Gospel Story Finder

Brother Thomson has told his children that a mission is like a university education in the school of life, and Matthew plans to enroll. His family helps him prepare for that experience as they helped him prepare for his baptism. For many weeks before he turned eight, the family home evenings were modified missionary discussions, preparing Matthew as any convert to the Church would prepare. When his baptism day came, he was thoroughly grounded in the covenants he was making and in the eternal meaning of this earthly ordinance.

My wife, Brittney, and I began purchasing food storage early in our marriage. In the first months after our wedding, we bought a few storable items each time we went grocery shopping. By adding a little bit at a time, we accumulated a useful store of food. We didn’t know when we would need to use it, but we knew it was important.
A year into our marriage, we moved across the country for graduate school, and we brought our food storage with us. Financially, things were difficult. We had used all of our savings to secure housing, and Brittney received no income as a student teacher. We relied on my graduate school assistantship to pay the bills, but it didn’t go far.
Our finances took another turn for the worse the second night in our new home. Brittney woke up with severe stomach pain, and when it didn’t subside after several hours, we went to the hospital. She had her appendix removed later that day.
After she recovered, we sat down to budget our money. As we calculated the next four months’ bills—which included the emergency surgery—we discovered we could still get by without going into debt. In order to do so, however, we could spend no more than $25 each month on groceries. That was about one-fourth of what we were used to spending.
The food storage we had accumulated over the past year became invaluable. It was enough to cover our basic needs for four months, and we used the budgeted $25 to buy milk and other perishables. We didn’t eat fancy food, but we didn’t go hungry.
As we lived frugally and served others willingly, we received added blessings. One of my fellow students finished his degree and asked us to help his family move. While we were helping, he asked if we would like to take the food left in their freezer. Because of his kindness, we now had meat to supplement our food storage.
The Lord blessed us as we prepared food storage, paid our tithing, and showed willingness to serve. We made it through those months without borrowing any money. After that semester, my wife found a full-time job, and we could afford to spend more money on groceries. We built up our food storage again, and we continue to be blessed as we obey the Lord’s commandments.

At a recent extended family home evening, our grandchildren were having a wonderful time. A six-year-old grandson became very upset when his father said it was time to go home. So what did this dear boy do? He came to me and said, “Grandfather, may I have your permission to disobey my father?”
I said, “No, sweetheart. One of life’s great lessons is to learn that happiness comes through obedience. Go home with your family, and you will be happy.” Though disappointed, he dutifully obeyed.

Yet we had still another problem: no podium. As we prayed to know how to get one, I learned that a local elementary school had some wood we could use. For days I searched for a carpenter who could build a podium from the wood, but I couldn’t find one. Finally, on a Saturday, I decided to build it myself. I had never carried such heavy objects, and I would never have believed I could finish the podium in one day, but God helped me. The podium was ready for church the next day. All the members were amazed, but not as amazed as I was. It seemed a miracle to me.

When I was in my teens, a recently returned missionary named Brother Peterson taught our Sunday School class. Every week he would draw a large arrow from the lower left-hand corner of the blackboard pointing to the upper right-hand corner. Then he would write at the top of the blackboard, “Aim High.”

Whatever doctrine he was teaching, he would ask us to stretch ourselves, to reach a little higher than we thought was possible. The arrow and those two words, aim high, were a constant invitation throughout the lesson. Brother Peterson made me want to serve a good mission, to do better in school, to set my sights higher for my career.

Brother Peterson had a work for us to do. His goal was to help us “think about, feel about, and then do something about living gospel principles.” His teaching helped save my life.

When President Thomas S. Monson asked those new members of the Seventy and the Young Women general presidency to come up and take their places on the stand, I remembered vividly April 1970, when I was called to be an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve—which was a surprise to me. I’d only known about it for just a few hours. As I was invited to sit in one of the red chairs in the old Tabernacle, the choir started to sing “O Divine Redeemer.” As I listened to that pleading song with that wonderful melody, I silently asked the Savior to accept me as I am and remember not my failures, my shortcomings, and my sins (see Psalm 25:7). What a wonderful day that was! That flashed through my mind as President Monson made that invitation today.

The Prophet’s ability to sacrifice for others marked his character from his youth. His father gave him his patriarchal blessing in 1834 and looked back to Joseph’s early years before 14: “Thou hast been an obedient son. The commands of thy father and the reproofs of thy mother, thou hast respected and obeyed.” Joseph the man was rarely irritated but regularly shared his bed and board with the stranger and put the comfort of the Latter-day Saints above his own. We see him in the first summer in Nauvoo, when Joseph and family left their home for a tent in the yard and gave their space and time to those overcome with malaria in the new Mississippi environment. Joseph’s generosity was genuine and points to his deepest nature.

Tommy and Betsy were excited and happy about going out west. “It is just like going on a picnic,” said Betsy.
“It would be if it weren’t so cold,” replied Tommy, as he snuggled down into the featherbed that his father had thrown over the supplies in the bottom of the wagon. It was like settling down into a giant pillow. Its feathery softness kept Tommy and Betsy snug and warm, even though the wind was blowing, snow was falling, and ice was forming on the edges of the wagon cover.
The road was ice-covered. As they started down the steep slope to the river, Father called to Tommy and Betsy, “You had better get out of the wagon and walk. It will be safer that way.”
Tommy and Betsy hated to leave the cozy warmth of their featherbed, but they did not say so. Instead, they climbed out of the wagon and, lowering their heads into the wind, walked the remaining distance down the hill to the river. While they were waiting for their father and mother, it started to hail. The hailstones were big, and to Tommy and Betsy it felt as if it were raining bullets. Betsy was frightened; both she and Tommy were freezing. Tommy said, “Let’s jump up and down and laugh at the hailstones. At least that will help us get warm.” And that was the way their father and mother found them—laughing at the hailstorm.
When Tommy and Betsy saw Father leading the frightened oxen and Mother walking by his side, holding a pan to protect his head from the hailstones, they were glad that they were found laughing instead of crying. Happily they climbed into the back of the wagon and settled once more into the cozy warmth of their featherbed.
In a moment or two, Tommy raised a corner of the wagon cover and peeked out. To his amazement he saw wagons coming from every part of town. “How can they all cross the river?” he wondered aloud. “The ferry is locked in ice.”
His father, who at that moment was near the back of the wagon, heard Tommy and answered him. “We will go across the river on the bridge our Heavenly Father has provided—a bridge of ice a mile long.”
Tommy looked across the river. It was so far to the other side! Could a river so big freeze solid enough to hold up a heavy covered wagon? He was breathless with fear that when his father moved the oxen onto the ice it would crack, but it did not! Tommy and Betsy sighed with relief as one wagon after another followed until there was a whole train of them moving slowly across the river. The ice would hold!
For a moment all was quiet, and into their hearts came a feeling that their Heavenly Father really loved them and that he would watch over and protect them on their journey west. It was then that a woman started to sing, and soon others joined in. The singing continued until the wagon train arrived at Sugar Creek.
Sugar Creek was the place where the Saints expected to camp until the weather was warmer. The people who had arrived there the week before heard the singing, and they built campfires—many of them—to welcome the travelers and so that all could get warm when they arrived. Tommy and Besty were thankful for the campfires. They stood in front of the one nearest their wagon and turned first to one side and then to the other, until they were toasty warm. Tommy left the fire first to help his father feed the oxen and milk the cow.
“Betsy,” called her mother, “please bring a loaf of bread out of the bread box so we can have bread and milk for supper.”
The loaf of bread was frozen solid. Her mother tried to cut it with a knife. Then she tried to break it with a hammer, but she only succeeded in making Betsy laugh. When her father came with a pail of milk, he said, “I’ll get the saw,” and they all laughed when they saw him try to cut that little loaf of bread with his big saw. He succeeded in breaking off small pieces. Tommy and Betsy put these pieces into the warm milk.
That night when Tommy and Betsy snuggled down into their warm featherbed, they thought of all that had happened during the day. Betsy thought of her kitten, of the chair with the big round back, and of the clock they’d left back in Nauvoo. In her mind she could hear the clock saying “Sleep, Betsy. Sleep, Betsy,” just as it used to do. And Betsy was soon asleep.
With Tommy it was different. He thought about the wicked men who had driven them from Nauvoo, and he hoped these men would not follow them out west. The more he thought, the more wide awake he became. Because he was so wide awake, he heard all the noises of the camp. It sounded as if many people were going from one wagon to another. Then he heard the ice on the wagon cover crack as Father raised a corner and said, “Tommy, Betsy, wake up!”
Tommy was up in an instant. “Is something the matter?” he asked.
“Sister Johnson has a new baby girl,” replied his father. “Your featherbed would help the mother and the baby keep warm on this bitter cold night.”
By that time Betsy was awake, and both she and Tommy helped their father pull the featherbed out of the wagon. Afterwards, her father bundled Betsy up in some quilts and she went back to sleep.
Tommy was too excited to sleep. Instead, he stood by the fire, which was blazing brightly. He had been there just a minute or so when his mother came out of Sister Johnson’s wagon carrying the baby. “It will only be a minute before the featherbed is ready, and then we will tuck her in next to her mother, and she will be snug and warm,” she said. “In the meantime, it is much warmer here by the fire than it is in the wagon.” Tommy looked at the ice on the wagon cover and knew that this was true.
The next morning when he and Betsy asked about the baby, their mother said, “Instead of just one new baby, there were nine babies born last night.”
“Nine new babies!” Tommy and Betsy could hardly believe their ears.
Mother looked from one to the other and said softly, “I know of at least one of those babies who is doing well because two kind children gave up their precious featherbed so the baby could be warm.”
Tommy and Betsy smiled at each other, and a warm glow of happiness filled their hearts.

Except that it isn’t about San Jose. It’s about San Francisco. There are a lot of fun things within easy reach of the young people in San Jose—everything from beach parties, to ski trips, to camping, to sailing, to sports and cultural events, to San Francisco, which is why this story happened.
San Francisco is about an hour from San Jose, just far enough to make it adventurous and close enough to make it convenient, and that’s how the priests and Laurels of the San Jose Seventh Ward came to make the trip one bright morning.
Their first stop was the Golden Gate Park, a giant green finger pointing out of the Pacific toward San Francisco Bay. They strolled in the shade of the gigantic trees and spent an hour in the lush beauty of the Oriental Tea Garden. They could easily have spent a day seeing the Park’s other attractions, but there was a city of 42 hills and 42,000 adventures waiting for them.
They visited the Golden Gate Bridge, standing on a windswept observation point and watching the vast red span stretch away from them. The intense blue of the bay was dotted with sails, and wave-swept Alcatraz Island looked foreboding in the middle of them.
Next they visited the quaint brick buildings of Ghiradelli Square and ate their lunches on the steps of a fountain there. Then, refreshed by the rest, they ambled along to Fisherman’s Wharf, passing on the street artists who sold their handiworks and street musicians who played in the open air, glancing hopefully now and then into guitar cases and hats where people would occasionally throw money.
One man sat in the back of a pickup truck parked by the curb and played an upright piano. Another innovative fellow climbed inside a painted box and billed himself as a human juke box. People put money in through a slot, and he played a wandering trumpet for them.
They walked along Fisherman’s Wharf, talking to the fish vendors and looking at the stacks of fresh crabs, lobsters, shrimp, and other seafood. Some of it looked back at them and snapped angry claws.
After spending some time observing the long rows of docked fishing boats, they boarded a cable car and rode up the steep hills to Chinatown. They walked up and down the steep streets lined with exotic buildings with upturned roofs, neon signs in Cantonese and English, and shops filled with the pungent aroma of unfamiliar foods.
By then the sun was getting low, and knowing the way to San Jose very well, they returned home.

When the newly formed Lakeland Florida Stake issued the challenge to hold a Young Women basketball tournament, the Lake Wales Branch rose to the opportunity. But they had a problem. They didn’t have enough active girls in their Young Women program to fill the five positions on the playing floor. And having a couple of substitutes wouldn’t hurt.
The girls and coaches began asking friends and inactive members to join them. The girls were told that if they didn’t have fun, they didn’t have to stay. A team of eight was formed and practices began. Soon the girls learned the meaning of phrases like “set up” and “fast break” and learned to dribble without using both hands.
With determination and hard work, the Lake Wales Branch had a basketball team. At the stake tournament, their skills were challenged. It was the first time they had played together on an indoor court, and they had some trouble getting used to having confining walls.
At the end of the tournament, the Lake Wales team came out on top. They were the first Lakeland Stake champions. The experience of playing together and fellowshipping has made them winners.

Years ago my mother was killed in a car accident involving a drunk driver. In shock I flew to my parents’ home and helped plan the funeral with my siblings and injured father.
Soon after returning home I was called to serve as the Primary music leader. While I prepared, my emotions seemed blocked, and I began to doubt my abilities. “A Primary music leader needs to be enthusiastic and cheerful,” I thought to myself. I felt only sorrow. I wanted to encourage the children, but I felt I would let them down. My heart ached with grief. I wondered if I would ever be happy again—let alone want to sing.
The day before I began serving in my new calling, my husband and I attended a temple session with friends who were being sealed. Before the session began, we were invited to the temple’s chapel for an opening hymn, prayer, and remarks by a temple official. As we sang “How Gentle God’s Commands” (Hymns, no. 125), I couldn’t help noticing the hymn’s lyrics:
Why should this anxious load
Press down your weary mind?
Haste to your Heav’nly Father’s throne
And sweet refreshment find.
I felt that I had an “anxious load” and realized that there, in His holy temple, I was finding “sweet refreshment.” In the fourth verse I heard a direct message for me:
His goodness stands approved,
Unchanged from day to day;
I’ll drop my burden at his feet
And bear a song away.
At that moment I knew that I could fulfill any calling and that I could feel joy, even though I missed my mother. And because I knew that my Savior carried my burden, I could sing!
Sheri Stratford Erickson, Idaho, USA

As the breeze calms down and the fire burns brighter, Sterling Garns expresses his gratitude for the brotherhood he felt in his Aaronic Priesthood quorums before he left to attend Brigham Young University.
“A lot of us have been in this ward since we were deacons, and I feel like we’ve always been pretty close. We’ve done a lot together and our leaders have taken good care of us,” he says. “I feel blessed to have had good friends and a good family.
“Right now, you’re probably in your comfort zone with the ward, the school, your family, a lot of what you do. Until you leave, you may not realize how much you rely on your family, especially your parents, for spiritual strength. But once you are out on your own, you can feel like there is no one but yourself to rely on to stay strong in the Church. It’s so important to get close to the Savior, to read your scriptures, to pray, to do all those things you’ve been taught to do. It’s easy to drift if you don’t stay anchored. Do the right things now and it will make them easier to do later.”
Sterling also talks about his desire to serve a full-time mission.
“You talk about it your whole life, and then all of a sudden the decision is here. Like one of our ward leaders said, time passes in a blink. I think a mission is a good thing to do. There are things we can learn and do that we won’t have an opportunity to do at any other time. The rest of the world may think we are crazy to do it. But if you really believe in the Church and the Lord, it’s the right thing to do.”
Sterling sits down and hugs his younger brother Tyler, one of the graduating seniors. These are brothers who’ve been close—surfing together, quarterback and cornerback at the same high school, not a lot of fighting and disagreeing, just good interaction.
“He’s going on his mission,” Tyler says quietly. “In ten months, I’ll be going on mine.” Reality is starting to set in, that missionary service will likely separate these brothers. But the closeness they demonstrate also shows that the separation will be merely geographic, and the eventual reunion full of joy.

I drummed my fingers on the wooden chair’s skinny armrest, then twisted to the right and looked at the photograph of the First Presidency hung on the light-blue wall. Calm down, I said to myself. After all, I had requested this visit. I could hear a familiar voice grow louder as the bishop left the clerk’s office, crossed the hall, and came inside. He smiled and said, “Well, Jeff, how are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine,” I said out loud while thinking to myself frantically, What am I doing here?
Bishop Smith pulled his heavy chair from behind his solid dark desk, put it alongside me, sat down, and smiled again. Bishop Smith was a big man, very round, and when he smiled, his whole body seemed to beam right along with his face. I basked for a moment in all that warmth and then said, “Actually, bishop, I guess things aren’t all that great. I’ve thought a lot about our talk last month, a lot about a mission. And, well, frankly I just can’t go.”
“Don’t think you can go?”
“Yeah, I mean I’m 22. I’d be 24 when I got back. I’d be too old.”
“Too old for what?”
“Come on, bishop. You know. I just graduated from state university. I’m a pretty good botanist. How can I work with someone who was a junior in some high school when I was worrying about passing Professor Gotlieb’s Advanced Plant Pathology? I can tell you anything you want to know about wheat germs.”
Bishop Smith looked at me for a moment, leaned forward, and asked in a manner as gentle as when I had planted fir tree seedlings on Rye Grass Ridge, “Is that your real reason?”
I wasn’t ready for that question. I had hoped for a cheery smile and ready agreement. “Well, yes. Mainly,” I stammered. “I mean, basically.”
“Jeff, we’ve had some serious talks, you and I. Tell me, what are some other reasons to go with this basic reason?” The chair creaked as Bishop Smith leaned back.
“Oh, you know.” I spread my hands out in front of me and then picked some lint off my slacks. “Bishop, I haven’t exactly made the best decisions in my life. Being inactive for seven years didn’t help any. How can I say to some investigator, ‘I just loved Sunday School when I grew up,’ or ‘I’ve always believed living the Word of Wisdom was important’? How can I talk about goals or loyalty or testimony?”
“Converts can talk about testimony and goals and loyalty, and they weren’t always active members.”
“But they chose to join, not to leave.”
“You chose to come back.”
I didn’t have anything to say at that moment, and all I could hear was a rustling out in the hall. After a moment the bishop said kindly, “I don’t quite understand. Are you worried about worthiness?”
“Bishop,” I replied firmly, “I’ve got my life going again. I have nothing to hide. I know the Lord loves me, and I love him. But at every sacrament meeting or general conference or whatever, I hear that the Lord wants only the best, the strongest, the most reliable to be his missionaries.”
“I think in a small way I see, Jeff.” Bishop Smith paused and tapped his thick fingers against each other. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“Only a little. I guess I haven’t said much at all. At least I told him I was coming here tonight.”
“Jeff, maybe it’s time to see your dad. I know him; he’s a good man. Talk to him and then come see me again. Okay?”
The interview hadn’t gone quite as I had planned it. Suddenly I really didn’t know what to do. “Okay,” I said, and we stood up. Bishop Smith walked me to the door, and just after he shook my hand, he gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Remember,” he said, “come see me again.”
As I drove away from the institute building on Powell Avenue, I considered going home to my apartment or seeing some friends. I even thought about going up on campus and walking through the greenhouses. Although I had already graduated, I was still helping Professor Gotlieb work with some sunflower research. And then I decided to talk to my dad.
My parents live on the east side of town on the other side from my apartment and campus. When I decided that I wanted to attend state university but didn’t want to live at home, I moved out and into the back room of an old, dark-green Victorian house with white trim. My parents were pretty understanding. We’ve always talked together fairly well. When I quit going to priesthood, and then Sunday School, and then Church completely, they never threatened or yelled at me. I’m sure they felt unhappy inside, but I always knew they loved me. I never really ignored my parents, but I had friends and things at school and got pretty busy. Still, my folks would call me up just to say hi, and my mom would bring over some of her delicious carrot cake every now and then. In fact, when I first started going back to church, because of two great home teachers, I didn’t say much about it to my parents. I remember the little pause the first time after I asked them to attend church with me at the institute, and then my dad said, “Are you sure?”
I was surprised when I got to my folks’ and found the lights off and the car gone. But I noticed the backyard light was on, so I got out of my car and went around the side. Out back I saw my dad working on his pride and joy, his small, old sailboat. When I was little we would go sailing on Lake Lourraine, up north. The boat really wasn’t very much. Only one at a time could get in it, but we all liked to try it, even if we spent most of the time in the lake and not the boat. As everybody grew older, everybody got busier, and we didn’t take the boat out much. Finally, it sat pushed against the garage until my youngest brother grazed it with the car; then, we hid it under some tarp behind the house. Now that all the kids are gone, my dad’s interest in sailing has flared up again. Late last year he started to tinker with the boat. A few weeks ago, I helped him paint it white.
“Ship ahoy,” I called as I walked around the house.
“Hey, what a surprise! Just what I needed, another hand.”
“Sounds fine. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by. Where’s mom?”
“Oh, she’s over at the neighbors. Did you just see Bishop Smith?”
“Boy, whatever happened to subtlety?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you tonight. Here, help me sand a little.” My dad gave me some yellow, fine-grade sandpaper. We both started to work.
“Well,” I said, “do you want to know what we talked about?”
“Whatever happened to subtlety?”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“You tell him you’re too old?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he fall for it?”
I looked quickly at my dad. He was grinning at me. “No,” I said, “bishops don’t fall for much of anything. I guess dads don’t either.”
“I guess not. So, what are your plans?”
I walked over to the back steps and sat down. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“What’s more important is what you think. It’s up to you, Jeff. You and the Lord. Have you ever talked to him about your future, about a mission?”
The words weighed on me, and I fiddled with a stem of foxtail grass I had pulled up. “No,” I said quietly, surprised that the night was so still.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t answer or want me. I’ve let him down before.”
My dad started sanding again, and I looked up at the sky and saw Venus burning brightly. “Isn’t she a beautiful boat?” my dad said.
I was glad to change the subject. “She sure is. A beaut.”
“I hope you’ll go sailing with me sometime.”
“You can count on that.”
“She might sink on us, you know.”
“Come on,” I laughed. “She’ll float just fine.”
“Well, she used to be a wreck.”
“But look at her now,” I said. “We’re proud of her. I’d be a fool not to sail in a boat as good as this one.” I paused for a moment and looked straight at my dad. “You know, I get the feeling you want to tell me something.”
“Son, we’d all be in pretty bad shape if we couldn’t start over when we make mistakes. We wouldn’t have a chance.”
“I know, dad.”
“Why don’t you ask the Lord, Jeff. You might be surprised.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?”
“I promise you he will.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my dad’s hands still holding the sandpaper. “I mean it.”
“You know, Jeff, maybe you’d like to fast before you ask. Your mom and I would be glad to fast with you.”
We sanded some more, and I told my dad about work with Professor Gotlieb. When mom came home, we talked about fasting together. My parents were right behind me, and we agreed to do it. As I drove to my apartment, I could smell the scent of rain on the pines in the mountains mixed with apple tree blossoms. I thought of some things I’d like to do before I fasted. And for the first time, way back in my mind, I knew I’d be calling Bishop Smith soon, sooner perhaps than even he expected. And this time, I wouldn’t be going to his office with any excuses.

This story happened in the USA.
Zack likes to run, jump, and play. Zack also has sensory processing disorder.
For Zack, that means he doesn’t like loud noises. And he likes to do the same things every day.
Every afternoon he plays with the same toy airplane.
Every night he reads the same bedtime story.
And every Sunday he sits in the same chair during Primary.
One day at church, all the kids practiced for the Primary program in the chapel. This was very different!
Zack doesn’t like it when things are different.
Mom had him stand in the front row so he had room to wiggle.
His friend stood next to him to help him feel better.
His teacher gave him headphones to make everything quieter. But Zack was still upset.
Then the music director and the Primary president had an idea.
Zack’s special job was just right for him! He was happy to feel Heavenly Father’s love.
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

“Dennis, will you give a talk in Primary next week?” Sister Harris asked. “We’d love for you to talk about a prophet in the Book of Mormon.”
Dennis gulped. He had shared a scripture and said a prayer in Primary before, but he wasn’t sure he could give a whole talk. What if he stuttered? He went to speech therapy, but it was still hard to speak clearly when he got nervous.
“I’ll try m-my best,” he said.
Sister Harris smiled. “That’s all that Heavenly Father asks of us.”
Dennis couldn’t stop thinking about the talk for the rest of Primary. As soon as his family left church, he blurted out, “I’m scared of giving a talk!” His voice trembled, and he felt hot tears in the corners of his eyes. “What if I mess up? What if I trip on my way to the microphone? Or what if I can’t remember what to say and freeze like a human statue?”
Mom smiled and put her arm around his shoulders. “I believe in you, and I have faith that Heavenly Father will help you.”
“Does Heavenly Father know I’m scared?” Dennis asked, wiping his eyes.
“Yes! Heavenly Father always knows how we feel,” Dad said. “He and the Savior understand everything we go through. They love us with all Their hearts.”
Dennis felt better after that. That night, he prayed about what he should say in his talk. He decided to share a scripture story. He thought of when Nephi’s bow broke. Nephi was brave and faithful, even when his older brothers were mean to him.
The next day Dennis wrote down that story in his own words. Mom helped him spell the words he didn’t know. Dennis practiced telling the story every day for the rest of the week.
On Sunday morning, Dennis said his talk to his family one last time. But he was still a little nervous.
“Dad, will you give me a blessing?” he asked.
“I would love to,” Dad said.
Dennis sat in a chair, and Dad put his hands on top of Dennis’s head. Dennis listened carefully as Dad spoke. Dad blessed him that he would be calm and that he would be able to say what he wanted to say. “Dennis, your Heavenly Father loves you very much,” Dad said. “His peace will be with you.”
Dennis felt a warm, calm feeling. He knew what Dad said was true.
When it was time for Dennis to give his talk, he walked to the front of the Primary room. He felt his knees shaking, but that didn’t stop him. And he didn’t trip! He looked to the back of the room and saw his parents smiling at him. He smiled back.
“Nephi and his family lived in the desert for years. But one time, Nephi b-broke his bow, so they couldn’t get f-f-food.” Dennis stopped. He was stuttering! He thought about giving up, but then he remembered his blessing. He took a deep breath and kept going.
“Nephi made a n-new bow and caught some food for his f-family. I know that Heavenly F-Father will help us as we try to do what’s right. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As Dennis sat down, he felt a warm, calm feeling again. He had given a whole talk! God had helped him, just like Dad had promised in the blessing.

I was baptized in Mexico on 26 June 1976 with my son Carlos León, whom we call Kali. We quickly became accustomed to the many principles of our new faith and desired to participate fully.
I remember well our first fast Sunday. My daughter Jovita, who was already a member of the Church, explained what we should do. We were to go without food or drink for two consecutive meals in a spirit of prayer. In return the Lord promised to bless our family.
Around 11:00 A.M. that day, Kali climbed to the roof of the house—about nine meters above the ground—with his younger brother. While lying on the roof, peeking over the edge, he fell. Halfway down, he grabbed some power lines and started to swing. But feeling his hands burning, he let go and landed on the sidewalk.
Although others immediately ran to help him, I could not run, cry out, or do anything. The only thing I could manage was to fall on my knees and pray with all the strength of my soul. I remember saying, “My son! Father, let Thy will be done.”
At that moment, I clearly heard a voice say to me, “Nothing has happened to your son; he is alive.” When I felt that clear, soft voice penetrate my whole being, I arose unafraid. I knew it was the Spirit I had heard. I felt calm.
Just as I finished praying, my younger son approached me. “Mama, don’t cry. Nothing has happened to Kali; he is alive,” he said, using the same words I had just heard.
When everything had calmed down and we had comforted Kali and been assured that he was all right, I told him, “God has saved your life.”
We finished our fast that day and gave thanks to God for the miracle that Kali was unharmed.
Kali suffered no lasting effects from his accident. When he was old enough he shared the gospel message as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Mérida Mission.

“We had one lesson at least every two months on preparing to go on a mission,” Elder Kolb said. “On the blackboard we’d list all the things you needed to do to get ready—preparing yourself physically, spiritually, and financially. I felt like my spiritual and physical preparations were okay, but not my financial. So at 15 I got a job planting trees, and I had that job for five years. I’ll be able to pay for my whole mission myself.”

“My father was killed when I was four years old. He went to help a young woman who was being assaulted by two men, and he was fatally stabbed. I missed my dad so much that I always had this hurt inside me. But when I was thirteen years old, I met the Latter-day Saint missionaries and that hurt was healed when I discovered the love of a Father I could talk to, a Father who would listen to me, a Father who would comfort me. And through the plan of salvation, I learned that I could meet my dad again some day.”
As a young teenager, Sister Ruchirawan Phonphongrat of Bangkok, Thailand, came into contact with the missionaries when she attended an English language class they offered. Following her first class, she was invited to attend a Mutual activity. “After an enjoyable evening, one of the members offered a prayer. As he prayed, I had the feeling that Someone was listening. I had a warm feeling inside, as though I were being hugged. It was that prayer and the accompanying feeling that began to heal the hurt of missing my dad. I decided that I wanted to be able to pray, to have this feeling often. So I asked the missionaries if it would be possible for me to learn the gospel and learn how to pray.
“They gave me the discussions over the next two months, and then I was baptized. I remember that when they taught me how to pray I was so excited that I would be able to pray by myself. I went to my room that night, closed the door, and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if what the missionaries had told me was true. Heavenly Father did hear me, and that’s when I found out that he does care for me. I was so very, very happy. Early next morning, on my way to school, I stopped by the apartment building where the missionaries lived on the top floor. I shouted up to their apartment window, ‘Elders! I know there is a Jesus. I know that Heavenly Father lives!’
“I told my mother that I had found a way I could meet my dad again and that we could be together again as a family some day. My mom really loved my dad, and she had never remarried. She knew that I always aimed for the best, in school or in whatever I did. Although she was an active Buddhist, she knew that the Church would be the best for me, too.”

Photographs from Getty Images
Wilma Rudolph: 2-time Olympian, 3 gold medals, polio survivor.
In 1960 Wilma Rudolph became a track and field legend. She was running for the United States in the Olympics, which were being televised for the first time. In spite of the intense pressure, Wilma ran so quickly she was proclaimed “the fastest woman in the world.” By the end of the Olympics, she had won not just one gold medal but three—the first American woman ever to do so.
Wilma’s incredible victory teaches us a powerful lesson about our true potential and identity. But her story is even more inspiring when you know how it began.
Wilma was born in Tennessee in 1940. She was the 20th of 22 children in her family. She was born prematurely and weighed under five pounds. In her early childhood she suffered from a slew of illnesses—pneumonia, scarlet fever, and then polio, which left her with limited use of her left leg. She required leg braces to stand. “My doctor told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would,” Wilma said. “I believed my mother.”1
When she was nine years old, Wilma determined to prove the doctors wrong. She took off her leg braces and began to walk, one slow step at a time. She fell, she got up and tried again, and again, and again. With grit, determination, and faith, Wilma continued to practice. Eventually, she even started to run. She ran a lot. And, after years of work, she ran fast—very fast. Fast enough to run in the 1956 Olympics and win a bronze medal at age 16. Then, four years later, she ran again to win those amazing three gold medals.
Winners of the women’s 100-meter race at the 1960 Rome, Italy, Olympics. Wilma Rudolph (center) is awarded the gold medal.
Photograph from Getty Images

Recently, due to a job change, my wife, youngest two sons, and I moved from the United States to England. What an adventure!
Unsure of what to expect, we found a quaint, comfortable home to lease in a quiet neighborhood that is perfect for us. The house is cozy and gives us a peaceful place to live, laugh, and learn together. Everything about it is just right … except the refrigerator.
“It’s the size of a shoebox!” was only a slight exaggeration from our youngest son. “I’ve seen bigger fridges in dorm rooms” was an accurate comment. This keep-your-food-cold baby is a whopping 2.5 feet (.75 m) tall and 1.6 feet (.5 m) wide—with only 44 liters of space. It took me a while to recognize what that meant.
For an active household of four people, we eat a lot of food each week. So it was an adjustment to adapt to a fridge the size of a laundry basket.
The nearest grocery store is 1.2 miles (2 km) away. It’s a pleasant walk through the neighborhood. To go to the store and back is generally a commitment of just over an hour.
At first, the novelty of walking to the store was intriguing. Finding the way and seeing the sights provided a chance to experience the area. That interest quickly wore down, and replenishing our fridge became a “One, two, three, not it!” activity.
For some time, I found myself making this trek with minor irritation. Grumble. Grumble. “We didn’t have to do this when we had a fridge the size of a Cadillac!”
My attitude changed one fateful week.
Monday, we needed milk. Before heading to the store, I asked my youngest son if he wanted to go with me. To my delight (and moderate surprise), he agreed. We spent that hour walking and talking. I learned things from him about a video game he likes that I never even thought to ask about. We had a great time together.
Tuesday, I forgot to get apples the day before. Our second youngest son was just finishing a task, and I caught him off guard: “I’m just headed to the store. Want to come?” Sure enough, he agreed! That hour went by very quickly as we walked together while discussing a well-known artist and his career path along with my son’s similar interests and artistic journey. Best time spent all day.
Wednesday, we all had a craving for ice cream—but no ice cream. Solution? A family walk to the store. Talking as we walked there and back as a family was definitely a wholesome recreational activity.
Thursday, we were out of eggs (plus we needed bamboo skewers for a school project). “Well, Son, it is your project, but I’ll come with you to the store as long as you help me remember to get the eggs.” This time, an hour spent telling math jokes and learning what was happening at school was exactly what I needed.
Saturday, the day to get ready for Sunday, my sweetheart kindly agreed to a “shopping date” that morning. So we went off to the store for the usual: milk, bread, fruit, a meal for Sunday, and a few treats. Our walk together was a highlight of the week for me. Being with my wonderful wife while sharing thoughts and ideas about our family, the future, and our lives was a treasure.
After the week of the five trips to the store, my perspective changed quite a bit. I managed to see the blessing of time spent together with my family doing the small, simple things of life. As a result, great things have been brought to pass. (See Alma 37:6.)
I have a closer connection with my sons, and my relationship with my wife has grown stronger. The necessity of these trips has given me focused time to walk and talk with my family. That opportunity always existed, but I did not think to take advantage of that precious time until forced to by the inconvenience of a small fridge.
We have loved it here in the United Kingdom with wonderful people, historic sites, lovely places, and a chance-of-a-lifetime to experience this part of the world. At times we still miss our van-sized refrigerator in the United States. However, our family has grown closer together as we find the positive through our challenges—as small as they may be.
I never thought I would say this, but I am grateful for small refrigerators!
The author lives in Gloucester, England.