a.m. I got several brand-new racing cars and a new track to go with them. I also got a “supercharger” that would shoot the cars down the track at an astonishing speed. “This is the best Christmas ever!” I exclaimed.
I couldn’t wait to tell Kenny about my presents. I rushed over to his house and pounded on the door. When he opened it, I blurted out, “What did you get from Santa Claus?”
“Santa brought me this new pair of pants and this shirt for school.”
“Neat,” I said. “What cool toys did you get?”
“I didn’t get any toys this year.” He was still smiling.
I stood there speechless for seconds that felt like minutes. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel. I don’t remember what I did or said next, but I know I didn’t mention my gifts.
When I got home, I must have looked sad. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“Kenny didn’t get a single toy for Christmas.” I felt like I was sharing a tragedy.
Mom thought for a few moments, then asked a question that changed my life: “What if you were to take a couple of your new racing cars and wrap them up for Kenny?”
An hour earlier, her idea would have sounded crazy. Now it was a lifeline in a storm, and I grabbed it. I carefully chose two of my best cars and wrapped them. I wrote on a small card, “Merry Christmas, Kenny! From Steve.”
When Kenny unwrapped the gifts, his eyes lit up, and my heart grew bigger than my chest. We played with our racing cars all Christmas afternoon.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked that evening.
“Good,” I replied. “Great” would have been more like it.
I often think back on all the special Christmases I enjoyed growing up. I treasure every one of them and appreciate every gift I received—my first shiny new bike, the magnificent pump-action BB gun, and all the rest. But no Christmas gift could ever come close to the one Mom gave me by suggesting that I give away a couple of toy cars. Every time I think of that experience, all is calm, all is bright.

The sun was shining brightly, but the day might as well have been gloomy. I sat on the porch steps with my chin in my hand, watching leaves scurry across the grass. No one would help me! Not Jeff, who hurried off to a part-time job after school. Not Mom and Dad, who were busy in the house. Not anyone! Then I saw Grandma riding her bike up the lane. “Hi, Grandma!” I jumped up and ran to meet her.
She grinned and waved. “Hi, Sheri!” she called. “What are you doing, honey?”
“Nothing!” I replied bitterly.
She got off her bike and kissed me. “What would you like to do?”
“Learn how to catch a ball, Grandma. The kids at school can all catch a ball, and all I do is drop it!”
“You’re an expert cookie maker,” she said, taking my hand and walking toward the house.
I shook my head, frowning. “You make the cookies—I just put the icing on.”
“We’re partners. I do one part, and you do the other. Right?”
I nodded. “Right! But, Grandma, cookies don’t have anything to do with catching a ball.”
She stopped and looked hard at me. “You’re absolutely right! OK, partner, let’s do something about it.”
When Grandma makes up her mind to do something, it’s almost done!
“Ellen?” Grandma called. “Yoo-hoo!”
“In here, Mother,” Mom answered from the kitchen.
They kissed each other; then Grandma took two pieces of cucumber from the salad bowl and handed one to me. “Is there a ball and mitt around here?” she asked.
“Probably in the cellar,” Mom replied. “Why?”
“Sheri is going to learn how to catch,” Grandma said.
Mom grinned as Grandma and I, armed with the ball and baseball glove, headed for the fields.
“OK,” Grandma said, “concentrate on where I’m throwing the ball. Catch it in your glove, and cover it with your other hand so that it doesn’t fall out.”
She swung her arm back and brought it forward slowly. The ball swooped through the air toward me. I stuck out my arm with the mitt on my hand and closed my eyes. When I opened them, the ball was lying on the ground, the same as it always did at recess. “I’ll never learn!” I moaned.
Grandma laughed. “Everyone closes his eyes in the beginning. Now you have to learn to keep them open and watch the ball. It can’t hit you if you’re watching it and catch it.”
I tried again. When I saw the ball coming, I started to close my eyes, then remembered what Grandma had said. I grimaced (in case it did hit me), but I watched it through my squinted eyes. Suddenly it landed right in the pocket of my glove! I jumped up and down and shouted, “I did it! I did it!”
“Of course you did! All you need is practice.”
“Will you practice with me, Grandma?”
“As long as the weather’s good, we’ll practice every day, partner,” she promised.
“Where’d you learn to catch?” I asked later, when we started home.
“My brothers and I were so close in age, that I had to learn!” Grandma chuckled. “Before long I could throw straighter and farther than any of my brothers. And I could catch any ball that they threw—without a mitt!”
“You didn’t have a mitt?”
“I always wanted one, but I never did get one,” she replied a bit wistfully.
We kept on practicing, and I got to be pretty good. Then one morning when I woke up, there was snow on the ground. Soon I saw Grandma coming along the lane, pulling a sled! I giggled and tapped on the window. She waved, motioning for me to come outside.
“Mom, Grandma wants me to go out and play. Is it OK?”
“Of course, Sheri, but bundle up. If I know your grandmother, she’s off to the big hill to go sledding.” Mom waved out the window to Grandma.
Grandma and I snuggled on her long sled as it sailed down toward the pines. We zoomed around them, jetted through the opening in the fence, and sped on toward the meadow. We bumped over a rut, dodged a stump, and finally slowed to a stop not too far from the stream. The icy water gurgled past snowcapped stones, and Grandma pointed silently upstream. A deer stood beside the water, staring at us quietly. Then it turned and bounded into a thicket. Our long walk back up the hill began. As we walked, we talked.
“Are you excited about Christmas?” Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“So am I, partner,” she said happily. “I’m counting on you to help me bake cookies again, you know,” she added quickly.
I grinned. It was fun being partners with Grandma.
Mom let me go Christmas shopping alone that year. I bought Jeff a book, Mom a scarf, and Dad gloves. They were easy to shop for. But Grandma … Well, it seemed like Grandma had everything! I walked around the mall, looking at everything, but nothing seemed to be right. I wanted something special for Grandma.
Then I found it! When I got home and showed everyone my gift for Grandma, Jeff laughed, Mom shook her head and smiled, and Dad just nodded. As I wrapped it, I began to worry. Would Grandma really like it?
I sat at the window and looked toward Grandma’s house. I could imagine her sitting by her fire, rocking and peeling apples for a pie. She would be singing, and her cat would be purring. Yes, I thought as I finished wrapping her gift, Grandma will like it.
On Christmas Eve we all sat around Grandma’s cozy fire. Christmas lights sparkled on the tree and in the windows, and her house smelled like cinnamon and pinecones. As I handed Grandma her gift, my heart pounded wildly. Please like it, I pleaded silently.
Grandma slid a finger under the tape and removed the wrapping without saying a word. When she opened the lid, her mouth fell open. Then she hugged me fiercely, and I knew that it was fine.
Later, when the others were in the kitchen, Grandma and I sat quietly watching the fire together. She slid an arm around me and pulled me closer and said, “Your gift was the best of all, honey.” Then she lifted her other arm and gazed at the mitt still on her hand. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. Thank you.”

During the next few months, I spent a lot of time at home and had plenty of time to think. I grieved for the loss of the person I thought I would be in my later years. I grieved for the future that my wife and I had previously envisioned. I endured days of discouragement. I prayed a lot as my symptoms grew worse. My need to find positive ways of coping increased.
Then the Lord provided an unexpected source of support. My wife and I were called to be our ward’s welfare and self-reliance specialists. As part of our calling, we facilitated a group meeting on emotional resilience. I had not thought about needing the class personally. However, by the end of the first meeting, I thought, “Wow! This is for me!” We talked about avoiding negative thought patterns, being positive, controlling our feelings. It gave me some practical tools that, over time, helped me—and my wife as well—to develop a healthy attitude toward my disease.

As I look back over my life and remember the difficult decisions, one stands out far more than others: Should I go on a mission? Mom and dad want me to go. The bishop tells me I should go. Some of my friends are going, but others tell me it would be a mistake. They say: “Think of the fun you’ll miss.” “What about your education?” “How about your girl friend?” It just seems that there is so much going on that I can’t give up two years. What should I do?
Why should you serve a mission? Several things come to my mind as I think about the answer to this searching question. Surely, the answer is easy: The Lord says you should; the prophet has given repeated emphasis to this; your family, Church leaders, and others encourage you to serve—but they are not you. I remember how good I felt, from the inside out, from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, when I finally said yes. I received a confirmation from the Lord that what I had done was good. It was right, and I knew it. For once in my life I had started thinking about others instead of only myself, and that gave me a feeling I have yearned for every day of my life since. It’s rewarding to give of yourself that others might be blessed. This is one of the reasons why our Savior made the following statement: “And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:38–39.)

It is Friday, at the end of the semester. All of the work for family relations and my other classes is done. Mom and Carianne were a brilliant team. Their presentation was terrific.
Pete LaFete and I were less than genius. “I’ve found in my experience,” Peter lectured during our presentation, “that a proper way of saying good night on a fourth or fifth date is to kiss a girl lightly on her forehead. Girls remember it.”
I bet they do, Pete.
Anyway, I’m just getting home and pushing my way through the back door. Something smells great in the kitchen. Mom is at the stove.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Jan?”
“In the dining room with your dad. She registered at the community college today. Maybe she’s finally turning the corner. By the way, I invited some company over for dinner tonight. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No big deal, Mom,” I answered, since we often throw an extra plate on the table for guests. I peek into the dining room, and there, with her back toward me, chatting away with my dad and sister, is Carianne Meacham.
My mom smiles serenely.
“I got an A in family relations, remember? And I saw her name in your notebook the other night when we were studying. Now try to say something besides, ‘How ya’ doin’?’ Carianne is an intelligent girl, and I don’t think that will impress her at all.”
And that’s the way I got to know Carianne Meacham.

Christmas was coming, and it was obvious that my wife and I, who were newlyweds, were not going to have any money to buy a Christmas tree, ornaments, decorations, or a fine dinner.
We had started with no home, no jobs, and very little money. But God helped us. We found a small apartment, and I started looking for a job. I hadn’t finished my degree, so I took various sales jobs. My income was modest, just enough to pay for food and rent. I would leave home early; sometimes I would come back successful, sometimes not. If I was not, I would feel defeated, but my wife, who was pregnant, would greet me with a smile. Then the difficulties would seem less challenging.
In Mexico, Christmas Eve is celebrated even more than Christmas Day. When I was single, I celebrated by eating codfish and a salad that included beets, oranges, and peanuts. But this Christmas Eve we didn’t know what we would be having for dinner. We had a little money and a small gas stove fueled by a borrowed tank of gas. We didn’t have a refrigerator or furniture for the living room or dining room—just a little wooden table my grandmother had given me and a couple of chairs we had received from a friend.
As I thought about our situation, I became depressed. But I remembered that God never forsakes us, and I humbled myself like a child and went to Him in prayer.
My prayer was answered. I had peace in my heart and felt that all would be well. I opened the trunk of my car, and in one corner I found a small piece of dried fish. I remembered that several months before, I had helped my father move some fish, and this piece must have been left behind. Because of the salt it hadn’t gone bad.
I showed it to my wife, and she said she would cook it. We went to buy tomatoes and other ingredients. We washed the fish and soaked it to get the salt out.
That night, by the light of a small bulb, we sat at our little unpainted wooden table and remembered the birth of Jesus Christ and how He was born with even less than we had. We enjoyed the most delicious dinner I had ever eaten and went to bed early. The next morning we stayed in bed and watched Christmas movies. It was a very happy day. In our poverty the spirit of Christmas brightened our little home and gave us hope and courage.
In January our daughter was born, bringing more happiness into our home.
Many Christmases have come and gone since then, and we no longer lack decorations or a Christmas tree or the fragrance of pine. We have had many fine dinners with succulent dishes. But I cherish most the memory of our first Christmas together. It was the poorest in material things but the richest in things spiritual and eternal: just the two of us with our unborn daughter and the spirit of Christmas.

Mary and her family moved from Nauvoo to Winter Quarters. One time they traveled to St. Joseph, Missouri, to get supplies for the westward trek. Joseph F. and his uncle Joseph Fielding went with her. One morning they woke up to find that the oxen had strayed from camp. Joseph and his uncle searched all morning for them. In despair, they returned to camp. They found Mary kneeling in prayer, asking the Lord to help them recover their lost team. She then started toward the river and soon found the oxen by a clump of willows.

Carolina tried to listen to her teacher. But she could not stop looking at her friend Ramón. He didn’t have any hair!
His hair had been falling out for a while. Now he was bald.
Carolina heard a sound behind her. Cesar and Luis were giggling. She hoped they weren’t laughing at Ramón.
All morning, Ramón hunched his shoulders. He didn’t raise his hand. He looked sad. Carolina wished she could help him feel better.
At last it was time to play outside. Ramón was the first one out of the classroom. When Carolina got outside, she couldn’t see him anywhere! He wasn’t playing soccer. He wasn’t climbing on the bars. And he wasn’t playing hopscotch by the teacher.
There he was! Ramón was standing in the corner of the yard. And Cesar and Luis were there too. Carolina walked closer.
“Look how big his head is!” Cesar yelled.
Luis laughed. “I’d shave my head too if I had such ugly hair.”
Ramón’s hands were clenched into fists. He looked like he might cry.
Carolina ran up to Ramón. “Do you want to play with me?” she asked. She held out her hand, and they walked away together. They kept walking until they were close to the teacher. No one would bother them there.
“Do you want to play hopscotch?” Carolina asked.
Ramón nodded. He drew chalk lines on the ground.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m OK now.” Ramón smiled. “Thanks for helping me.”
Carolina smiled. She was glad she had been brave enough to help her friend!
When has someone helped you? How did it make you feel?
This story took place in Paraguay.

When it comes to lifestyle choices, there are some definite areas where Evan stands out. “It’s difficult at times because everyone else swears,” he says. Swearing is quite common there, Evan explains. But there’s a part of Irish culture that Evan says can be an even bigger challenge.
“The lads like to meet up and go out for drinks,” he explains. “I’m always the odd one out.”
He’s talking about school friends his own age. Drinking alcohol at a young age is common where Evan lives. These social outings happen so frequently that Evan says he sometimes thinks of going along so he’s not always left out. But each time, he stays home.
“I think, ‘What’s going to happen if I do go with them?’” he says. “I know that if I choose not to go, I’ll be blessed because of it. The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
“The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
Evan relies on the Holy Ghost to help him through daily choices. In addition, he also has other sources of strength to draw on.
His Irish friends in the Church are only a text away.
Where Evan lives, because the youth in the Church are spread far and wide, they do a lot of virtual meetings. For one thing, they meet in seminary online.
“Weekly seminary is so good,” Evan says. “Not only do we get to learn about Christ and the gospel while we’re doing seminary, but afterwards the teacher leaves the Zoom call open for us.”
In that open call, they get to hang out, joke, play games, and just be friends with others who share their same values. For Evan, some of his closest friendships have formed through these Church contacts.
One of those connections is his good friend Rob. “We find loads of things funny that are similar,” Evan says. “Rob will find something funny on social media that he knows I’ll like, and he’ll send it to me. Then we’ll text back and forth a bit. A few hours later, I’ll find something funny and send it to him.”
Pretty normal stuff, right? But these small interactions are a big help throughout the week. “It’s good because we can share each other’s laughs, but there doesn’t have to be any swearing or anything else involved.” They can also text each other anytime they just need a little extra strength in the gospel.
Even though the Latter-day Saint youth in Ireland are a bit spread out, they still try to get together physically throughout the year—sometimes involving youth from the entire country.
These activities have involved everything from service projects to renting inflatable sumo wrestling suits. “They’re a lot of fun!” Evan says.
Occasionally at the end of the activities there will be a disco (a dance). These are very different from the school and community discos that take place nearby. For example, at a community disco, if a boy asks a girl to dance with him, it’s almost like asking her on a date—or even to be his girlfriend. Again, it’s just part of the culture there.
Things are different at the Church discos, however. There, Evan says, “we can ask someone to dance and they wouldn’t think we were asking them to be in a serious relationship with us. It’s a lot better.”
These get-togethers with other Church youth in Ireland have a lasting effect throughout the year. They continue their friendships by playing online games, sending texts and talking on the phone, and supporting each other until they can gather again in person.
Evan loves spending time with his family, including going cycling together and singing hymns at home.
Evan has a bit of advice for other youth in a situation like his. “If you feel like you’re the only Church youth at your school, don’t change your standards to try and fit in. If you swear, drink, or smoke to fit in, you’ll miss out on a lot. The blessings are a lot better than the satisfaction of trying to fit in!”
And just in case you fear that Evan is lonely at school because he chooses to live differently, think again. He says that people are aware of his beliefs and respect him even though he’s from a different religion. “I’m accepting of their beliefs, and they’re accepting of mine,” he explains. “I’m great friends with everyone at my school.”
In the end, Evan might not be surrounded by Church youth on a day-to-day basis, yet he lets his gospel light shine all the same. Besides, who knows how many gospel seeds he’s planting just by being such a good example? After all, things tend to grow just fine in Ireland!
Evan’s Testimony
“I know that the Church is true. I know that Joseph Smith did translate the Book of Mormon—and Helaman is one of the best bits in all of it! Because I have faith, I know I can live again with Heavenly Father. I know that Jesus Christ will walk the earth again. And I know that if we do as Nephi says, if we go and do, we will be blessed.”

Lucy took the box of valentines out of the sack. Tomorrow was Valentine Day, and she still hadn’t decided whether to give a card to Carla, the girl next door.
Lucy sighed. Nothing had been the same since Carla had moved in at the first of the year. Lucy and her mother had taken homemade cookies over to Carla and her family, but Carla hadn’t even said hello.
“She’s just shy,” Carla’s mother had explained.
Lucy quickly decided that Carla wasn’t shy—she was just a bad-tempered girl who loved to make life miserable for everybody around her. The first week after Carla had moved in, she had thrown rocks at Lucy’s dog, Jumper, and now he was afraid to go outside.
At school Carla bullied the smaller children on the playground. She was in the principal’s office at least twice a week. Lucy and her friends were embarrassed to be around her because she was loud and rough.
And now Lucy’s mother had said that she should give Carla a valentine.
“But, Mom,” Lucy argued, “valentines are supposed to be for people you like. And I don’t like Carla Bentley!”
“Carla has a lot of problems, Lucy. Maybe if she had some friends, she wouldn’t be the way she is,” Mother explained. “Sometimes people need attention so badly that they’ll do anything to get it, even things that they shouldn’t.”
Lucy sat on the floor of her room, her valentines spread out before her. She was putting two candy hearts in each one. As she wrote each name on an envelope, she checked it off her list. In class they had passed out a list with all the students’ names on it so that no one would be missed. Lucy popped a candy heart into her mouth. Only seven more, and she still hadn’t decided about Carla.
Finally Lucy checked the last name off the list. She stacked the cards carefully and put them into a bag. Then she realized that all her valentines were used up! “Mom!” she called, running into the kitchen. “Guess what! I can’t give Carla a valentine.”
“Why not?” Mother asked.
“Because I don’t have any more. Remember, we bought a box of thirty cards? Well, that was just enough for my class, so now they’re all gone.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “If you decide to give a valentine to Carla, we have lots of things you can make a card with.”
“Make a card?”
“Sure. Lots of people make cards instead of buying them. It’s fun to do,” Mother said, going over to her desk and pulling out a drawer. “See, we have pink and red construction paper, and I remember some white doilies in with the napkins.”
Lucy shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure that I want to, though.”
“Well, I’ll just leave the things here in case you need them. I’ll be back in a while. I have to pick up your brother at soccer practice.”
Lucy thought, If I give Carla a valentine, maybe she won’t be so mean. I could make a really cute one with some of the stickers I have.
Lucy went to her bedroom to get her sticker collection. Some stickers were funny, others were pretty, and some smelled like root beer or peanut butter or strawberry when she rubbed them. She picked out three: a heart in different shades of pink, a furry kitten, and a cluster of sweet-smelling strawberries.
Hurrying down to the kitchen table, Lucy folded a sheet of white paper in half, drew half a heart along the fold, and cut it out. When she unfolded it, she had a pattern to trace around on the construction paper.
Lucy folded a sheet of pale pink construction paper in half, then cut out two red hearts and placed them and the strawberry sticker on the front of the card. She put the kitten and heart stickers on the inside. Then she signed her name at the bottom.
Holding the card up, Lucy thought, It’s pretty, but it’s not really a valentine if there aren’t any words except my name. But I can’t write a fancy poem to a girl I don’t even like. Finally, after trying out a number of ideas on scratch paper, Lucy wrote in red ink:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I’d rather be friends
Than fight with you.”
The sun was shining on Valentine Day morning. Lucy got up early and dressed quickly so that she could run over to Carla’s without being seen. As she hurried around Carla’s front porch, the Bentley house was quiet. Lucy propped the card up against the front door, rang the doorbell, and ran. She hid behind the bushes separating the yards and watched for someone to answer the door.
Mr. Bentley opened it and looked first to the left and then to the right. Lucy could see him smile when he finally looked down and saw the card. He picked it up and closed the door.
Lucy let her breath out. That’s that, she thought. She hurried home to eat so that she could meet Kim, her best friend, before school.
The morning passed quickly. After Lucy’s class exchanged their valentines, the room mothers came in and they had a party. For treats they had red punch and cupcakes with white frosting and red gumdrop hearts on them.
Lucy didn’t see Carla until lunchtime. Carla was walking toward Lucy and Kim with a funny look on her face.
“I don’t believe it,” Kim whispered. “Why is she coming over?”
“I gave her a valentine,” Lucy whispered back.
Kim looked at her quickly. “You did? Maybe she’s going to beat you up.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucy said, smiling shyly at Carla.
“Hi,” Carla said.
“Hi,” said Lucy and Kim together.
Carla looked down at her tennis shoes. “I—I want to thank you for the valentine, Lucy.” She held out a card to Lucy.
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, taking the card. “Thank you.“
“I didn’t have time to make one.” Carla stood awkwardly.
“Oh, that’s OK. Would you like to eat lunch with us?” She heard Kim’s sharp gasp but ignored her.
Carla’s face lit up. “OK!” Then Carla looked at Kim and added, “If you don’t mind.”
Kim looked from Carla to Lucy then back again. “Of course not. Come on, let’s get over to the tree before somebody else does.”
As the girls sat on the bench beneath the old cottonwood tree, four boys walked past.
“Hey! Happy Valentine Day!” Carla yelled happily at them.

Illustration by Dinara Mirtalipova
Russia is very cold in the winter and often overcast, making the days gloomy and somewhat miserable. It was late November and on top of the depressing weather, I was feeling lonely, inadequate, and incapable of being a good missionary. I had just been assigned to train a new companion, and while Sister Hart was wonderful, the pressure was now on me to learn the language better, be an example, and find someone—anyone—to teach.
We had just gotten word that our new mission president was going to hold a zone conference in Yekaterinburg, five hours from our area of Perm. Early on a chilly December morning, Sister Hart and I went to the train station.
As we waited I pondered on the feelings I’d been having. I thought of the upcoming holidays and my longing to be with my family. The excitement to be on a mission had faded and now I felt like I hadn’t accomplished much as a missionary in my nine months out. Finally the call for our train’s arrival chimed, so we boarded and took our seats. I found myself thinking of the Savior. I closed my eyes and prayed that I would be able to know how to rid myself of these feelings and better focus on Him.
At the zone conference the next day, President Rust’s talk was beautiful and heartfelt. When Sister Rust got up to speak, she shared a simple story about how the Savior is the shepherd who would go and find the one sheep that had wandered off and bring that sheep back to the fold. She talked about the sacrifices the Savior has made for us, and finally she bore a powerful testimony of the opportunity that we as missionaries have to serve Him by bringing His lost sheep to the fold. Sister Rust challenged us to think of what gift we could give to the Savior for Christmas.
When she made that challenge, I felt the strongest impression that the gift that I was supposed to give to the Savior was to simply talk to more people. Up until that point I had been terrified to start up conversations with complete strangers—especially in Russian! I didn’t want them to think I was dumb for not understanding them, so it was just easier not to say anything at all. I knew, however, at that moment, exactly what I needed to do. I needed to stop thinking of myself and start thinking of my brothers and sisters. I set a goal to speak to someone about the gospel on every transportation vehicle I took for the rest of the month and to devote that as my Christmas gift to the Savior.
When Sister Hart and I boarded another train back to Perm the next morning, I started on my goal by talking to the people I sat next to. They weren’t very interested in what I had to share, but at least I tried!
Every day was a struggle as I fought to give my gift to the Savior, but slowly I found myself feeling happier and more confident—I felt I was better fulfilling my calling as a missionary. Christmas came and went, but I decided that I would continue talking to people. I started talking to them not only when we took public transportation but also on the streets, in the store, at the library, and everywhere else we went.
We didn’t find anyone to teach through my talking to people more; however, I feel that I planted gospel seeds. We made new friends with bus drivers, people at our local grocery store, and others. The best part was that when we saw someone again, we would often see them smile, and they would be the one to say hello to us first. I have faith that those seeds we planted will someday blossom when new opportunities arise for those people to learn about the gospel. Heavenly Father works in small and simple ways, and sometimes it just starts with a simple “hello.”
Thinking back now to that time on the train to Yekaterinburg, I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayer. He helped me see that missionary work isn’t about me—it’s about others, and when we put others above ourselves and our own worries and sorrows, we find the happiness we are all seeking. It’s amazing to me how giving the Savior is, for even when we strive to give Him everything we can, He blesses us and gives us back a hundredfold.

Illustration by Joel Castillo
I was introduced to the Church by my aunt and uncle, who live near my home. I was only seven years old at the time, and I loved going to church to be with the other children. My parents were not members, but they did not mind that I went to church every Sunday with my aunt and uncle. My parents said that it was much better for me to be involved with a church that taught of Jesus Christ than to be out in the streets getting into trouble.
The missionaries came often to our home to teach us. My parents loved the discussions, but they did not want to embrace the gospel. They said that they were not ready because entering the waters of baptism is a serious commitment. The missionaries continued to come to our home, but they always left disappointed with the answers my parents gave. I knew, however, that one day they would be baptized.
When I turned eight, I was ready to make the baptismal covenant. My mom asked me if that was what I really wanted. She told me that once I was baptized, I could not change my mind and that baptism would change my entire life. I said that being baptized was something I had dreamed about since I first started going to Primary.
After I was baptized and confirmed, I continued to go to church, but my parents rarely came to our Primary activities. It was painful for me to see all the other children with their parents. But I hoped that one day they would be baptized and we would be sealed in the temple, and my greatest dream would become a reality.
When I was a teenager, the missionaries continued to teach my parents, but they still did not want to be baptized. However, they would occasionally come to church, which gave me a little hope. I still dreamed that my parents would join the Church, but I began to think that it would never come to pass in this life.
Then one beautiful Sunday morning when I was 17, my mother again went to church with me. On our way home she told me something that I can still hear in my thoughts and in my heart. She said that she had decided to be baptized. I was shocked! After waiting for so long, I wondered if this was real. In May 2010, my mother entered the waters of baptism. It was such a happy day.
After the baptism I looked at my father and said, “You’re the only one left now.” He responded that it would not be soon because he didn’t feel the desire to be baptized. I was again sad—part of my dream had come true, but the rest seemed far away. Although it was hard, I was certain that things would change. To my great happiness, my prayers were again answered two months later when my father entered the waters of baptism. It was the greatest joy of my life. I felt as though the heavens were singing.
After my parents joined the Church, I realized that another part of my dream had come true but that we needed to be sealed for eternity in the house of the Lord. My parents told me they didn’t feel ready, that they didn’t have enough money for the long trip to the Recife Brazil Temple, and that they didn’t have anyone to watch our home while we were gone. I was sad, but I kept praying for that blessing, knowing that the Lord would answer my prayers.
In time my mother began to feel a strong desire to go to the temple, even though my father continued to put it off. After many conversations with the bishop, they both decided to go. I felt so much joy I could barely contain it!
In September 2011, my mother, my father, and I went to the temple for the first time in our lives. I was sealed to my parents the next day, and I can truly say that, after 11 years of waiting, it was the best day of my life.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for everything He has given to me, especially for answering my prayers and fulfilling my greatest dream: the dream of seeing my whole family in the house of the Lord.

While our family was in Argentina on assignment from the Church, our son and I often visited sites of interest in our free time. Among them was a zoo unlike any zoo we had seen before.
Rather than wander past cages of sleepy animals, visitors were invited to enter the pens and pet the animals. Following the trainer, we made our way into the enclosure prepared for the large lions and petted them while they seemed to ignore us.
I asked the trainers how they had convinced those giant beasts to not eat us. They called my attention to several little dogs that likewise inhabited the pens. When the lions were small, those yappy dogs chased the lions mercilessly and nipped at their heels. The lion cubs became accustomed to cowering in the corner, afraid of the dogs.
When the lions grew, they continued to cower in fear. With the flick of a paw, they could easily have sent those dogs flying, but the lions didn’t see themselves as they really were. They were unaware of their regal identity and potential.
We all face pesky little dogs that steal our confidence and keep us cowering in figurative corners. I name three.
Many of us characterize our performance more by our failures than by our successes. If we get 80 questions right out of 100, we sadly admit that we missed 20 questions rather than proudly note that we got 80 correct. Lack of confidence in our potential and in ourselves can blind us to our true worth and capacity.
Nephi saw a vision of the mother of the Savior, but when asked if he understood the condescension of God, he admitted he didn’t know the meaning of all things. But first he asserted what he did know: “[God] loveth his children” (see 1 Nephi 11:12–17). That’s the most essential thing to know. It keeps us from allowing pesky dogs of incomplete knowledge to compromise our certainty of the truthfulness of the Church and of our relationship with God and His unfailing and empowering love for us.
Bad choices or the neglect of good ones cloud our vision of reality. There was a symbolic reason the children of Israel needed to gather manna daily (see Exodus 16:4). The daily obligation to gather food helped them to remember God. Today, scripture reading, praying, attending church, and serving each other are our daily manna as children of God to help us remember the Lord.
We have God’s spiritual DNA coursing through our veins. We are His sons and daughters and His heirs. Swat away any deceiving messages, beliefs, or habits that cause you to cower in the corners of your life. Don’t let them nip at your heels and make you feel fearful or hurt. Rise to the level of your eternal stature. You are royalty.

Let me give you an example. While our children have been growing up, we have purposely lived in a rural setting where we could keep some animals and birds about, for several important reasons. One is that we have chores, regular responsibilities, that cannot be put off and that must be attended to at least daily. From this our youngsters have learned to work and to be dependable.
On one occasion a hen had hidden a nest away under a manger in the barn. The nest was discovered by our little girl. When the chickens were hatched, the tiny ones began to peep. She wanted to see them and hold them but was confronted by a very angry hen protecting her chicks. When I came home in the evening, she came running to the car and excitedly told me of her discovery, pleading with me to let her hold some of the baby chicks. It was not easy to get the hen to cooperate, but finally I had a double-handful of little chicks. There were black ones, white ones, striped ones, and spotted ones, and as the children gathered around, admiring them with childish expressions, I let our little girl hold one.
“That will make a nice watch dog when it grows up, won’t it?” I said. She wrinkled up her little nose and looked at me quizzically. It was obvious that she didn’t believe what I said, so I hurriedly corrected myself. “It won’t turn into a dog, will it?” As she shook her head, I said, “It will make a nice horse, won’t it?” She looked at me as though I did not know very much. She knew and wondered why I didn’t seem to know that the little chicken would never grow up to be a dog or a horse or an elephant or even a turkey, but when it grew up it would be a hen or a rooster; it would become like its parents.
How did she, a four-year-old, know that? We had never taught it to her. She knew it as children know many things. Children know and understand many lessons that are basic and sacred in life without being taught.