Gospel Story Finder

By the time he was 14 years old, an acquaintance of mine was more than six feet tall and very uncoordinated. He said, “One afternoon when I was in a 10th-grade seminary class, the Spirit really touched me. I came to know that the gospel literally was true. I made up my mind that day that I wanted to serve the Lord in any way I could.”
By his senior year, he was taller and much more coordinated. Many universities offered him scholarships to play basketball. After his first year playing at a university, he told his coach that he would like to be excused for two years to go on a mission. The coach said, “If you leave, you can be sure of one thing: you will never again wear one of our basketball uniforms!” Many thought that his “mission” ought to be playing basketball. Even some family members, including his parents, tried to convince him not to serve a mission. But he was totally committed. He was willing to give everything to the Lord—the scholarship, the applause of the fans, and the excitement of playing. He knew what the Lord was counting on him to do. He was called, and he served an honorable mission.
When he returned two years later, he was even taller and about 35 pounds heavier. His coach decided to repent. He was permitted to wear one of those basketball uniforms again, and in his senior year, his team not only won the conference championship but went on to the finals in national competition.

On Friday, 19 August 1988, I was at my job as a police officer in the Río Ceballos district office, near Córdoba, Argentina. At about 9:30 that morning, I received a telephone call from the nurse at the community health center, asking for assistance. We often got such calls, since we operated one of the few ambulances in the area.
The nurse told me that in the health center there was a five-month-old baby with a case of extreme dehydration. She required an urgent transfer to the children’s hospital in Córdoba, where the equipment necessary to treat her would be available. The ambulance driver and I were quickly on our way, and we soon had the baby and her mother in the ambulance. The baby was scared and crying; she had a fever and was hyperventilating. Her eyes were wide open, and her little face showed that she was in great pain.
From Río Ceballos to the hospital in Córdoba is a distance of forty kilometers. We had gone about fifteen when steam and boiling water began to shoot out from under the hood. A red light came on inside the cab, and the temperature gauge showed overheating. This couldn’t be happening! We had just had the ambulance checked over. But we had no choice other than to stop at the side of the road and carefully open the hood.
The hose that connected the radiator to the motor was leaking in several places and was about to burst. “We can’t go any farther,” said Oscar, my companion. “If we had gone just a few more meters, the ambulance would have broken down completely.” Feeling helpless, he hit the roof of the ambulance.
My mind raced as I tried to think of a solution. We didn’t have a radio, and there were no other cars on the road that we could signal for help. All around us, there were only abandoned fields. Meanwhile, the baby was getting worse.
Finally, I told Oscar that we had to continue as far as we could and see if we could get to a place where we could get help. “We should trust in God and have faith that we will arrive,” I said.
Oscar hesitated. If we went any farther, the hose might explode, and we would never get there. If we waited a little longer, the engine might have time to cool down. But the baby was getting steadily worse. Again, I told him, “Oscar, we should trust in God. He will help us get to the hospital.”
I also encouraged the mother and her baby. As I spoke, I felt someone telling me that if we didn’t lose hope, we would arrive in time to save the baby. With determination and confidence, I said, “We will make it.”
We started the motor and moved on. The gauge didn’t show such a high temperature now, and we continued our journey. Steam was no longer coming out from under the hood. Cautiously we drove on. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the hospital.
The doctor who attended the baby told us, “If you had taken any longer, she may not have arrived here alive. She was in worse shape than we thought.”
How grateful I was that our Father in Heaven had helped us arrive in time! I knew that He had been with us the whole way there.
As we returned to Río Ceballos, we discussed what had happened. Oscar said, “That was incredible. I didn’t think we would make it.”
I told him we had witnessed a miracle. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and nodded his head in agreement. “I was praying the whole way there that God would help us,” I told him.
“So was I,” he confessed. “It was the first time I had ever prayed so much. God helped us to arrive. Only He could have done it.”
Later, as I was meditating about what had happened and reading the scriptures, I found this passage in the Bible:
“The apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith.
“And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you” (Luke 17:5–6).

Dad was very keen on my going to school, and he had told me that I had better not go on a mission. But one night I talked with my friend Harry about missions until 2:00 A.M. He told me, “You have the opportunity to go on a mission now. You might not always have that opportunity.”

I didn’t know if Dad would support me, but I asked my mother to ask him. When I finished my first year of college, I went home. We were doing the dishes one night, when my dad said, “Stephen, if you want to go on a mission, that will be all right.”

I was called to serve my mission in France. After serving twenty-eight months, I got a telegram telling me that my dad had died of a heart attack. I went home to attend the funeral and to help Mom, and Harry’s words came back to me: “You might not always have the opportunity to go on a mission.” If I had put off serving my mission, my widowed mother could not have afforded to send me.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Dad, my rock collection got put on the truck, didn’t it?
It sure did. One of the movers lifted the box and asked if it was full of rocks. He was joking, but I had to tell him yes.
Thanks for letting me bring them. Mom made me throw away my worm collection.
Your worms probably wouldn’t have liked the trip anyway. So why do you need your rocks?
Well, I want to show them to Franco. He’s a kid in my new class. He’s funny and really smart. And he says he’ll help me catch up with the math we’re doing.
That’s great. Sounds like you made a new friend pretty quickly.
Well, we ate lunch together today ’cause he was eating alone and I didn’t have anybody to sit with either.
Oh, here they are! Dad, can I use your wheelbarrow to take these over to Franco’s house on Saturday?
Why don’t you invite him to come over here?
Well, this would be easier because Franco can’t walk very well. He’s kinda hard to understand too, if you don’t listen hard. But he’s funny and smart and—
Tell you what. Why don’t I drive you over there on Saturday? I always like to meet your friends and their parents.

During the week that one of the zone leaders was to go home, Scott and his companion received a phone call from the mission president asking them both to come to the mission home the next day. They both were to bring their luggage with them.

“I bet I know what that’s all about!” Scott’s companion said with a smile. “You’re going to be the next zone leader.”

Scott forced himself to be nonchalant but could not suppress a smile. “Now, now, we’re not supposed to aspire to positions.”

Nevertheless, Scott got his suit cleaned and carefully polished his shoes. Look the part, he told himself.

He made sure that they left in plenty of time so they’d be there promptly.

President Snowden enthusiastically welcomed them as they entered his office. They chatted for a few minutes, and then President Snowden excused Scott while he spoke to Elder Anderson.

In a few minutes, Elder Anderson left the office, and it was Scott’s turn.

“Your companion has told me about your little notebook of goals. It’s remarkable what you’ve done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scott replied, properly modest.

“You must have wondered why I asked you both here.”

“Yes, naturally, I did.”

“Well, you know, the zone leader in Centerville is going home this week. We are looking for someone to fill his position.”

“I see.” Scott felt his heart pounding with excitement.

“Of course, the order of the Church is that we are called by inspiration. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Sometimes choices made by inspiration are not the obvious ones. The Lord chooses whom he will, when he will.”

Scott wondered why the president didn’t just come out with it and call him to be zone leader.

“When I prayed and fasted about this, I was frankly surprised the way it turned out. The Lord has seen fit to call your companion, Elder Anderson, as a zone leader.”

Scott was stunned. “Oh,” he said weakly, embarrassed by his suddenly reddening face.

President Snowden walked over to where Scott was sitting and put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Remember that in the work of the Lord, it’s how we serve that counts, not where we serve.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“No, there is one other thing.” President Snowden pulled a chair close to Scott and sat down. “Did you know that we have a city in our mission that has 80,000 people living in it, and yet we have no missionaries there? We’ve had elders there once, but they never did much good. Part of the problem was that they believed it was the Siberia of the mission. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“We’re going to put a set of missionaries in that town, but we’re going to put the best we’ve got. This time we’re going to succeed.”

“I see,” Scott said.

“Elder, I want you to go there and see what you and the Lord can do.”

“Me? But what about my being district leader?” he blurted out.

“We’ll call someone to take your place. Your companion will be a new elder. He’s arriving tomorrow. We’d like you and Elder Anderson to stay overnight with us before you go to your new assignments.”

As Scott left the office, the president added, “If you have the time, why don’t you and Elder Anderson take in the museum today. It’s very good.”

Scott hurried from the office. He went to the bathroom and shut and locked the door. Turning on the cold water, he soaked a washcloth and held it to his face. He was ashamed of the tears streaming down his face and afraid that anyone should ever find out. Feelings of anger surged through his mind.

Nobody must know how I feel, he thought to himself ten minutes later as he examined his face in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

He walked into the office area and congratulated his companion.

Born with a genetic defect in the joints which affected his ability to walk, Mark Powell has learned to face obstacles and achieve in ways that have surprised many.
Mark, a deacon in the Dallas Fourth Ward, Richardson Texas Stake, started playing the piano to exercise his fingers. Through hard work, he became proficient. Encouraged by school contests in composition, he began composing pieces for other contests. His piece, called “Dinosaurs,” for piano and synthesizer won the elementary division of the Music Teachers’ Association contest. He has also composed a piece called “Running Free” for two pianos, which also placed in composition contests.

“When I was in Korea,” I continued, “I carried my small Book of Mormon and the book Principles of the Gospel that the Church supplies to all LDS servicemen. Habitually I slipped my Book of Mormon into the breast pocket of my uniform and read it during every available moment. Having studied it in seminary, it meant a lot to me. And even though I can’t carry a tune in a barrel, I liked to sing the hymns in the back of my Principles of the Gospel book when I was alone.

“On October 4, 1951, we were caught under fire in some rice paddies and could almost feel the whiz of shells overhead—they were that close. There were 150 men in our company. We managed to pull into a draw where we waited to advance up a sparsely covered mountain 30 miles from Uijongbu.

“Next day the Air Force laid a smoke screen around that mountain to prepare for our attack. Hearing orders to advance, I started to put my Book of Mormon in the breast pocket of my fatigues, as usual, then instantaneously dropped it into my deep hip pocket and moved out, keeping close to my platoon leader, a first lieutenant.

“We were near the top when the North Koreans stopped us with a volley of grenades. I was knocked out! When I came to, I looked down at my leg. My pants were completely soaked with blood. I spotted the lieutenant lying on the ground nearby—a twitching finger told me he was dead. That one shell got seven of our platoon right there. I was the only live soldier in sight. And I knew I wouldn’t be alive very long if I didn’t clear out. Boy Scout training saved my life. I pulled the towel from under the radio at my neck and put a tourniquet above the gaping wound in my thigh. At that point I didn’t know what had happened, but I did know the shrapnel had hit my thigh and traveled down my leg. Why hadn’t it blown my leg right off?

“My radio wasn’t knocked out. ‘Groucho one! Groucho one!’ I spoke into the set. That was our code. Headquarters responded. I said, ‘Platoon leader KIA. I’m hit. Send a medic. We’re in heavy fire.’

“At last a medic arrived. Removing the tourniquet, he put on a big compress bandage. As he prepared a shot of morphine for the pain, shells again exploded, and he took off. My buddy Harold Wiggint from Minnesota and a Spanish-American buddy found me and dragged me down the mountain. Once my foot was caught in the crotch of a fallen tree. The pain was unbearable. Finally I reached the hospital ship Repose.

“My doctor, from Logan, Utah, was the first LDS man I had found in Korea. Following surgery, he came to my bed and handed me a riddled, blood-soaked Book of Mormon.

“‘This was in your hip pocket. If that shell hadn’t been stopped by this book, it would have taken your leg with it,’ he said.

“‘And in my position, it probably would have gone right through both legs,’ I added.

“‘Could be. It takes tremendous force to go through a book like this,’ he replied.

“I was later sent to a general hospital in Sendi, Japan, where my leg received further treatment from another LDS army physician, Sherman Thorpe from Salt Lake City.

“In my letters home, I hadn’t told Grandma I’d been injured seriously. (Grandma had raised me.) But Dr. Thorpe’s mother lived in Salt Lake City, and she called Grandma, so my secret was exposed. The Church makes this a small world.

“In Japan as soon as I was able to get out of bed, Dr. Thorpe arranged for Church services to be moved to the hospital so I could attend in a wheelchair for the first time since I’d been in Korea. Then when I was well enough to get up and around, he took me into town to church. He was like a father to an 18-year-old soldier.”

Taking the stained, riddled Book of Mormon from my pocket, I let eager class members examine it. I now stood squarely on both my legs—saved by a prompting of the Holy Ghost to put the book in the proper pocket.

Bishop Benson told how he had been prompted by the Holy Ghost to check on Sister Henderson during the week. Sister Henderson was a widow who lived about two miles up a dirt road off the main highway into town. When the bishop went to see her, he found that her furnace had broken down. She didn’t have a telephone and was no longer able to drive, so she had prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The still, small voice had told her that all would be well.

In October 1918, 100 years ago, President Joseph F. Smith received a glorious vision. After almost 65 years of dedicated service to the Lord in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and just a few weeks before his death on November 19, 1918, he sat in his room pondering Christ’s atoning sacrifice and reading the Apostle Peter’s description of the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world after His Crucifixion.
He recorded: “As I read I was greatly impressed. … As I pondered over these things … , the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead.” The full text of the vision is recorded in Doctrine and Covenants section 138.
In the Lord’s due time, the additional answers, comfort, and understanding about the spirit world President Smith sought came to him through the marvelous vision he received in October 1918.
That year was particularly painful for him. He grieved over the death toll in the Great World War that continued to climb to over 20 million people killed. Additionally, a flu pandemic was spreading around the world, taking the lives of as many as 100 million people.
During the year, President Smith also lost three more precious family members. Elder Hyrum Mack Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, his firstborn son and my grandfather, died suddenly of a ruptured appendix.
President Smith wrote: “I am speechless—[numb] with grief! … My heart is broken; and flutters for life! … O! I loved him! … I will love him forever more. And so it is and ever will be with all my sons and daughters, but he is my first born son, the first to bring me the joy and hope of an endless, honorable name among men. … From the depths of my soul I thank God for him! But … O! I needed him! We all needed him! He was most useful to the Church. … And now, … O! what can I do! … O! God help me!”
The next month, President Smith’s son-in-law, Alonzo Kesler, died in a tragic accident. President Smith noted in his journal, “This most terrible and heart-rending fatal accident, has again cast a pall of gloom over all my family.”
Seven months later, in September 1918, President Smith’s daughter-in-law and my grandmother, Ida Bowman Smith, died after giving birth to her fifth child, my uncle Hyrum.
And so it was on October 3, 1918, having experienced intense sorrow over the millions who had died in the world through war and disease as well as the deaths of his own family members, President Smith received the heavenly revelation known as “the vision of the redemption of the dead.”
He alluded to the revelation the following day in the opening session of the October general conference. President Smith’s health was failing, yet he spoke briefly: “I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these [last] five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”

Many years ago, I had the desire to learn how to plant taro, which is our Polynesian potato. To help me in this endeavor, I went to see a very good friend—an elder in the ward—who knew a lot about agriculture, and who, over the years, had accumulated all the necessary expertise to produce beautiful taro in his fa’a’apu (field). I asked him if he could come to my house to teach me the basic techniques for planting beautiful taro. He accepted my invitation. He was excited to share his knowledge.
We talked for 30 minutes, and I took as many notes as possible of all the necessary steps to plant taro. I followed my notes to reproduce the advice my friend had given me. Every day, I would enjoy watering my taro after work. I could see the foliage of the taro plants growing day after day; it was radiant. I could envision myself eating my taro.
The long-awaited moment came to harvest the taro; seven months had gone by. I couldn’t wait to see the size of my taro tubers in the ground. I took my shovel to remove the soil around the plant to extract the taro. To my surprise, I found no taro under the plant. The taro had not grown. It was a total failure! I could see that the foliage of the plant had reached maturity—at least one meter, and it was green, which is a sign that the plant is doing well.
What happened to my taro which did not grow like my friend’s taro? I had followed every advice he had given me.
I would like to share with you some of the lessons I learned from this experience and especially how these lessons have helped my wife and I raise our children to stay on the covenant path, and to produce fruits worthy of the Lord.
The first lesson I learned was that taro needed much more water to grow. I don’t think I watered my taro plants enough. The “corme” (bulb) which is the base of the plant’s stem should not be completely submerged; or if so, only temporarily. However, the soil must constantly remain moist for the roots to grow and bear fruit.
The second lesson was that in addition to living in a humid environment, taro needed to be fertilized regularly because the taro plant needs plenty of nitrogen; and that’s something I hadn’t done, unfortunately. I must have overlooked this important information when I talked to my friend.

I was just nineteen, a relatively new missionary in Japan; but despite my belief in the gospel and my desires for righteousness, I seriously doubted whether I could ever really be good enough to be acceptable to the Lord.
I had seen the temptations to selfishness, pride, unchastity, power, and money that the world knows how to make so alluring; and I felt weak. How could I possibly restrain all these “human” desires? Sometimes I felt as though keeping the commandments was a self-imposed straitjacket, an unnatural posture that the gospel would stuff me into while Satan kept snipping at the seams.
But that was before I made my discovery.
Like many missionary experiences, that discovery was precipitated by a special family. The first time we came to the Uno family, we were shocked by the father’s behavior. He cursed his wife and his beautiful boys shrank from him with fear on their faces. But he listened to us and invited us back. Five weeks later, we shed tears as we shared our testimonies of the gospel and saw Brother Uno scuffling and laughing with his loving and beloved little boys.
As my companion and I left that night, I felt the keenest joy I had ever experienced as I thought of that same loving family united in eternity. And I also felt sharp terror as I thought that I might not be there to rejoice with them. I realized then that my best efforts to restrain myself from sin might not be enough and I knelt that night, imploring the Lord with all my heart, to show me how to be righteous.
I renewed that prayer daily, week after week, through my mission and afterward, and searched the scriptures for an answer. Then one morning it came. Elder James E. Talmage, in Jesus the Christ, explained that the Savior “had the capacity, the ability to sin had He willed so to do … Nevertheless his insurance against [sin] … is not that of external compulsion, but of internal restraint due to his cultivated companionship of the spirit of truth” (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1973, chapter 10, paragraph 2 from the end, p. 134).
It was a moment of real revelation for me; I understood finally that Christ’s ultimate defense was not his supreme will power but simply that, nurtured by the Spirit, he had no desire for Satan’s grimy alternatives. He loves the things his Father loves. Thus, as his desires became deeds, those deeds reflected a spontaneous righteousness that came from the very depths of his being.
That was the key: to love the things God loves, to make his desires my own, and thus to be truly like him. My problem was that I had been trying to act in godly ways while wanting ungodly things. If I could change the desires of my heart, then my actions would spontaneously become godly.
I felt a kind of hope I had not felt before. I went back to the scriptures, seeking hungrily to learn what God loves. Mormon put the explanation into words for me. What I wanted was charity, which was “the pure love of Christ.” And I could receive it if I would “pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.” And Mormon also included the promise I needed: “that ye may become the sons of God … that we may be purified even as he is pure” (Moro. 7:47–48; italics added).
I felt the lists of commandments and precepts suddenly transformed by power—the power to change not only appearances but feelings, loves, and desires.
Cautiously, I chose my first goal. It wasn’t a very great thing, but it was a persistent problem. I didn’t enjoy attending church. So, morning and night, I would pray: “Lord, bless me to feel about our worship services just the way thou do. Help me to find in them the things that you would find. Help me to participate in the ways that you would.” And unbelievable things began to happen. Sunday became a day filled with light; I found myself hungry to greet the other members of the Church, to share my testimony with them, to learn from the teachers, to express in song the feelings I had no words for, and to partake of the emblems of our Savior’s sacrifice with humility and gratitude. Sunday became a Sabbath. Attending Church did not mean that I had suppressed my desire to rest, read, study, ski, or play. Now it was an expression of righteous, loving desires.
That simple experience made another scripture acquire new meaning. The doctrines of the priesthood had indeed begun to distill upon my soul; as I felt the companionship of the Holy Ghost, spontaneously keeping the Sabbath day holy, “without compulsory mean,” its blessings flowed to me (see D&C 121:45–46). As this astonishing experience progressed, my faith grew and I began to have real hope that from now on my challenges could become changes.
Another challenge was an individual I had to work closely with. I felt no particular admiration for him, and he obviously felt contempt for me. As our interchanges grew more quarrelsome, I found him deliberately trying to sabotage my work and needling me to provoke quarrels. I responded in the best tradition of the natural man and soon a bitter feud was underway. In my quieter moments, I realized that I was destroying myself and that the Spirit was leaving me because of this contention.
Again, I turned to the Lord and prayed, night and morning, “Father, I’m having a terrible time with this man. Wilt thou bless me that I may feel about him as you do.” Soon a vision began to open to me of an entirely different person than the one I’d been perceiving. I now saw a sensitive, easily hurt individual who felt alone, vulnerable, and afraid in new situations. I began to see the great strengths he had developed that had brought him to this point. But more than that, I gradually came to feel reverence and even awe for him. Here was a son of God, beloved and cherished of him. And who could resist loving such a person? Not I. It came. The love just came. Another small corner of my heart had been changed, and the Lord’s promise had been fulfilled.
My experience has been that it may take weeks of pleading with the Lord at least twice a day for these changes to come. But they will come, and, if we “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men,” we need not lose those feelings of joy and peace (2 Ne. 31:20).
What miracles would be performed if we felt the same delight in loving others that our Eternal Father feels, or felt his own respect for our children and used the same wisdom in disciplining them? If we loved the things that God loves, how would we feel about money, prayer, honesty, work, or our Church callings?
Few among us will experience the dramatic “mighty change” wrought upon King Benjamin’s hearers so that in an instant, “we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2). Most of us must change slowly, “—For he will give unto the faithful line upon line precept upon precept—” (D&C 98:12), grace upon grace, until it can be said of us that each “suffereth long, and is kind, … envieth not; … vaunteth not [him] self, is not puffed up, … seeketh not [his] own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things” (1 Cor. 13:4–7).
We could speculate that those who will inherit celestial thrones and eternal lives will be those whose love for the good, the true, and the pure is so great and spontaneous that they would choose it day after day even if there were no life after life. Indeed, for such persons, returning to our heavenly home would be as natural as awakening to another day this side of eternity.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency
“Like many of you, I find that some of the warmest and most vivid memories of Christmas come from my childhood. Although I grew up in modest circumstances, my parents wanted Christmas to be a time of joy and wonder for their children. They went to great lengths to make Christmas a special time for our family.
“We children made gifts for each other. One year, I remember drawing a picture as a Christmas gift for my sister. It could not have been a work of art, but she treated it like a treasure. How I love her for that! Another year my brother, who is 12 years older than I, gave me a precious gift. He had found a wood stick in the park near our home and carved from it a small toy knife. It was simple, not fancy at all, but oh, how I cherished that gift because it came from him!
“Isn’t one of the joys of Christmas seeing the excited faces of little children as they take in their hands a wrapped gift that is just for them?
“This Christmas season and always, I pray that we will see the marvelous gift of the birth of the Son of God through the blessed eyes of a child. I pray that in addition to giving good gifts, we will strive to become good and grateful receivers. As we do so, the spirit of this season will enlarge our hearts and expand our joy beyond measure.”2

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening years ago in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “Your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony is gained, and the family is fortified.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the author of the article “Onward and Upward,” which was published in the July 1987 issue of the New Era.
I recently turned 18, graduated from high school and seminary, and was eagerly contemplating my future plans for college. But I overlooked the fact that I would no longer be a Laurel in the Young Women organization, and would now be advanced into the Relief Society program. My first realization of this advancement came to me the Sunday afternoon that my mother pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “Next week you get to come to Relief Society with me.” The big grin on her face and warm hug she gave me persuaded me to try to hide the fear and anxiety I then felt.
During the following week, I continuously thought of the upcoming Sunday. One fear I had was the thought of all the old mothers and grandmothers sitting around discussing the various ways they each knit. And I figured each lesson would be about disciplining children.
With this anxious feeling I walked into the Relief Society room that Sunday. I was surprised to hear them talking about education. This spurred my interests, and I eagerly listened. But then one of the sisters mentioned something to the point that youth didn’t care about their educations and never did until college.
That got me upset, and I became convinced that there was some kind of a rivalry going on between the older sisters and the youth.
I tried my hardest to miss Relief Society from then on, and I was graciously assisted when my sister had to work and I got to substitute in her Primary class.
One evening I picked up the New Era and was skimming through the pages when I came across the above-mentioned article. My eyes were immediately drawn to the words “Is there life after Young Women?” At that moment I was overcome with the Spirit, and tears began welling up in my eyes. It made me feel comforted to know that I wasn’t the only person going through this problem and that other young people actually seemed to enjoy Relief Society. It gave me new courage to face up to the Relief Society sisters and to join in with them.
Ever since that experience, I’ve realized that I can really enjoy Relief Society. I’m excited to learn new skills that will help me and enhance my future. I’m especially looking forward to the Relief Society program at BYU, since that is where I will be attending college this year. Again I would like to thank the author for her inspiring message.
Terri HensleyAlamogordo, New Mexico

The Prophet Joseph Smith knew his life was in danger. Angry mobs had followed him everywhere, threatening his life and the lives of his family. Then in the fall of 1838 he had been arrested again in Far West, Missouri.
As he was tied and pushed into a canvas-covered wagon, he asked for the privilege of saying good-bye to his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, who tearfully watched him being taken away. The officers refused to let the Prophet out of the wagon, so he called out to his mother to come closer. Searching frantically, Joseph found a rip in the canvas and reached out to touch his mother’s hand for one last good-bye. Just touching her hand seemed to be important to him as the wagon quickly pulled away and Joseph Smith was taken to the Liberty Jail. There he was confined to a dark, crowded dungeon for six months.

During our first holidays together as a married couple in 1973, my husband received a $40 Christmas bonus. Though we didn’t have much money for gifts, we decided to spend the bonus on a family who had recently lost their husband and father. We had so much fun shopping for presents and then leaving them on the family’s doorstep that we made the secret project a family tradition.
Over the years we were blessed with four children. As soon as each child grew tall enough, he or she would take a turn at Christmastime wearing a special coat that we used only once a year. Adult-sized, dark in color, and hooded, the coat made a perfect disguise for sneaking up to someone’s doorstep in the dark to leave gifts.
Every autumn we would vote on who our secret family would be that Christmas and on what gifts we would give them. The children would decide who would have the honor of wearing the Christmas coat and delivering the presents that year. On abundant years, we would give homemade quilts or clothing along with toys, books, and goodies; on leaner years, we would give stockings filled with smaller items.
When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the lucky child would don the coat and put on gloves and large boots to complete the disguise. With everyone in the car, we’d park a short distance from the chosen house, and our little elf would make his or her way to the front porch. The fear of being seen or suspected made it even more exciting!
Back in our cozy home we would sit together with hot cocoa and bread sticks and relive the evening’s adventure. With full tummies and warm hearts, we would read the Christmas story from the Bible and appreciate what the Savior’s life taught us about service.
Christmases were always wonderful, and we never missed a year of our tradition.

Tyler held the church door open, and Mom hurried inside. They were late for the ward Christmas party, so Tyler could only glance at the new Christmas tree in the foyer. But there was something different about the tree. It didn’t have any lights. Or lots of ornaments. Instead there were little papers hanging from the branches.
“Welcome,” said the bishop from the front of the room. “Before we start our program, I have a special announcement …”
Tyler’s little sister, Rose, started fussing, so Tyler leaned down to help her. Over the noise, Tyler thought he heard the bishop say something like “the Getting Tree” and “take a tag.” If the tree in the foyer had gifts, Tyler wanted first pick. While everyone else watched the program, Tyler slipped away before the end.
Carefully Tyler lifted a paper off a branch. The first tag read, Girl: Winter coat—Size 5. He put it back. The next read, Grocery Gift Card. Tyler worried they might all be boring gifts. But then he found just the right one. Boy: Big Whirl Helicopter. He stuffed the tag in his pocket and raced to find Mom.
“There you are,” Mom said. “It’s almost time to leave.”
“OK,” said Tyler. “But first, I picked this from the Getting Tree. How do I get my helicopter?”
“Oh, honey,” said Mom. “It’s not the Getting Tree. It’s the Giving Tree. The tags are gifts for families in need.”
Tyler’s cheeks burned. He wanted to put the tag back, but other people had gathered around the tree. After church tomorrow, when no one was looking, he would put it back.
The next day Tyler’s Primary teacher told about the Wise Men who brought gifts to Jesus. “What could you give Jesus for Christmas?” she asked.
Tyler closed his fingers around the gift tag in his pocket. He didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. He felt like he wanted to give. The only problem was he didn’t have gold, frankincense, or myrrh. But maybe he could earn some money for a Big Whirl Helicopter.
As soon as Tyler got home, he dumped the money from his piggy bank on the bed. He had $2.47—not enough. He asked Mom if he could do chores for money, but she said, “Not on Sunday.” The gift had to be turned in by next week. Could he earn the money in time?
While he thought, Rose brought him the Friend magazine. As Tyler read to her, he saw the answer to his problem. The Friend had a story about kids running a hot-chocolate stand to earn money to donate.
“Mom?” Tyler asked. “Could I set up a cocoa stand tomorrow?”
“Maybe. Why?” Mom asked.
“To earn money for the Giving Tree present.”
Mom gave him a hug. “Sure. I’ll help you.”
The next day Tyler put a table and chairs outside. Mom boiled water, and Tyler mixed in the cocoa. Rose even helped by holding a sign. By the end of the afternoon, Tyler’s nose was cold and his fingers felt stiff, but he had enough money for the Big Whirl Helicopter.
Tyler felt happy all the way to the store. He smiled as he wrapped the gift and dropped it off to the bishop. He knew now it was called the Giving Tree, but the feeling he had inside was like a special gift too. At least in that way, it really was the Getting Tree.

Bennette, who works as a reporter for a local television station, said that her family helps her cope with the pressures of her employment.

“I go around with a cameraman and shoot the important and significant things in the community,” she said. She has interviewed the mayor and other local officials. “But I often see things like fires, holdups, or robberies, and you see a lot of people who aren’t happy with what they’re doing.

“When you can come home and find as nice an atmosphere as this family has,” she continued, “it makes you very thankful to the Lord. I know that if there are problems or difficulties, I can come home and talk with my family about them. My parents and my brothers and sisters help me solve the problems. I also get a lot of support from them in other ways. We do many things together as a family, such as going to church on Sunday or going to other Church-sponsored activities during the week.”

She said she gets questions at work about being LDS, usually because she is offered coffee by those she is interviewing and they want to know why she turns it down. “That often leads to discussions about the Word of Wisdom,” she said. She also noted that “in broadcasting some people have an especially hard time with ‘colorful language,’ like the director who shouts at you in not-so-nice language. Aside from being a correspondent, I also direct some of the shows, and usually when I’m directing, someone will say, ‘Why don’t you get mad and swear like the others?’ But I can get mad without saying nasty things. I can be just as forceful in a nice sort of way.”

When I was about your age, my father became seriously ill. We thought it was just the flu, but as the days progressed, he became more and more ill. It was during that time that I really learned what it means to “pray always” (2 Nephi 32:9). I had a constant prayer in my heart, and I would seek solitary places where I would pour out my soul in prayer to my Heavenly Father to heal my father. After a few weeks of illness, my father passed away. I was shocked and frightened. What would our family do without our father whom we loved so dearly? How could we go on? I felt that Heavenly Father had not heard nor answered my fervent prayers. My faith was challenged. I went to Heavenly Father and asked the question—“Heavenly Father, are you really there?”

Over a period of many months, I prayed for help and guidance. I prayed for my family, and I prayed to understand why my father had not been healed. For a time, it seemed to me that the heavens were silent, but as a family we continued to pray for comfort and guidance. I continued to pray also. Then one day, many months later, as I was sitting in a sacrament meeting, my answer came in the form of a scripture. The speaker said: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6). A feeling came over me, and I felt I was the only person in the chapel. That was my answer. Heavenly Father had heard my prayers!

That experience happened many years ago, but I still remember it vividly, and I testify that He has directed my paths. I know that when we believe and trust in Him, “all things [will] work together for [our] good.”

Adjacent to the bird-of-prey sanctuary, the location of my main assignment as a service missionary, there is a large fishing pond where many wild ducks live. Every morning and evening the ducks come to the sanctuary, as we throw grain out for them to eat. One morning we noticed a small American wood duck (what it is doing in England, we still don’t know) that was tangled in a fishing line, with a sharp triple-hook caught to its left leg and wing. We tried to catch and help it, but it kept on escaping.
Finally, one afternoon, we managed to catch the duck using a large net. As we took it out, the duck put up quite a fight, but we were able to restrain it. Then, we carefully tried to remove the sharp fishing hook. The duck panicked and cried out in pain. It thought that we were trying to harm it but, we were trying to help. Eventually, the fishing hook and line were removed, and we released the duck back into the pond. As it ran away from us, I thought to myself, “That poor animal will never know that all along we were just trying to help it.”