Gospel Story Finder

Many years back I had been assigned to name a patriarch for a stake in Logan, Utah. I found such a man, wrote his name on a slip of paper, and placed the note inside my scriptures. My further review revealed that another worthy patriarch had moved to this same area, making unnecessary the naming of a new patriarch. None was named.

Nine years later I was again assigned a stake conference in Logan. Once more a patriarch was needed for the stake I was to visit. I had been using a new set of scriptures for several years and had them in my briefcase. However, as I prepared to leave my home for the drive to Logan, I took from the bookcase shelf an older set of scriptures, leaving the new ones at home. During the conference I began my search for a patriarch: a worthy man, a blameless servant of God, one filled with faith, characterized by kindness. Pondering these requirements, I opened my scriptures and there discovered the slip of paper placed there long years before. I read the name written on the paper: Cecil B. Kenner. I asked the stake presidency if by chance Brother Kenner lived in this particular stake. I found he did. Cecil B. Kenner was that day ordained a patriarch.

Only a few weeks before the earthquake, another group of young adults was giving similar service across the Atlantic. The floods that swept through western Europe in July were the most severe in decades.

When the waters finally receded, one shopkeeper in the riverside district of Ahrweiler, Germany, surveyed the damage and was utterly overwhelmed. This humble man, a devout Catholic, whispered a prayer that God might send someone to help him. The very next morning, President Dan Hammon of the Germany Frankfurt Mission arrived on the street with a small band of missionaries wearing yellow Helping Hands vests. The water had reached up to 10 feet (3 m) on the shopkeeper’s walls, leaving behind a deep layer of mud. The volunteers shoveled out the mud, removed the carpet and drywall, and piled everything in the street for removal. The overjoyed shopkeeper worked alongside them for hours, amazed that the Lord had sent a group of His servants to answer his prayer—and within 24 hours!

One Sunday before church, I took my dog, Cesar, for a walk. We were approached by two dogs. At first, I thought they were wanting to play, but then they attacked us. Cesar was getting all the bites because he was protecting me. I screamed at the top of my lungs. When my parents came running outside, Dad rushed to our side and chased the dogs away. Cesar wasn’t badly hurt, thank goodness. Later, Mom told me that God protected both Cesar and me. I knew that that was true because I felt it inside. Cesar and Dad and Heavenly Father are my heroes, but I hope it never happens again.Matthew Salisbury, age 10Auburn, New York

Two years ago last spring I was caught in the middle of a very heated controversy. A group of creative writing and art students at Brigham Young University, where I am one of the deans, published an issue of the school’s literary magazine which some members of the administration, faculty, and student body felt contained spots of questionable language and photography that should not be permitted to circulate. I was asked as Dean of the College of Humanities to withdraw the publication. Feelings were strong on both sides, and I was painfully squeezed between.
In the confrontations that followed, some teachers and students urged me to really clamp down on those students and their advisors who were responsible for the publication. It was suggested by some that I ought to exercise tighter controls in supervising students and their creative activities. Meanwhile, other teachers and students were pressing me even more strongly to stand up with vigor in defense of academic and creative freedom. Each side stressed the important “principles” involved.
The whole situation was intensely awkward for me because I felt that both sides were, to some extent, right. Surely morality, refinement, and good taste are standards to be defended and practiced, especially by members of the Church and in all Church publications. Equally, however, academic and creative freedom is also surely an ideal to be championed; and its opposite, censorship or suppression, inevitably contains elements that are not only inherently repugnant but also most difficult to control.1
This unpleasant incident of two years ago was particularly tense for a few weeks, but, rather than standing alone, it was merely one of many such incidents that have come to my door during the past twenty-five years in my responsibilities as a teacher and school administrator supervising creative writing classes, publications, and contests. The incident I have referred to happened at BYU, but it could have been in any high school or university. In fact, similar confrontations, often far more severe, have occurred and are occurring all over the world, wherever talented young people are writing, and that is everywhere. It is a problem that concerns all of us who are students and educators; and for those of us who are students and educators in the Church, it is a problem of special concern. The typical pattern is for some students and their teachers to press for increasing freedoms in writing and publishing while other students and educators press for tightening restrictions and controls.

The day I got sick and threw up at school was my worst day. It was also my best day. That’s the day Rosella became my best friend. I was feeling sick and stupid, and she just walked over, got some paper towels, and started helping me clean up the floor. When I told her she didn’t have to do that, she said, “Oh, I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up, and this doesn’t bother me at all.” When school was over, she walked home with me.
It seemed that Rosella wasn’t ever afraid of things. Once she rescued a nonpoisonous snake from some boys who were being mean to it. She carried the snake all the way home so it could live in some bushes in her backyard. I kept watching the snake and its beady, black eyes and wondering if it was going to reach around and bite her. But Rosella didn’t seem worried at all.
One day Rosella and I were sitting next to each other during music class. We were practicing songs for the spring program when the intercom crackled and the principal’s voice asked the music teacher to please come to the office. The teacher told everyone to behave. He said he would be back in a minute, but he was gone a long time.
Some of the boys in the class began throwing wads of paper at the trash can on the other side of the room. Soon the floor was littered with paper.
One of the boys who was throwing paper looked at a boy named Alan and said, “Alan, look at that mess you made. You’d better go pick up those papers.”
Alan hadn’t thrown any paper at all, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, got up from his chair, and began picking up the paper. It took him a long time because he picked up one wad at a time. Alan had crooked glasses, and his hair stood up in tufts all over his head. Something happened when he was born, and he didn’t get enough oxygen. Because of that he had a hard time learning. Sometimes he tripped or made mistakes. But he wanted to be friends with everyone, and he smiled a lot.
After Alan had picked up all the paper, he walked back to his chair. The other boys were all grinning. When Alan turned to sit down, one of them reached over and yanked the chair out from under him. Alan sat down on the floor. Hard. You could see it hurt him because tears came to his eyes. But when the boys all started laughing, Alan tried to laugh too.
The next thing I knew, Rosella was standing up. She marched across the room and stood in front of those boys, glaring at them. Then she reached out her hand and helped Alan get into his chair. The whole class was silent. She asked Alan if he was hurt, and he shook his head. Then she put her hands on her hips. “Being mean to people is a really chicken way of trying to be funny,” she told the boys.
They just looked at her. She didn’t sound mean or angry, but everyone knew she meant it.
Then Rosella turned around and walked back to her chair. The class was dead quiet. I wondered what the boys would do. They usually didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a girl. I kept hoping the teacher would come back before anything else happened. Then one of the boys looked over at Alan. “Sorry we yanked your chair,” he said.
Alan folded his hands together and smiled big. “It’s OK. I have friends.” He looked over at Rosella.
Just then the teacher walked in. No one said anything about the paper, and class continued as usual. When Rosella picked up her music, I could see that her hands were shaking, but she had a quiet look on her face.
Our class began practicing. I could hear the piano playing and the class singing, but I was thinking about Rosella. I was thinking about how she stood up for Alan even though she was probably scared. I looked at Rosella singing the song and then over at Alan. Then I understood—being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. Being brave means doing the right thing even if you are scared.

I served for many years in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles with Elder LeGrand Richards. He died at the age of 96. He told us that as a boy of 12 he attended a great general conference in the Tabernacle. There he heard President Wilford Woodruff.
President Woodruff told of an experience of being prompted by the Spirit. He was sent by the First Presidency to “gather all the Saints of God in New England and Canada and bring them to Zion.”
He stopped at the home of one of the brethren in Indiana and put his carriage in the yard, where he and his wife and one child went to bed while the rest of the family slept in the house. Shortly after he had retired for the night, the Spirit whispered, warning him, “Get up, and move your carriage.” He got up and moved the carriage a distance from where it had stood. As he was returning to bed, the Spirit spoke to him again: “Go and move your mules away from that oak tree.” He did this and then retired once again to bed.
Not more than 30 minutes later, a whirlwind caught the tree to which his mules had been tied and broke it off at the ground. It was carried 100 yards (90 m) through two fences. The enormous tree, which had a trunk five feet (1.5 m) in circumference, fell exactly upon the spot where his carriage had been parked. By listening to the promptings of the Spirit, Elder Woodruff had saved his life and the lives of his wife and child.
That same Spirit can prompt you and protect you.

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury presides over a ward here in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for the Church and indeed did not belong to the Church.

Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”

He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for some 18 months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently my husband Fred stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you?

“‘Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and with Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.’

“Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After 26 years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”

A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of miles which lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.

No hero stood so tall as did Craig, when in far-off Australia he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Martha Poston joined the United States Peace Corps in 1972. The Peace Corps trains and sends volunteers around the world to use their abilities to help others. She joined, she says, because, “I wanted to share my skills and knowledge with those less fortunate than I.” After she studied health and sanitation, child care, food and nutrition, and sewing, Martha began serving in rural Jamaica, where she organized classes to improve living conditions. Soon, however, she was transferred to Liberia in western Africa.
During her Peace Corps service, Martha recalls wanting an understanding of eternity and her place in God’s plan. She had inborn faith in a loving Father in Heaven. “I began feeling spiritual promptings telling me to set my house in order,” she remembers. “But when and for what reason was not clear.”
So Martha kept serving. To help combat the ever-present diseases, she taught rural Liberian women how to do their domestic chores off the ground, where mites and bacteria abounded, in sinks and ovens made from large oil cans and raised-hearth stoves constructed from earth and cement. She introduced clotheslines to the villages. Natives had been drying clothes on the ground and using a charcoal iron to kill mites that would settle in and lay eggs on the clothing. Those that survived would multiply and infect the wearers, causing misery. She also taught them how to boil and crack open palm nuts for their butter, to store grain, and to build iceless refrigerators from the oil cans. These they insulated with fabric-stuffed rice bags soaked with water, creating a crude thermos good for several days.
As Martha continued to lose herself in service, she began to awaken spiritually. She occasionally became discouraged, but remembers that she felt very close to God. “I relied on his Spirit to strengthen and direct me,” she says. “During this time, I had a dream similar to the one I would later recognize when I read the Book of Mormon—that of the rod leading to the tree of life. Other dreams assured me that my Heavenly Father would lead me from darkness into the light.
“I began reading my Bible daily but did not understand it,” she says. “I didn’t know what my next step should be—I just trusted the Lord. Then my mother became ill and I returned to Atlanta to care for her. I still continued to search the scriptures.”
While Martha stayed at her mother’s home, two missionaries came to the door. “We are here to teach you the restored gospel of Jesus Christ,” they said. After the first lesson, Martha felt grateful for additional knowledge, but she wasn’t inclined to join this “true church.” But by the third lesson, she began to receive answers to her prayers. She felt strongly that she was being led to this church where she would find people who would love and accept her.
On 1 May 1983, Martha Poston was baptized. She recalls that “my soul hungered and my mind and spirit were athirst, and God didn’t fail me.”
Two years later, Martha received a call to serve a temple mission in the Atlanta Temple, where she enjoys bearing her testimony of “having found the Spirit of God’s dear Son, Jesus Christ. He is alive,” she says, “and is blessing those who will open up their hearts and let him come in.”

One year ago, to earn money to prepare to go on a mission, I joined a Chinese folk dance group going to Japan. I was not allowed to leave the group to go to church because it was such a long way to go. Fortunately though, two missionaries, Elder Porter and Elder Anderson, came to visit me and brought me Church magazines to read. They had to travel a long way, but they knew how much I needed contact with the Church. The Church magazines really helped me while I was unable to attend church.
For six months now I have been a full-time missionary preaching the gospel to my own people in the Taiwan Taipei Mission. I really appreciate the Church magazines and the two dedicated missionaries who brought them to me and encouraged me to go on a mission.
Victoria Jang Lien RongTaiwan Taipei Mission

Entering adulthood, Elder Christophe G. Giraud-Carrier had grand plans—start a rigorous college path, obtain an educational deferment to serve a full-time mission, marry his teenage sweetheart, and then begin family life and his profession as an engineer in his native France.
While the mission and marriage went as planned, other expectations did not. The deferment did not happen, but a transfer to Brigham Young University (BYU) did, followed by a desire to teach on the university level. University jobs in France were scarce for one educated outside the country, so raising a family, having a different career, and serving in the Church came in different countries and on the Lord’s timetable.
“The mere fact that very few things have happened in the way that we planned allowed us both to realize that if we let the Lord do His thing and take us places, then that’s where He wants us to be and that’s where we can serve,” said Elder Giraud-Carrier. “It has helped us to learn to trust Him, to trust that He can make of our lives more than we otherwise could.”

While helping a less-active member return to the Church, the member’s bishop reviewed the chapter on Church discipline in Handbook 1: Stake Presidents and Bishops. Then, after speaking with his stake presidency, the bishop decided to hold a disciplinary council.
“We met beforehand as a bishopric and reviewed the handbook to remind ourselves of proper procedures and to identify points relevant to the case at hand,” the bishop said. “We felt strongly the Spirit of the Lord assisting us as we conversed with the member.”
Later, after the bishopric had prayed for the Lord’s help, one of the counselors felt impressed that they should again read aloud the relevant portions of Handbook 1. When they had finished, the bishop asked each counselor what he recommended.
“Bishop, you might be surprised, but this is what I feel,” said the first counselor in making his recommendation. The second counselor felt the same, as did the bishop.
“Reading the handbook to each other allowed the Spirit to enlighten our minds,” the bishop recalled. “The principles became clearer as to how they related to this situation, and each of us was guided to the same answer. We were well prepared to provide appropriate counsel to help our dear brother come back to Christ.”

During World War II, I was ordained an elder—one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed in my hand a book: The Missionary’s Hand Book. I laughed and commented, “I’ll be in the navy—not on a mission.” He answered, “Take it anyway. It may come in handy.”
It did. During basic training our company commander instructed us how we might best pack our clothing in a large seabag. He then advised, “If you have a hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom of the bag, your clothes will stay more firm.” I thought, “Where am I going to find a hard, rectangular object?” Suddenly I remembered The Missionary’s Hand Book. And thus it served for 12 weeks at the bottom of that seabag.
The night preceding our Christmas leave, the barracks were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk—a member of the Church, Leland Merrill—was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”
He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick.”
The hours lengthened; his groans grew louder. Then, in desperation, he whispered, “Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he pleaded, “Give me a blessing.”
I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the seabag.” Thus, at 2:00 a.m. I emptied the bag. I then took to the night-light The Missionary’s Hand Book and read how one blesses the sick. With about 120 curious sailors looking on, I proceeded with the blessing. Before I could again stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping.
The next morning, Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood!” His gladness was only surpassed by my gratitude—gratitude not only for the priesthood but for being worthy to receive the help I required in a time of desperate need.
If we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help. His help has come to me on countless occasions throughout my life.

Cannon stared glumly out his bedroom window.
Rain! He could hardly believe it. Today was Saturday, the day his baseball team, the Angels, was supposed to compete in the final championship game. They had worked very hard to qualify for the championship. In addition to practicing with his team, Cannon had practiced pitching with his dad for an hour each evening after school and for two hours on Saturday. He had pitched several no-hit innings this season, becoming the team’s star pitcher.
Cannon looked at his shelf. Every player in the league received a small silver trophy at the end of the season for being part of a team, and three already lined his shelf. “I should be placing my new gold championship trophy on that shelf today,” Cannon thought, frowning.
He was disappointed that the game he had been looking forward to all season had to be put off, but it got worse. Cannon’s coach had called and said that the final game was rescheduled for the following Sunday.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Cannon said in almost a whisper. “I can’t play in a game on Sunday.”
“You have to,” his coach replied. “Sunday is the only day we could get the field and the umpires. I’m sure you can get out of whatever you have scheduled next Sunday. You have eight days! Besides,” he continued, “you have worked so hard for that gold trophy, and you deserve it. You are our best pitcher, and if we want a shot at beating the Astros we need you on the mound. Your teammates have also worked hard to get to this point. I know you won’t want to let them down.”
“I am sorry, Coach,” Cannon repeated. “Sunday is a special day to me. I don’t play baseball on Sundays.”
“I know you’re a Mormon and that you don’t usually play on Sundays,” the coach said, “but a championship isn’t just any game. Tony goes to your church too. His family has made an exception for him to play. I’m sure that if you talk it over with your parents, they’ll understand how hard you have worked this season and how much our team needs you.”
The conversation played over and over in Cannon’s mind. Why did it have to rain today of all days? It was so unfair!
Cannon heard a light tap on his door, and Dad and Mom came in. “We are so proud of you for remembering the importance of the Sabbath,” Dad said, patting Cannon’s arm. “Your coach just called me. He explained that your game is set for Sunday, and that you told him you would not be playing in it. He also told me that Tony will play. This is a very hard situation, isn’t it?”
Tears filled Cannon’s eyes, but he tried to hold them in.
“We know how hard you have practiced this season,” Mom added. “Your coach may be right when he says your team won’t win this game without you. Do you want to pray about whether you should play on Sunday just this once?”
“I don’t need to pray about this, Mom,” Cannon said. “I already know that Heavenly Father wants me to keep the Sabbath day holy.”
Mom and Dad gave Cannon a hug, but he didn’t feel much better.
The week leading to the final game passed very slowly. Cannon’s teammates, including Tony, tried to convince him to change his mind. They didn’t seem to understand that winning the championship was something he wanted as much as they did. He could only hope that his team would win without him.
On Sunday when Cannon got home from church, there was a message on the answering machine from his coach. The Angels had lost the game by four runs. There would be no gold trophies for their team. “If Tony hadn’t been here,” his coach said, “we would have lost by at least six runs. I guess it comes down to who is willing to make a commitment and who isn’t.”
Cannon thought about his coach’s message. The coach was right—winning did come down to who was willing to make a commitment. For the first time in days, Cannon felt happy.
He smiled as words from his favorite Primary song came to his mind: “I’ll stand for truth. I’ll stand for right. The Lord can depend on me.”* As much as Cannon would have liked adding a gold trophy to his shelf, he knew he had won something much more important. He had made a commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy, and he had stayed true to that commitment.

After returning from my mission to Spain, I felt ready for my next step in life. I wanted to experience the Church in a bigger way, beyond the borders of my home in Vienna, Austria, where members are devoted but relatively few.
I felt that I needed to be among like-minded young people at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA, and I hoped to meet a young woman there whom I could marry and with whom I could start a family. I passed the English language test and was soon admitted. My parents offered to help pay my expenses.
One nagging thought, however, troubled me. I hadn’t consulted the Lord. “Why do I need to ask?” I reasoned. Was I not “engaged in a good cause,” not needing to be directed in all things? (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:26–27). How could heaven possibly object?
But the Holy Ghost kept prompting me, “You need to pray before deciding.” Fully expecting the Lord to approve, I thought, “OK.”
An answer came swift and strong—one of the clearest answers I have ever received. I heard in my heart, “I need you here in Austria to build up the kingdom.”
I put the BYU class schedule away and canceled my plans. I thought about my family, how the Lord had helped us immigrate to Austria from Uruguay when I was young. I realized that maybe the Lord did need me here. With a new spirit, I focused on building the kingdom in Austria, which is drenched in beauty, rich in history, and home to many great musical masters, like Beethoven and Mozart.

She lives close to a beautiful palace where a Russian empress lived long ago. The city where she lives was named for a famous Russian poet. There are magnificent buildings, statues, parks, and museums close to her home.
In such a setting, is it possible for a young girl to make a difference in the lives of people around her? Yes—in quiet, simple ways.
Eight-year-old Masha (Maria) Zemskova lives in Pushkin, a city near St. Petersburg. She lives with her mother, older brother, and grandmother in a small flat on the top floor of an apartment building. When Masha smiles, her blue eyes light up and the dimples in her cheeks deepen. She is a kind, unselfish girl who knows how to be a friend, and she is an important part of the lives of people who know her.
Masha and her family are members of the Pushkin Branch, which meets on Sundays in a rented room in a library. Elder Adam Blodgett, a full-time missionary who serves as branch president, says, “Although there are only three children in the entire Primary, Masha never misses a meeting.” If you were to visit the branch, Masha would probably be the first person to greet you. She would make you feel right at home.
Masha loves to join with other Church members in parties, outings, and activities. She especially enjoys playing in the park on warm summer days and sledding in the snow on cold winter afternoons.
Because the branch is small, Masha has a chance to bear her testimony in nearly every testimony meeting. And for two years, since she was six years old, she has played the piano or directed the singing for nearly every Church meeting. (She and her 13-year-old cousin, Katya, take turns.) At first Masha could play only the melody. Now she plays with both hands. Her favorite hymns to play are “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” “Silent Night,” and “Count Your Many Blessings.”
One of the blessings Masha is most grateful for is the gift of the Holy Ghost. “When I was baptized,” she says, “the water in the pool was really cold and it was hard for me to breathe. But I felt warm when I received the Holy Ghost. I felt really good inside.”
Masha and her family are a great help to the missionaries. They invite friends to listen to gospel discussions. They invite the missionaries to dinner. And for missionaries needing help with the Russian language, Masha is a friendly tutor.
“She always talks with new missionaries and helps them learn to speak,” says Elder Samuel Drown. “They don’t have to worry about making mistakes around her, because she makes them feel good about themselves.” She teaches them games Russian children use to learn words and numbers. She gave one missionary a kind nickname that included a vowel sound the elder had trouble pronouncing. He appreciated the fun teaching method—and learned to say the sound correctly.
Masha is a missionary to her friends. She has told many of them about the Church, and she stops by and gets her nonmember friend Dasha on the way to church each Sunday because Dasha has no one else to go with.
When one of her friends needed help with a problem, Masha taught her how to pray. “She had never prayed before,” says Masha, “so the first few times, I helped her pray. Then after a few times I didn’t need to help her anymore.”
Masha has special feelings for small children—and she simply won’t put up with bullies. Once an older boy threatened a group of little children, yelling that he was going to hit them with a tree branch he was holding. Seeing what was happening, Masha stood up to him and told him to leave the children alone. “When I turned and started walking off with the other kids,” she says, “he hit the back of my legs with the branch.” It stung her bare skin, but Masha didn’t try to get back at him. She was more concerned about getting the little children away from him.
When she grows up, Masha hopes to have children of her own. And she plans to be a teacher of young children and to care for homeless orphans. “Whenever somebody is hurt or crying,” says her mother, “Masha tries to help them. She has a way of caring for others when they feel bad.”
One of Masha’s best friends is her 15-year-old brother, Vadim, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. Years ago, before their parents divorced, life was unpredictable and difficult. Perhaps as a result, Vadim and Masha are very close. As they joke and play with each other, it’s obvious they enjoy being together. When Vadim compliments Masha on her piano playing, she replies, “I’ll teach you how to play sometime.” And she means it.
Masha’s mother, Ludmila, works long hours Monday through Saturday in a shop downtown. She recently got this new job so she doesn’t have to work on Sundays. Ever since her baptism three years ago, she has been Relief Society president. Masha is learning a lot from her about service.
“When we find out somebody needs help,” says Sister Zemskova, “all the sisters in the branch help as much as they can.” One young mother whose husband has to work on Sundays found it difficult to get her two baby girls to church on her own. On many Sunday mornings, Masha and her mother help her get the children ready and to church. Masha plays with the babies at times so their mother can rest.
Masha loves to write poetry. Some of her poems are about the beauties of nature. Others are about her love for her mother and grandmother. In a recent poem Masha expressed her gratitude that when she can’t sleep during the night, “I wake up and go over to you, Mother. And you comfort and protect me, my loving mother.”
Zoya Maximovna, Masha’s grandmother, lives with the family and cares for the children while their mother is at work. Sister Maximovna used to work as a chef—and she still prepares delicious meals. She and Ludmila have taught Masha and Vadim to wash the dishes, make the beds, sweep the apartment, and help with other chores around the house. “I know Masha was sent from Father in Heaven to this family,” says Sister Maximovna, “because of how much she helps and the kind person she is.”
Now the family’s main goal is to get to the temple together. Masha’s mother has already made the long journey to the Stockholm Sweden Temple with a group of Church members. Vadim and Masha want to be able to do baptisms for the dead, and both plan to be married in the temple someday.
To prepare, they read the Book of Mormon each evening. And they have family prayer. Masha’s piano playing—especially hymns—adds to the spirit of harmony in their home. They love playing games together and eating popcorn or desserts their mom or grandmother have made.
Masha knows Heavenly Father loves her. “He helps me and gives me blessings,” she says. “He has given me a wonderful grandmother, mother, and brother. And I can feel the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost helps me believe in God and keep the commandments. He helps me in my studies. He strengthens me.”

President Hinckley wants all worthy Church members to have temple blessings. He feels bad that members who live far away cannot go to the temple often. He said that these people “make tremendous sacrifices to visit the temples. They travel for days … in cheap buses and on old boats. They save their money and do without to make it all possible.”*
He and his counselors and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles prayed to know how they could help more people participate in temple work. The prophet said that “the answer … came bright and clear.”† Heavenly Father told them to build many small temples all over the world instead of only a few large ones. President Hinckley has dedicated close to seventy temples.

Are ministers of other churches inspired of God? Of course they are, if they are righteous and sincere. Do they accomplish good? Certainly. In his journal, Wilford Woodruff records this incident before he ever heard about the Church:
“The people of Connecticut in those days thought it wicked to believe in any religion, or belong to any church, except the Presbyterian. They did not believe in having any prophets, apostles, or revelations, as they had in the days of Jesus, and as we now have in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“There was an old man in Connecticut, however, by the name of Robert Mason, who did not believe like the rest of the people. He believed it was necessary to have prophets, apostles, dreams, visions and revelations in the church of Christ, the same as the people who lived in ancient days; and he believed the Lord would raise up a people and a church, in the last days, with prophets, apostles and all the gifts, powers and blessings, which it ever contained in any age of the world.
“The people called this man, the old prophet Mason. …
“This prophet prayed a great deal, and he had dreams and visions, and the Lord showed him many things, by visions, which were to come to pass in the last days.” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, pp. 1–2.)

A son wrote a tender letter to his parents in the mission field: “Your service sets an example for our children. As a result, they are more willing to serve in their callings in the Church. It teaches us all to be more charitable as we exchange letters and send packages. When we receive letters and news from you, it strengthens our testimonies. Even though you retired from your profession and should have been happy by all the world’s standards, by going on your mission you have shown us a new way to be happy. You have found happiness money can’t buy. We have seen you overcome medical and other types of adversities and have seen you blessed for your willingness to go and leave your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We love you dearly!”
Another couple reports: “One of our grandsons wrote to us while we were in Thailand and told us that he hadn’t decided for sure that he wanted to fill a mission, but we had set the example for him and now he knew he wanted to serve. He is now serving a mission.”
My own father and mother served a mission in England. As I visited them one day in their small flat, I watched my mother, with a shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders, putting shillings in the gas meter to keep warm. I asked, “Why did you come on a mission, Mother?” Mother said simply, “Because I have 11 grandsons. I want them to know that Grandma and Grandpa served.”

The stadium lights illuminated the morning fog like specters from some 1960s horror movie. Under them, Emma marched robotlike and fingered the keys of her clarinet, missing notes repeatedly until the student conductor shouted her name. She wanted to cry. How could one conversation have turned her world so completely upside down?
That conversation had happened only moments before in the band room when Skylar, a senior and awesome flutist, had plopped her instrument case on the counter beside Emma. Although each girl played in the varsity band, they were two grades apart and seldom spoke to one another. But the room was unusually quiet this foggy morning, and the hand-drawn “What would Jesus do?” design taped on Skylar’s case begged Emma’s comment. “Did you draw that? It’s nice.”
“Thanks,” Skylar said, unsnapping her case.
“I don’t suppose you have a copy. I’d love to scan it.”
Skylar shook her head, obviously embarrassed at the flattery. Then she fell quiet and looked intently at Emma until Emma felt embarrassed. “What’s wrong?” Emma asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I heard you’re a Mormon.”
Emma sighed and nodded, wondering what was to come next. She opened a new reed.
Skylar said, “Can I show you something?”
Emma shrugged. “Sure.”
Skylar surprised Emma by pulling a Bible from her backpack. “My youth group meets tonight,” Skylar said. “I’m assigned the reading but haven’t decided on a verse yet. That’s why I have this.” She held up the Bible. “Anyway, one Sunday my youth minister showed this passage to me. I’ve wanted to share it with you, but it’s weird talking about religion at school.”
Emma chuckled. “Yeah, I go to a seminary class at six in the morning. I don’t mention it much here either.”
Skylar nodded and opened her Bible. “You ever read Revelation 22:18–19? Most people haven’t because it’s at the end of the Bible.” She shrugged. “Guess they don’t get that far.”
Emma chuckled as she received the book.
“Will you read it out loud?”
Emma glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention, so she began reading:
“For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:
“And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life.”
As she read, Emma’s forehead creased hard. Why was Skylar sharing this particular passage with her?
“Do you know what it means?” Skylar asked, breathing deeply. “My youth minister says it means that anyone who adds anything to or takes anything away from the Bible will be condemned.” Skylar’s voice was shaking. “It’s so important that the Apostle John concluded the Bible with it.”
Emma said cautiously, “That makes sense.” She put her reed in her mouth.
Skylar gulped. “Your Joseph Smith added to the Bible, didn’t he? Isn’t that what your church teaches? That the Book of Mormon is additional scripture?”
Emma said nothing; she felt confused. She closed her instrument case. Mr. Bets shouted for everyone to move outside, now! Emma hurriedly fastened the reed to her clarinet.
“I don’t mean to offend you, really, but my youth minister says that, as a Christian, it’s my duty to warn you,” Skylar said. “If you don’t forsake Mormonism, you’ll be damned.”
Emma’s face flushed.
“Hurry!” Mr. Bets called.
Emma may have walked away from Skylar, out into the morning fog, but she couldn’t walk away from the questions Skylar had planted in her mind. As she lined up, she wondered, Was Skylar right? Hadn’t Joseph Smith added to the Bible? On cue, she’d marched 20 steps to the right. What if he’d made up the Book of Mormon? What if it was all a lie? These and similar questions had scorched her mind throughout drills, and when the conductor finally ended practice, Emma rushed toward the band room, hoping to get away from Skylar. She felt half ashamed for doubting and half filled with fear that her doubts were correct.
Skylar joined Emma in the crowded band room though Emma tried to ignore her. Skylar said, “My youth group is meeting at our minister’s tonight. We’ll shoot pool and listen to CDs. He’d like to meet you.”
Emma threw away her reed. It was Wednesday. The Mia Maids would be collecting used children’s videos from ward members for a local shelter.
“I can pick you up.”
Emma snapped her instrument case. “Thanks, but I’ve got something at my own church,” Emma turned. “My parents make me go.” She blushed. Why did I add that? she thought.
Skylar hummed sympathetically. “My youth minister’s got a book about Mormonism that I think you should read. I’ll bring it tomorrow, okay?”
Emma gazed at Skylar. Revelation 22:18–19 had seemed so plain. No one should add to the Bible, and there was no denying that the Church teaches that the Book of Mormon is additional scripture. Emma hurt, thinking of the implication. All she wanted was to know the truth. Maybe the minister’s book had it.
“Okay,” she said. But agreeing to read the minister’s book didn’t calm Emma’s worries. Throughout the day, troubling questions buzzed in her brain. The day dragged, but finally the seventh period bell rang. She turned in her French test but was in no hurry to leave. She waited until the other students had filed out. She dreaded seeing her family, dreaded going to Mutual later that night. She didn’t want to be around any Latter-day Saints. What would they think of her if they knew her doubts? They’d all try to talk to her, tell her to have faith. But faith in what? In the Book of Mormon? How could she have faith in something she wasn’t sure was true? Emma’s head ached and her stomach felt empty. It was a long walk home.
She entered the kitchen and found her mother baking. “Mindy sent another letter,” she announced, but Emma ignored her and headed toward the staircase. “She included a paragraph in French just for you and …”
“I’m busy, Mom. I’ve got homework, you know.” Emma hurried toward the stairs. She wanted time to think.
Her mother stared silently at her.
Emma trudged upstairs, closed the door, then threw herself onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Why should she read what her missionary sister had written? It was always the same: her testimony of this, her testimony of that. What did Mindy know about anything anyway? She always did exactly what Mom and Dad wanted.
Emma shook her head and rolled to her side. Why does everyone think they have all the answers? Mindy, Mom, Dad, all are sure the Church is true. She looked at her scriptures on the nightstand. Skylar and her youth minister swear it isn’t. She snatched up the Bible and opened to Revelation 22. “If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues …” Her head fell against the wall.
I should talk to Mom, she told herself, ask her about this passage. I should walk right downstairs and say, “Mom, what about this?” But she couldn’t. She lowered the Bible onto the mattress and pulled a pillow over her face. She already knew what her mom would say: “Pray, dear, trust the Lord, and He’ll answer you.” But I’ve been praying all my life, and I still don’t have a testimony! she thought. Maybe God hasn’t given me a testimony because the Book of Mormon isn’t true.
Suddenly her brother Brady’s nasal voice shouted, “Mom, Emma’s crying again!”
Emma threw the pillow toward the closed door, but it was too late. Her mother was in her room in no time. She eased herself down beside Emma. “Want to talk?”
Emma shook her head. She was afraid.
Her mother stroked her hair. “If you don’t talk to me, I can’t …” She stopped. Emma saw her glance at the open Bible, pick it up, and read. She pointed to the last verses. “Is this what’s bothering you?”
Emma’s shoulders tightened.
Her mother said thoughtfully, “When I was investigating the Church, my minister showed this passage to me. He thought it would convince me not to believe in the Book of Mormon.” She paused. “Did someone show this to you?”
Emma hesitated; then words spilled from her mouth. “Mom, it plainly says that man shouldn’t add anything to the Bible. Joseph Smith did!”
Her mother leaned back thoughtfully, then said, “Many people interpret it that way. When the minister showed it to me, my first reaction was that Mormonism had to be wrong. I told the missionaries to forget about baptizing me.” She chuckled. “But they showed me something.”
Emma’s mother pointed to a footnote, “This reference.” She flipped to the Old Testament.
Emma sat upright, a vein of hope rising within her. Her mother began to read Deuteronomy 4:2: “Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it.”
Emma burst out, “It says the same thing! Skylar’s right.”
“No, Emma, think. Who wrote Deuteronomy?”
“I don’t know!”
“Moses. And he wrote long before John wrote Revelation. Just like John wrote long before Joseph Smith.”
“So?”
“So if you use your friend’s logic, every scripture recorded after Moses wrote Deuteronomy would have to be false because in Deuteronomy God said no one should add to His word.”
Emma blinked.
“But we have the rest of the Bible because other prophets understood that Moses only meant people shouldn’t add to this book, to Deuteronomy. And John only meant that nothing should be added to the book of Revelation.”
Emma stared. Her mother was actually making sense. She wiped away a tear.
“This may say that man shouldn’t add to scripture, but, Emma, where does it say that God won’t?”
Her mother’s words sent a tingling sensation through Emma as they sank into her soul. She reread the passage and looked up in wonder. “It doesn’t say God won’t give any more revelation, does it?”
Her mother shook her head. “And it says not to reject any of God’s words.”
“Including the Book of Mormon!”
“Right.” Her mother hugged her. “Having doubts is a normal part of the testimony-building process. It’s natural to question before you understand. Share your questions because you never know how Heavenly Father will send His answers. Sometimes He even uses mothers.”
Emma grinned.
Her mother rose. “Now, that homework, young lady.”
Emma reached for her backpack, then grimaced. “I forgot. Skylar’s bringing me a book about Mormonism tomorrow.”
Her mother paused at the door. “It won’t be kind, and it will probably use the same kind of logic that led them to misunderstand that scripture in Revelation.”
Emma nodded. “I won’t take it. I don’t need to seek doubts.”
“I agree that would be the best. Dinner will be early.” Her mother pulled Mindy’s letter from her pocket and left it on the dresser.
After the door shut, Emma retrieved the letter. Out fell a snapshot of her missionary sister standing before the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Emma’s gaze traveled to the Book of Mormon on her nightstand. A grin blossomed. “I wonder if Skylar would like to read a book that really explains Mormonism!”

The next day, when the kids came down the corridor of the church, they found my classroom door closed—not because I wasn’t ready for them, but because I was. A large sign taped across the entrance read, “NOTICE: This is a magic cave. Please enter quietly.” I invited them inside.
“This,” I held up the old music box, “this is magic.” As mysteriously as I could, I told Miranda’s story. By the end of the tale the class had unanimously decided my niece must be crazy.
“Why?” I zeroed in on one girl.
“Well,” she summed up the situation, “All that stuff in the box was just fake. She’s nuts.”
“Then aren’t we all?” I asked, pulling out some surprise visual aids. I held up a pair of jeans—the most popular brand; some shirts with all the stylish patches in all the stylish places; a popular magazine, complete with pictures of the latest haircuts, jewelry, and makeup.
“Do these have magical powers to make us beautiful? I thumbed the magazine open before them. “The only power they have is what we give them. Are we crazy?”
I stopped flipping pages at an appealing cigarette ad. “A magic potion to make us brave, right? All you have to do is hold this little roll of tobacco and just like that, you’re cool! You’re tough! You’re in! Right?” The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but my lesson was over. Three-year-old Miranda and I had made our point.