Gospel Story Finder

When Lindo and Annabelle decided to get married, he was making enough to support only himself. At first her parents, also members of the Church, were hesitant to permit the marriage, he says. “But I promised them that we would do our best to obey the commandments and that the Lord would bless us. They decided to trust me.”

Annabelle had a good job at a medical center. “But the prophet had said that, if possible, the mother should not work outside the home,” he says. “We trusted the counsel of our leaders for her not to work.” They were blessed with a baby boy, Kahivhan—and now Lindo has a good job, and they have a nice apartment.

The wide-bodied airliner began its takeoff roll, returning us to the United States after a four-year business assignment in Switzerland. As we accelerated past the B Concourse at the Zürich International Airport, I strained to see if the faithful farewell wishers from our Zürich Second Ward were there. Sure enough, there standing on the upper spectator deck waving to us were Sister Gräub and Sister Kappes. By bus, tram, and train they had made this extraordinary effort to say good-bye to the Hancock family. Pent-up emotions erupted as tears unashamedly poured down my cheeks. One of our four children returning with us inquired of her mother, “Why is Daddy crying?” Connie responded, “Because he loves the people here so much.”

One rainy night in late November 1973, my companion and I were tracting in Manila, the Philippines, and we knocked on the door of Romeo and Naty Bautista. They let us in and listened politely to our short message. Naty didn’t speak English (and we only taught in English at that time), but Romeo did and was interested in having us come back. He also said that his younger sister, Avelia, who was living with them while going to college in Manila, would probably be interested.
As excited as young missionaries can be about new investigators, we eagerly waited for the return appointment several days later. The lesson went so well that we could hardly believe it. Romeo and Avelia listened attentively and asked questions. Naty listened but didn’t understand much of what we said. They were all receptive from the very beginning—a missionary’s dream!
After we left each lesson, Romeo would teach the lesson to his wife in Tagalog. They read the Book of Mormon in English together, slowly. They had two young daughters at the time: Ruth, a toddler, and Namie, a new baby.
In December 1973, I was fortunate to baptize and confirm Romeo and his sister Avelia. My companion and I were thrilled at the family’s faith and interest in the gospel, but we never could have predicted the eternal impact of their decision and the countless lives that would be blessed both immediately and years down the road.
Romeo and Avelia became faithful and strong members of the Makati Branch from the start. Soon after their baptisms, I returned home to Salt Lake City, Utah. In my excitement to come home, I didn’t even get Romeo’s mailing address to write a letter. There was no internet or cell phones in those days.
I soon met Susan, my eternal sweetheart. I taught, baptized, and married her in 1975, and we were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1976. We had three children and became involved in various Church callings. I was also very involved in our family business. I often thought about the Bautista family and how they were doing, but I didn’t know of any way to contact them.
Then one special day in 1997, I received a letter from a Mrs. Avelia Wijtenberg, postmarked from Mackay, Queensland, Australia! I didn’t know any such person there, but when I read the letter, I learned that Romeo’s sister Avelia had met and married a Dutch-Australian man and had been living in Queensland for some years. She had found my old mailing address in her notebook one day while doing some spring cleaning.
Avelia and I began a letter-writing campaign, eager to know about what had happened to each other over the past several decades. She was also able to give me a mailing address for Romeo, who had moved to Tiwi, in the southern part of Luzon Island in the Philippines.
That year, as Romeo and I wrote back and forth, after 24 years of no contact, our old relationship was rekindled. Romeo said that he and Naty now had five children. Naty and the rest of the family had been baptized in the years after I returned home. Their eldest, Ruth, had served a mission in the Philippines Davao Mission, and the second and third daughters, Namie and Joan, were serving missions in northern Luzon and Guam, respectively. They had a fourth daughter, Lyn, who later served in the Philippines Baguio Mission, and finally, a son, John, who later served in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.
My wife and I requested the addresses of Namie and Joan and wrote to them on their missions. We had never met them and didn’t know them at all but felt such an instant bond that is difficult to describe in words. It was almost as though they were our own daughters! Through our letters, we rekindled a love for the Bautista family and especially for Namie and Joan—who were full of the Spirit, working hard as full-time missionaries. In a letter, Namie asked if she could telephone us on Christmas Day, as her parents didn’t have a telephone at the time. With the approval of her mission president, she called on Christmas Day in 1997, and we both just cried for several minutes. I then reminded her that an international long-distance collect call was too expensive to waste just crying to each other. We laughed and had a wonderful conversation, even with her limited English skills. She invited us to come to the Philippines the following summer for her homecoming talk.
In the summer of 1998, as Namie returned home from her mission, I made plans with my 16-year-old daughter to go to the Philippines. We arrived in Manila and met with Ruth. We attended the Manila Philippines Temple together. Then we flew south to her family’s home in Tiwi. It’s impossible to describe the joy of seeing Romeo and his family again. The deep bond of brotherhood was instantly renewed. We talked and hugged and reminisced; we ate together and read scriptures with his family each night we were there. They were such strong rocks of testimony in their small branch. We attended sacrament meeting in the Tiwi Branch and listened to Namie report on her mission. It was amazing. It was nearly celestial. Truly this was missionary heaven.
At that time, Romeo was serving as the branch president of the Tiwi Branch. He had been instrumental in bringing the gospel to his extended family in northern Luzon. Romeo took his family to the temple, where Naty and their children were sealed. Now all five of the children have been married and sealed in the Manila Temple. Several married returned missionaries. Joan was instrumental in converting her boyfriend. She waited with him for a year after his baptism and then married him in the Manila Temple. Naty died suddenly in 2007, but the family remained strongly rooted in the gospel. They are thankful for the sealing covenant and know they will see their beautiful wife and mother again if they are faithful.
Now there are more than 70 members of the Bautista family who are active in the Church. The family and extended family have accounted for 17 full-time missions and 14 temple marriages. Family members have also served as bishops and branch presidents; stake and district presidents; and Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary presidents and counselors! Romeo’s son, John, was a bishop in the Quezon City area. Ruth’s husband was a high councilor in that same stake. Lyn’s husband was also a branch president in Tiwi. The Bautista family surely is building a strong legacy of service and strength in the Philippines.
My wife and I served a senior mission in the Philippines San Pablo Mission from 2008 to 2010. One day at the temple in Manila, most of the Bautista family gathered for the marriage of John Bautista (Romeo’s son) to Sister Victorino, one of the sister missionaries from our San Pablo Mission who had completed her mission and recently returned home.
Our mission president asked if we would like to attend that joyous event, and we immediately made plans to be there. My wife knew of my relationship with the Bautista family but was completely blown away by how many family members there were and how much they loved her. She had 70 new friends for life.
I often think of Doctrine and Covenants 18:15: “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” Like a ripple in a pond, the influence of one soul, Romeo, has sent out waves of strong testimonies and Church service in the Philippines.
I was fortunate to help toss the pebble into the pond four decades ago with the baptisms of Romeo and Avelia. I have experienced unspeakable joy in my relationship with this great family, now into their third generation of gospel living. This is truly the ongoing legacy and joy of missionary work. This is a little bit of missionary heaven!

Latter-day Saints in Memphis, Tennessee, are working with the NAACP to help mothers and babies and reduce infant mortality rates.

In Tennessee, USA, some Latter-day Saints have joined with brothers and sisters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to help mothers and their babies thrive in an area that has one of the United States’ highest infant mortality rates. This effort is helping carry out the vision President Russell M. Nelson outlined in 2021 of the two organizations coming together in community service.8

In November 2022, four members of the Dudley family from the Memphis Tennessee Stake gathered with several dozen people at the NAACP Memphis Branch to pass out fliers about a program of classes designed to help new and expectant mothers better care for their children.

“We had the opportunity to knock on the door of a woman that is pregnant right now,” said Marc Allan Dudley, who distributed fliers with his wife, Sonya, and two of their daughters. “Her eyes kind of lit up, and she was thankful for the program. … People are happy that somebody notices that there’s an issue and that there’s somebody doing something about it.”

“This partnership is God ordained and God inspired,” added NAACP Memphis Branch president Van Turner. “I’m just so happy that it’s happening at such a critical time in our city. We’re dealing with public safety, we’re dealing with homelessness, we’re dealing with poverty. [It’s critical to address] the origin of humanity, when these young people are in the womb, and try to make sure they get the proper care while in the womb [and then] come out and survive and be healthy. Once that happens, they have a great start in life.”9

Youth are not the only ones who slip into crevasses.
A stake president recently told me that a respected member who had held Church leadership positions was enticed by some business friends to try the cocaine drug “crack.” The men were depressed. Their company was failing, and they succumbed to the evil enticement of illegal drugs.
He wasted $18,000 buying “crack,” lost his job, underwent a personality change, and finally was hospitalized. Through it all, his wife stayed by him. She found a job, and they began the struggle of putting his life back together. His Church friends helped him get another job.
His mind is seriously affected. He is still somewhat dependent on some drugs. The hope and prayer of his family is that he will be able to hold on to the lifeline.

I would like to close with an experience that occurred recently.
For three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old and plays on the school football team) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body block on me, in professional style. The last time he did this, in my effort to avoid the attack, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and found my right elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely lost my patience, and I scolded him for making me his tackling dummy.
His response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a big time trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”

I witnessed the righteousness and power of God in great glory, received through faithfulness to covenants and ordinances, in the life of a Church member who experienced the heartache of divorce. This sister’s spiritual and emotional distress was heightened by a sense of unfairness associated with her spouse’s violation of covenants and the breakup of their marriage. She wanted justice and accountability.

As this faithful woman was struggling with all that had happened to her, she studied and pondered the Savior’s Atonement more intently and intensely than ever before in her life. Gradually, a deeper understanding of Christ’s redemptive mission distilled upon her soul—His suffering for our sins and also for our pains, weaknesses, disappointments, and anguish. And she was inspired to ask herself a penetrating question: since the price already has been paid for those sins, would you demand that the price be paid twice? She realized that such a requirement would be neither just nor merciful.

This woman learned that binding herself to the Savior through covenants and ordinances can heal the wounds caused by another person’s unrighteous exercise of moral agency and enabled her to find the capacity to forgive and receive peace, mercy, and love.

“I remember a special boyhood experience when my father once took my brother and me to an athletics competition, and I saw a man throwing the javelin for the first time. It made a great impression on me as a ten-year-old boy. Several years later when I was in school, after a lot of practice, I won the javelin event and became Victor Ludorum (Latin for: Winner of the Games) with successes not only in the javelin and discus, but also in the high jump, long jump, and middle-distance running events. Later still I represented the University of Nottingham and became a qualified javelin and discus coach.”

by Elder Craig BarrOhio Columbus Mission
Every year there is a big celebration down in Elkins, West Virginia, called the Forest Festival. To take part in the festival missionaries in the past have set up a display about some aspect of the Church. This year we decided to really do a good job.
Our display consisted of a giant painting of the Washington D.C. Temple. In fact, it was 8-by-12 feet and was painted by an artist in the branch in Elkins. To go with the painting, we obtained a tent 20-by-40 feet from the Army Reserve Depot at Charleston, West Virginia. We set up the tent behind the painting and showed movies to festival visitors. We ran Man’s Search for Happiness, Meet the Mormons, and The New Landmark, a film on the Washington D.C. Temple. On each side of the entrance we placed a display board and pamphlets. These were centered on the family, the family home evening program, and temple work. Floodlights were also set up. There was a blue light in front of the painting to enhance the beauty of the temple and white lights on the side to offset the color and light the display boards. The title of our booth was Why Families and Why Temples?
For four days we had from two to four missionaries at the booth. The response that we received was tremendous. We were kept busy day and night. Many people stopped and commented on the painting, and many others asked for pamphlets and wanted to see the movies. Others requested to hear the missionary lessons or signed our guest register and asked us to come and see them after the festival was over.
The last day there was a parade, and the special guest was President Gerald R. Ford. He stopped and waved to us when he saw the painting of the temple.
We closed down the booth that same evening. When we reflected back over those hurried days, we could see what a great success the booth had been. We had received over 40 referrals and many other verbal referrals. We had come in contact with people who requested that the missionaries come to their homes. Now we are busy teaching and are very grateful for the response that we had. We are especially grateful to those who donated time and talents to help make the display a success.

The same principle applies to children. There is an old and true proverb which says, “As the twig is bent, so the tree is inclined.” May I repeat a story I have told in general conference. Not long after we were married, we built our first home. We had little money, and I did a lot of the work. The landscaping was entirely my responsibility. The first of many trees that I planted was a thornless honey locust, and I envisioned the day when its shade would assist in cooling the house in the summer. I put it in a place at the corner where the wind from the canyon to the east blew the hardest. I dug a hole, put in the bare root, put soil around it, poured on water, and largely forgot it. It was only a wisp of a tree, perhaps three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was so supple that I could bend it with ease in any direction. I paid little attention to it as the years passed. Then one winter day when the tree was barren of leaves, I chanced to look out the window at it. I noted that it was leaning to the west, misshapen and out of balance. I could scarcely believe it. I went out and braced myself against it as if to push it upright. But the trunk was now nearly a foot in diameter. My strength was as nothing against it. I took from my toolshed a block and tackle, attaching one end to the tree and the other to a well-set post. I pulled the rope. The pulleys moved just a little, and the trunk of the tree trembled slightly. But that was all. It seemed to say to me, “You can’t straighten me. It’s too late. I’ve grown this way because of your neglect, and I will not bend.”

Finally in desperation I took my saw and cut off the great heavy branch on the west side. I stepped back and surveyed what I had done. I had cut off a major part of the tree, leaving a huge scar about eight inches across and only one small branch growing skyward.

More than half a century has passed since I planted that tree. My daughter and her family now live there. I recently looked again at the tree. It is large, its shape is better, and it is a great asset to the home. But how serious was the trauma of its youth and how painful the treatment I had used to straighten it. When the tree was first planted, a piece of string would have held it against the forces of the wind. I could have and should have supplied that string with ever so little effort, but I did not. And it bent to the forces that came against it.

His parents named him Happy Horton Hoggle. But by the time he was six years old, everyone called him Never Happy Horton. When Never Happy Horton started school, everyone there soon knew the reason for his name.
That first morning Mr. Barnes, the principal, was at the front door to greet the students. He reached for Horton’s hand to shake it.
““I don’t like to shake hands!” Never Happy Horton said with a big frown.
““I just wanted you to know that I’m here to help you,” said Mr. Barnes with a smile. “I want to be your friend.”
““No you don’t and I don’t want to be anybody’s friend. Don’t you know who I am? I’m Never Happy Horton. And by the way,” Horton growled, “I don’t like school either!”
Mr. Barnes wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. “Oh, but everyone at Bunker Elementary School tries to be happy,” he said with a nervous smile.
““Not me! I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!”
““Oh, I won’t,” Mr. Barnes assured him.
Miss Kate, Horton’s teacher, couldn’t forget either after he had come to her class. Horton was sitting in the darkest back corner all alone. “Wouldn’t you like to join us for story time?” Miss Kate asked.
““I don’t happen to like stories,” Horton said as he folded his arms across his chest.
““But this is a very exciting story,” Miss Kate said coaxingly.
““No story is a good story.”
““But everyone likes some story!” Miss Kate insisted.
““Not me! I don’t even like television. I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!” Horton shouted.
““Oh, I won’t,” said Miss Kate, heaving a big sigh.
At recess the boys needed one more player to make the baseball teams even.
““Come play ball,” Timothy called to Never Happy Horton who was sitting in the middle of a hopscotch square so the girls couldn’t play.
““I don’t like ball games,” Horton replied in an ugly voice.
““C’mon anyway,” Timothy urged. “You might find you like it.”
““Not me! I’m Never Happy Horton. I don’t even like recess, and don’t you forget that either!” Horton insisted.
““Oh, we won’t,” said Timothy with a shake of his head as he went back to play baseball.
““You can’t fool me, Never Happy Horton! You aren’t always unhappy,” said Suzanna, one of the girls who wanted to play hopscotch.
““I’m Never Happy Horton! Just ask anyone! I’m never, never happy!” Horton shouted.
““But you’re happy right now. You’re happy making other people unhappy,” Suzanna argued.
““That doesn’t make sense!” cried Horton as loud as he could. “I’m Never Happy Horton, and don’t you forget it!”
““Well, if you’re never happy, why are you sitting in our hopscotch square?”
““Because … well … because,” Horton folded his arms over his chest and frowned. “Just because.”
““Because you’re happy there,” Suzanna said politely. “And so I hereby proclaim you to be Happy Horton.”
““Wait just one minute,” Horton said with a puzzled look. “That’s a terrible name for a boy! It sounds awful! Happy Horton! I hate it!” Horton squished his face together. “Ugh! Nobody is named Happy Horton Hoggle!”
““You are,” Suzanna said. “You and nobody but you.”
““Well, it’s still awful! At least Never Happy Horton sounds tough!”
““What’s so great about being tough? Anyone can be tough.”
““But Happy Horton Hoggle is an awful name,” Horton said quietly.
““Only if you make it awful. After all, being the one and only Happy Horton Hoggle in the world should make you important,” she pointed out.
““Hey, I never thought of that,” Happy Horton said, and the frown almost turned into a smile. “I’m the only Happy Horton I know of.”
““And you’re the only one I’ve ever heard of. That most certainly makes you very special!” Suzanna repeated.
““It does? I mean, yes, it does!” Happy Horton agreed. “I’m Happy Horton Hoggle, and don’t you forget it.”
““That’s great,” Suzanna said. “But next time could you say it just a little softer please?”
““I’m Happy Horton,” Horton said in an almost normal voice, “And I’m the only Happy Horton Hoggle I know.”
““Good,” Suzanna said. “With a little practice you’ll make it. Now will you go play ball?”
““Sure,” said Happy Horton, and he even smiled.

As a mission leader in India, I recall asking a young branch president about some of his goals for the coming year: “How many men will you prepare to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood?” His immediate response was “Seven!”

I wondered from where in the ether he had conjured up that very specific number! Before I could respond, he produced a piece of paper with the numbers one through seven written down the side. The first five lines had names on them—real people that he and his elders quorum were going to invite and encourage to have the blessing of the priesthood in their lives. Of course, I had to ask about the empty lines six and seven. “Oh, President,” he said, shaking his head sympathetically, “surely we will baptize at least two men in the first of the year who could have the priesthood by the end of the year.” This superb leader understood the principle of counting and accounting.

When I was a Laurel more than 15 years ago, our stake Young Women president was a real heroine to me and many other girls. Her beautiful, curly brown hair impressed me, but she was also smart and articulate, a spiritual woman, a returned missionary, and a newlywed. She wore nice modest clothes, showing us how attractive we could be without compromising our standards. I remember her personifying every dream I had ever dreamed for my own future.
Once she was the speaker at a fireside for the Young Women. When we entered the chapel, we saw her gorgeous white wedding gown displayed in a prominent place. What can be more exciting than a wedding dress when you’re a dreaming 16-year-old? I imagined a fireside about boys and our bright futures.
But when our Young Women president started speaking, it became clear that this was not her plan. She started talking about chastity and how important it was to keep ourselves morally clean. She stood at the pulpit with notes and a pen and talked emphatically about these crucial matters.
All of a sudden the unthinkable happened. She gestured as she spoke and somehow flipped ink from her fountain pen across the wedding dress. The ink made a big stain on the white fabric. We were devastated.
I don’t remember exactly what she said next. It was something about our being as clean and pure as her white dress and that sexual transgressions, however small they might seem, would stain us just as the ink had stained the dress. I recall never ever wanting to be anything but clean and pure. It was a decision I had already made subconsciously, but now it was unforgettably engraved upon my heart.
After she had made her point about remaining clean or becoming clean, she informed us that the ink was invisible ink from a prank store and that it would disappear in a couple of minutes. She hadn’t tried it before, so we all sat there hoping it would work. It did.
Since that day this object lesson has had a special place in my mind. I want to appear before my Heavenly Father as pure as that white dress.
Anja Klarin, Borås Ward, Göteborg Sweden Stake

One of the most wonderful chapters in the history of the Church occurred when Wilford Woodruff, an Apostle of the Lord, was teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ throughout Great Britain in 1840—just 10 years after the establishment of the Church.
Wilford Woodruff and other Apostles had focused their work in the Liverpool and Preston areas of England, with considerable success. Elder Woodruff, who later became President of the Church, was constantly praying to God to guide him in this very important work. His prayers led to the inspiration to go to a different place to teach the gospel.
President Monson has taught us that when we get the inspiration from heaven to do something, we do it now—we don’t procrastinate. That is exactly what Wilford Woodruff did. With clear direction from the Spirit to “go … south,” Elder Woodruff left almost immediately and traveled to a part of England called Herefordshire—farming country in the southwest of England. Here he met a prosperous farmer named John Benbow, where he was welcomed “with glad hearts and thanksgiving” (Wilford Woodruff, in Matthias F. Cowley, Wilford Woodruff: History of His Life and Labors as Recorded in His Daily Journals [1909], 117).
A group of over 600 people, who called themselves the United Brethren, had been “praying for light and truth” (Wilford Woodruff, in Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff [2004], 91). The Lord sent Wilford Woodruff as an answer to their prayers.
Elder Woodruff’s teaching bore fruit immediately, and many were baptized. Brigham Young and Willard Richards joined him in Herefordshire, and the three Apostles had remarkable success.
In only a few months, they organized 33 branches for the 541 members who had joined the Church. Their remarkable work continued, and ultimately almost every one of the members of the United Brethren were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Following the sacrament meeting, the Relief Society meeting was hosted by Relief Society President Jen Norton. She too had a technical treat for the sisters. She had previously invited sisters to send her photos of their mothers, with three sentences about them or three qualities to highlight.
Sister Norton showed the sisters her presentation—photos were revealed, and the sisters were asked to guess who they were. When a photo was correctly identified, the daughter read out the sentences or qualities she had provided.
There was much fun as the sisters tried to be the first to guess who the mother was, or made comments on hairstyles and fashions, or how much their daughter looked like them. There were many tears as sisters talked of the dear mothers who had passed on.
It was a very inclusive and beautiful way to honour mothers.

When I told my basketball team I wouldn’t play on Sundays, they weren’t happy. At one weekend tournament, the last game would be on a Sunday. Because I play left-handed, my coach said they needed me to guard the other team’s “lefty.” I felt a lot of pressure. I wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy, but I didn’t want to let my friends down.
The day before the game, I read the For the Strength of Youth standards for Sabbath day observance with my dad. It talked about how Sunday should be treated as a sacred day, where you refrain from things like athletic events. There was also a promise that when you keep the Sabbath day holy, you gain spiritual strength. I prayed for help to keep the Sabbath day holy.
Even though it was hard, I chose to go to church with my family. That Sunday, we were visiting another ward in our stake for sacrament meeting. As I sat in the chapel, I was anxious because I wasn’t at the game helping my team.
Then the deacon passing the sacrament handed me the tray with his left hand. I looked up and realized he was the “lefty” I was supposed to guard at the game. Just like me, he had chosen to go to church instead of playing basketball. I felt a calm assurance from the Spirit.
I wasn’t worried about the game anymore. I realized that Heavenly Father knows us. He’ll help us with difficult decisions when we keep His commandments.
Noah J., North Dakota, USA

I had great pleasure in training a well-bred colt. He had a good disposition, a clean, well-rounded eye, was well proportioned, and all in all, a choice animal. Under the saddle he was as willing, responsive, and cooperative as a horse could be. He and my dog Scotty were real companions. I liked the way he would go up to something of which he was afraid. He had confidence that if he would do as I bade him, he would not be injured.

But my horse Dandy resented restraint. He was ill contented when tied and would nibble at the tie rope until he was free. He would not run away; he just wanted to be free. Thinking other horses felt the same, he would proceed to untie their ropes. He hated to be confined in the pasture, and if he could find a place in the fence where there was only smooth wire, he would paw the wire carefully with his feet until he could step over to freedom. More than once my neighbors were kind enough to put him back in the field. He learned even to push open the gate. Though he often did damage that was provoking and sometimes expensive, I admired his intelligence and ingenuity.

But his curiosity and desire to explore the neighborhood led him and me into trouble. Once on the highway he was hit by an automobile, resulting in a demolished machine, injury to the horse, and slight, though not serious, injury to the driver.

Recovering from that, and still impelled with a feeling of wanderlust, he inspected the fence throughout the entire boundary. He found even the gates wired. So for a while we thought we had Dandy secure in the pasture.

One day, however, somebody left the gate unwired. Detecting this, Dandy unlatched it, took another horse with him, and together they visited the neighbor’s field. They went to an old house used for storage. Dandy’s curiosity prompted him to push open the door. There was a sack of grain. What a find! Yes, and what a tragedy! The grain was poison bait for rodents! In a few minutes Dandy and the other horse were in spasmodic pain, and shortly both were dead.

How like Dandy are many of you young people! You are not bad; you do not even intend to do wrong; but you are impulsive, full of life, full of curiosity, and long to do something. You too are restless under restraint, but if left to wander without direction, you all too frequently find yourselves in the environment of temptation and too often are entangled in the snares of evil.

Walking home from school in the autumn rain, I sloshed through every puddle. Little rivulets of cold water drizzled down my head and plopped to the hood of my blue jacket. I usually forgot to tie the hood over my head, so it just hung over my shoulders, catching raindrops.
“Hi, Mrs. Carver,” I called as I neared the small yellow house down the street from ours.
“Darcy, just look at you—you’re soaking wet!”
Mrs. Carver closed the mailbox and peered at me from under her plaid umbrella. Juggling the umbrella and a little stack of envelopes with one hand, she reached for my arm with the other. “Come on in and get dried off.”
I followed her as she shuffled up the concrete walk to her front door. When she opened it, a fragrant warmth met my face. She smiled. “I just baked some gingerbread. Would you like a piece?”
As I nodded eagerly and stepped inside, she reminded me to wipe my feet. Then she hung my dripping jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.
“Land’s sake, girl,” she said, passing me a hunk of warm gingerbread, “I hope you didn’t catch cold out there in that freezing rain.”
“Not me. I like rain. This is the best time of the year. Next week is Thanksgiving, you know. Wow—this gingerbread sure is good!”
“I’m glad you like it, Darcy. I used to make goodies for my son when he was your age.”
Adjusting her glasses, Mrs. Carver thumbed through the little pile of envelopes. I glanced up between bites of gingerbread, wondering if she’d found anything interesting in her mailbox.
“I’m waiting to hear from my son,” she told me. “He’s coming home for Thanksgiving.” A hopeful smile creased her face.
“We’re going to my grandma’s house,” I said, wiping my hands on a paper napkin. “My cousins will be there, too—I can’t wait! Well, thanks for the gingerbread. I’d better get home.”
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. Mrs. Carver sat still in her kitchen and watched me go out into the rain.
“When are we leaving for Grandma’s house?” I asked Mom a few days later. I hadn’t seen my cousins since last summer. My favorite cousin, Trevor, was in the fourth grade too.
“Very early Thanksgiving morning. It’s a long drive.”
“What if there’s a lot of snow in the mountains?” Amy wanted to know. My younger sister didn’t like long car trips, especially in the winter.
“Dad will just stop and put chains on the tires—no problem,” I assured her.
Curling up in the window seat in the family room, I watched dozens of raindrops drip from a branch of a cedar tree. They splattered on the yellow and brown leaves that layered the ground. A squirrel skittered across the branch and up the tree to the roof of our house.
I wonder what he’s doing for Thanksgiving. I grinned at the thought of a squirrel family gathered around a Thanksgiving feast. Then I daydreamed about Grandma’s cheery smile and Trevor’s dumb jokes. Just four more days until we’d sit down to a big turkey dinner at Grandma’s house! Mashed potatoes with her good gravy, pumpkin pie . … My mouth began to water.
Every day after school, I passed Mrs. Carver with her plaid umbrella, checking her mail. I could tell by the look on her face that there was still no letter from her son.
The day before Thanksgiving, she called to me. I liked her smile. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of my grandma.
“Hi, Mrs. Carver,” I said, wiping a strand of wet hair from my forehead.
“Oh, Darcy, why do you think that jacket of yours has a hood? It’s supposed to keep your head dry.”
She bent down, holding her umbrella over both of us. “Come on in. A letter came from my son.”
I followed Mrs. Carver up the walk to her door. She stepped a little faster than usual, even though she was trying to keep the umbrella over my head. Inside her warm kitchen, she handed me a yellow towel and a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie. “Here,” she said. “Dry that wet hair. Then you can eat that cookie. Chocolate chip was always my son’s favorite.”
I rubbed the dampness out of my hair and sat at the table to eat my cookie. Mrs. Carver opened an envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. As she read the letter, her smile faded. “He’s not coming! My son’s not coming home for Thanksgiving, after all.”
Mrs. Carver seemed so surprised and hurt that I didn’t know what to say. I just watched her take off her glasses and wipe her eyes. Then she turned and gazed out the window. “When is it ever going to stop raining?”
“Uh, maybe your son is just too busy,” I suggested.
“Yes,” Mrs. Carver said, almost in a whisper. “He’s too busy.”
I had the feeling she wanted to be alone, so I muttered a thanks for the cookie and crept quietly out of the house.
On the way home, the gray, swollen sky seemed to close in around me. Whipping down the street, a sudden wind picked up some damp leaves and slapped them against my shoulder.
“Don’t forget to wipe your feet, Darcy,” I heard Mom say as I took off my jacket in the hallway. She was sitting on the couch in the family room, thumbing through a magazine without looking at the pages. Amy was slumped next to her. It seemed like a long time before anyone said anything. That was pretty unusual at home. Finally Mom set down the magazine and turned to me with her serious look.
“Darcy, we can’t go to Grandma’s for Thanksgiving. There’s a blizzard raging in the mountains. Your dad says it’s too dangerous to drive through the pass when the weather’s this bad.”
I just stared at her. No Thanksgiving at Grandma’s! I crawled up on the window seat and tried to keep from crying. Some Thanksgiving we’d have with no cousins and no Grandma! Even though I figured my sister was just trying to cheer me up, it bothered me when she came over, chattering on about some silly thing. Then she scolded me for getting home late from school. “I’ve been home for ages. What took you so long?”
“I stopped to see Mrs. Carver.”
“Oh?” Mom asked. “How is she?”
I sat quietly for a long time, thinking. “Mrs. Carver is going to be all alone for Thanksgiving. …”
Mom came over and put her hands on my shoulders. “Not if I know my Darcy, she won’t. Don’t forget to put your hood up when you go to invite her.”
Picking up her notepad and a pencil, Mom started making plans for Thanksgiving at our house. I looked out into the backyard. It had finally stopped raining.

“Laugh at yourself and keep trying” might have been the motto of young Heber J. Grant. His friends thought that he was too little and weak to play baseball, but he saved his money and bought his own ball. Then he practiced many hours and became a much better player. One day, he helped his team win the championship! His uncle challenged Heber and his cousin to read the Book of Mormon and offered a prize to the first one to complete it. Heber knew that if he read fast, he would not understand it, so he read slowly and still finished first!

For example, a few months ago, a loved one was struggling with her faith. One night she tearfully explained her feelings to me. I wanted her to believe in the gospel so badly and to fix every doubt she had.
In my preferred reality, I would answer every question perfectly, and we would both leave the conversation with a sense of renewed faith and joy, complete with sunshine and rainbows!
But I knew that wasn’t likely.
So I said a prayer in my heart to know how to help her. And I felt a distinct impression from the Spirit:
Just listen.
Through listening, I let go of my instinct to fix and instead saw that she simply needed to know that she is loved. I testified of the love I and Heavenly Father have for her. And although that conversation didn’t end with her renewed faith, it did end with a renewed sense of Heavenly Father’s perfect love—which is often the greatest help we can offer those who are struggling.