Gospel Story Finder

About nine months before Charlie died, he and his mother, Susan Addington, and younger brother Perry, then 10, moved to Malibu, California. “Charlie loved the ocean and wanted to be there to spend his last days.” When Charlie could, he went to his new ward, the Pacific Palisades Ward. It was there he met Cameron Carr, who was a few months younger and not yet a deacon.
“Charlie was a great friend,” Cameron says. “Something I remember most is how kind he was and how fun he was to be around. I would go over to his house after school a lot and on weekends too. We’d play games, listen to music, and just goof off. I remember the day Charlie was ordained a deacon and passed the sacrament. I sat in the aisle seat so that he’d pass to me. He did a great job. Two months later, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and we were able to pass the sacrament together. That is something I will always remember.”
Charlie’s mother remembers vividly the day Charlie first passed the sacrament. “When he actually turned 12, and I saw him walk up on the stand and give the sacrament to the bishop, I just burst into tears. It was unbelievable. The priesthood was so important to him. He wanted to be a deacon. He loved the organization of it and was such an organized person anyway. He loved the way it was so reverent, and there was a pattern that determined which aisles to do first and how to alternate rows. That fascinated him for years. He wanted to wear a tie and a white shirt. He wanted to be there and see others fold their hands and bow their heads. He was in awe of the reverence of the sacrament ever since he was a small child.”

It wasn’t always smooth. I took my first semester with my smartphone only while I was working a low-income job. It was very challenging, especially during the second semester. I couldn’t do it all with my phone anymore so I shared a laptop with a friend named Loveth Ngumah, but I could only use it at the chapel. I would go there every evening after work, wait for her to finish studying, and then I would take over. Sometimes it meant I get home at 11 PM, and some nights were spent at the chapel, but I never gave up. I knew it was going to change my life anyway, so it was worth it. Soon, I was blessed with a laptop scholarship.

One day, after finishing a service project, I was walking past our meetinghouse and saw two sisters who were cleaning the building. My words simply came out: “Sisters, do you need some help?” One of them smiled at me and said that I had arrived just in time because they were the only ones cleaning and they were very tired. She said that she had prayed that the Lord would send someone to help. I was very happy to be an answer to her prayer. I had just finished giving service to someone else and was also tired, but I followed my heart and offered to serve more.
It is a commandment to work with joy (see D&C 24:7). When we have the desire to serve at all times, we can help miracles happen in other people’s lives. Our lives become more meaningful when we serve. The Lord really does love us, He helps each of His children, and He will give us the strength to serve.

Getting a testimony of the Restoration wasn’t a quick experience for me. It was very difficult and brought me into the “depths of humility” (Mosiah 4:11).
It started when I was a devout, hardcore Calvinist. Though I’d returned to full activity a couple years before, questions I’d had since childhood lingered in the background of my mind. Over the previous months and years leading to meeting the missionaries, they grew and multiplied after receiving no satisfactory answer from asking or researching them. These endeavours to discover more truth left me with more confusion. They were corrosive to my faith. Its crescendo was when these queries led to a faith crisis. I doubted everything from the most minor of doctrines to the very existence of God.
One night, I earnestly and desperately prayed to know who He is, for help. By then, I was closer to agnosticism than Christianity. Mere days later, I met the missionaries when somebody I used to vaguely know from school (and hadn’t spoken to in over three years) added me to a group chat with Elders McIntosh and Beam. God sent me who I needed when I needed them.
The two things I remember from the conversation played a huge role in my conversion. When I joined a video call (late) Elder Beam was reading Moroni’s promise (see Moroni 10:3–5). His companion, Elder McIntosh, and he carried a sweet and sacred Spirit which impacted me. I didn’t recognise it at the time (two months would pass before I’d learn to recognise it) but it drew me to them. I wanted to know them; I wanted to know what they had to say.
From then on, I started meeting with them and learning of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, of the Book of Mormon, of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Everything was so foreign to me, but I felt the Spirit every time. I started reading it for myself when (newly transferred in) Elder Baldwin invited me to read the Book of Enos. From there, I couldn’t stop reading. Even though I still didn’t believe it, I couldn’t stop. I knew something was different about the Book of Mormon. I thought about it constantly. It strengthened my faith in a loving God.
Over the next few months, I did a deep dive into researching the Church of Jesus Christ, the positives and negatives. In doing so, in meeting the missionaries and following through on the commitments I made, in praying, in reading the Book of Mormon alongside the Bible, every single question I had was answered fully. The biggest questions such as the nature of God (I was never fully satisfied with descriptions of a triune God) were answered. The smallest questions I had were answered just the same. It was a miracle.
When I was finally blessed with the foundations of a testimony in this great latter-day work, it was not yet the end of my journey to baptism. Why? Because I was aware I would have to sacrifice many friendships and relationships I’d had with people my entire life. I knew there were people who meant a great deal to me who would never want anything to do with me again — and they didn’t. I had spiritual leaders in my life tell me I was turning my back on Jesus Christ and what He’d done for me. More than anything else, that hurt me deeply. I investigated and learned more of the Church because I love my Saviour so much. If I didn’t love and believe the Bible as much as I did, or have the foundations I had, I would never have believed the Book of Mormon.
A few weeks later, I realised something: Jesus Christ walked the walk to Calvary for me, the least I could do is walk the walk to the baptism font, and beyond, even if I had to do so alone, without the friends I’d had for decades. I did so. Every sacrifice I made to join the Church of my Lord Jesus Christ was far outweighed by the bounteous and sacred blessings He gave me.
It was a long journey which took very close to 10 months. But the walk through the valley took me to the truth, to the temple, to my beautiful wife, and closer to my Saviour, Jesus Christ.
I know this is His Church. I know He is the Saviour and Redeemer of mankind. I know God is our loving Heavenly Father. I know we can come closer to them by reading the scriptures. I know we can be blessed and come closer to them by living the covenants we make in the font and in the holy temple. This is the true Church of Jesus Christ.

As a boy, I well remember Sunday School on Mother’s Day. We would hand to each mother present a small potted plant and sit in silent reverie as Melvin Watson, a blind member, would stand by the piano and sing, “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” This was the first time I saw a blind man cry. Even today, in memory, I can see the moist tears move from those sightless eyes, then form tiny rivulets and course down his cheeks, falling finally upon the lapel of the suit he had never seen. In boyhood puzzlement I wondered why all of the grown men were silent, why so many handkerchiefs came forth. Now I know. You see, mother was remembered. Each boy, every girl, all fathers and husbands seemed to make a silent pledge: “I will remember that wonderful mother of mine.”

Of course, everyone makes mistakes. But let me tell you about a lovely young lady who visited in my office. She was discouraged, almost depressed. She enjoyed her profession of teaching yet felt that her life was not going anywhere. To complicate the problem she was feeling, her testimony had waned, and she was lacking the spark that all who had known her acknowledged was part of her vibrant personality.
“I am going to ask you a question,” I said, “but I do not want details. Are you living the commandments?”
She whispered, “No.”
We talked about her going to her bishop. We also talked about testimony and about how when one lives the commandments, that individual is endowed with blessings of the Spirit that can come in no other way.
She left, seemingly as discouraged as she had entered my office. But in a while, perhaps a month later, my telephone rang. She reported that all was well.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I went to my bishop. I am living the commandments now, and, yes, I know the gospel is true. I did it on my own,” she reported.
“No one else could have done it for you,” I replied.

Assembly Instructions: Cut scenery along solid black lines on pages 30 and 31. Glue scene to cardboard and trim.
Cut out objects on floor along solid black outline and then fold up on broken lines.
Glue figures and props to cardboard and cut out. On the back of each figure glue a Popsicle stick. Place a piece of masking tape on the back of the props so they can be positioned in the scene. If the scenery is set on the forward edge of a table, the figures can be moved around in front of it.
Characters: Mother, Ezra, Susan, Elizabeth, and Thomas
Setting: Kitchen of a pioneer cabin with table, chairs, coal stove, and a hearth.
Scene opens: Mother is churning butter. Susan is working on a rag rug. Ezra is sanding a stool he has made in preparation for the Primary fair. Elizabeth kneels on the floor watching Ezra and his stool.
NOTE: Instead of using puppets, this play could be given by boys and girls in a family home evening.
Elizabeth: (in a discouraged voice) What can a five-year-old make to show at the Primary fair?
Mother: Why, Elizabeth, you’re going to play in the rhythm band at the fair. And, I might say, you do a good job on the triangle.
Elizabeth: I know, but I want something to put on the display table with my name on it!
Ezra: You can help me paint this stool and we can put both our names on it.
Elizabeth: No! That wouldn’t be the same as making something all by myself.
Susan: Do you want me to show you how to make a rug?
Elizabeth: No, that’s what you’re doing; besides, there isn’t time for me to finish one.
Mother: (holding out jar of butter) Here, Elizabeth, please take this butter outside and put it in a cool safe place by the stream.
Ezra: On your way back, Elizabeth, would you do me a favor? Bring in the bucket of corn inside the barn for Mother. I forgot. That way I can keep sanding till I’m through.
Thomas: (calling from outside) Elizabeth, come quick! That pesky raccoon’s in the cornfield again! Help me catch him.
Elizabeth: All right! I’m coming! (Elizabeth runs out, carrying the butter. The other family members run to peer out the window.)
Susan: How can little Elizabeth help?
Ezra: Elizabeth is small and quick enough to run through the cornfield to head him off. (Mother, Susan, and Ezra go back to their work.)
Mother: Susan, will you help me clean out this big heavy kettle so I can make soup in it? (The kettle is on the floor by the hearth.)
Susan: I’ll be glad to, Mother. (Helps mother clean kettle.) This kettle will sure hold a lot of soup!
Mother: Yes, it has to. We’re going to have a soup kitchen at the fair, and I told the sisters I would make a big pot of our favorite vegetable soup.
(After a time Thomas and Elizabeth return. Elizabeth is carrying the bucket of corn. Mother and Susan have finished cleaning the kettle and are getting ready to peel the vegetables on the table.)
Elizabeth: Where do you want this corn, Mother?
Mother: Put it in the kettle on the hearth, dear. (Elizabeth puts corn in kettle.)
Thomas: That pesky raccoon got away. If I ever catch him, I’ll have his tail!
Ezra: Then you can have a raccoon hat (family laughs).
Susan: Maybe we could make the raccoon a family pet. The Cole family has a pet raccoon.
Thomas: No thank you! Then he would eat all our crops.
Mother: Elizabeth, did you find a good place by the stream for the butter?
Elizabeth: (looks alarmed) Oh, Mother, in my hurry to help Thomas catch the raccoon I left the butter outside on the porch. I’ll go get it right now. (She leaves.)
Mother: Thomas, if you’ll lift that large kettle from the hearth to the stove, Susan and I will soon have other vegetables ready to put in it.
Thomas: All right, Mother (lifts pan).
Elizabeth: (enters carrying the butter jar) I’m sorry, Mother. I left the butter in the sun and it’s almost all melted. Is it ruined?
Mother: (walks over and looks in butter jar) Oh, dear! No, it’s not ruined, Elizabeth, but it has to be used right away. What can we do with so much melted butter?
Ezra: We could make pancakes (looks in butter jar) but wow! We’d sure have to eat a lot of them!
Mother: (begins to sniff) Say, what can I smell? Oh dear, I forgot to put some water in the kettle for the corn.
Ezra: But what’s that noise? (everyone sniffs and listens.)
Thomas: It smells and sounds like corn popping. (Everyone looks at the stove.)
Ezra: Oh no! Elizabeth must have brought in my popcorn that I was saving for tithing.
Elizabeth: I’m sorry, Ezra.
Ezra: That’s all right. I wonder if the bishop will take popped corn for tithing (family laughs).
Mother: You’ll have to take some more from your supply for your tithing, Ezra.
Susan: Hey! All that popcorn solves the problem of what to do with all the melted butter.
Thomas: That’s right. We can pour it over the popcorn!
Mother: And that’s what Elizabeth can take to the Primary fair and put on the display table with a big sign that reads BUTTERED POPCORN MADE BY ELIZABETH, age 5.
Elizabeth: Yippee!

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.”
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.”

I recently learned about the experiences of a man in Zimbabwe named Sabbath Sibanda Maturure. Born in Shurugwe in what he describes as “an ordinary African hut,” he was the seventh of eleven children. Like three of his sisters, he was crippled from birth. At an early age he blamed God for his handicap and refused to attend the Christian church to which his parents were devoted.
When he was seven, he and his sisters were sent far away from home to attend a school for the disabled. Lonely for his mother, whom he could visit only once a year, he became even more bitter. “Life was terrible,” he remembers. “There was just no hope.”
His bitterness grew when his only two friends—his mother and another handicapped child at the school—died. “There really wasn’t anything left for me—not one ray of hope anywhere. Life was completely without meaning. God was totally unfair and not worthy of my worship or respect.”
But after he was befriended by some Christians who urged him to read the Bible, his heart began to soften. As the years passed, he found work, was married, and had two daughters.
In July 1985 a man who “looked honest, humble, and loving” came to his home and introduced himself as Elder Boyd Lake. Elder and Sister Lake, a missionary couple from Oakley, Utah, had met Sabbath’s wife, Susan, at work, and she had asked them to visit her husband. “Anything that is about Christ makes our lives more sweet,” says Sabbath, “so I welcomed Elder and Sister Lake to our home.” Their message sounded so good that the Maturures invited the Lakes to meet all of their friends at the handicapped center where they worked. And Sabbath and Susan began studying the Book of Mormon.
After several visits from the missionaries, Sabbath became ill. But a priesthood blessing helped to restore his health. He was impressed by the power of the priesthood and the teachings about home evening, fast offering, tithing, and chastity. “I also learned about the eternal family, whereby if we believe and are worthy, we can be married in the temple and be sealed forever as husband and wife and family.”
On 2 August 1986, Sabbath was baptized by the branch president, and Elder Lake baptized Susan and one of their daughters. “What joy we received in our home to be in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—a church that the Lord himself restored!” says Sabbath. Three weeks later, a third daughter, Helen Happiness, was born. (The baby was named in honor of Sister Lake, whose first name is Helen.)
For the Maturure family, Elder and Sister Lake were instruments in the hands of the Lord in working a mighty miracle. How could the Lakes have guessed before they left their home in Utah that they would have such a rich experience in faraway Zimbabwe?

Peter recalls serving as his father’s companion as a new home teacher during a particularly busy period in his father’s life. Elder Christofferson was working as corporate counsel and serving as stake president, but he still made time for teaching his children. “I was inspired by my father’s faithfulness in being a great home teacher, despite his having limited time,” Peter recalls. “One of the sisters we visited was a shut-in. Father cared for her tenderly, making sure that she always had the sacrament and that her needs were met.”

[One young man] and another Aaronic Priesthood holder were assigned to administer the sacrament to a man who was homebound and very sick. They arrived at his home not realizing that recent medical treatments prevented him from eating any food—even a piece of the sacrament bread. After blessing the bread, the young man presented the sacrament to the frail man. He took a piece of the blessed bread, waited a moment, and then held it against his lips. The young man said when he saw this faithful brother express his reverence for the sacrament, he felt as though he were watching him kiss the feet of the Savior. He could tell that he loved Him.
The significance of the sacrament was impressed upon that young man in an unforgettable way that day. You will have sacred experiences, just as this young man did.

I was baptized on 20 December 1995. Before I was baptized, I read the Questions and Answers section of the Liahona (English) in the November 1995 issue, entitled “I Don’t Feel the Spirit. Is There Something Wrong with Me?” I was touched because I also hadn’t felt the Spirit during Church meetings. But after I read the readers’ answers and testimonies, I tried harder to listen to the sacrament meeting speakers and I felt the Spirit as I never had before. I now make an effort to become interested in what speakers have to say in Church meetings.
Lorna Penuliar,La Trinidad Second Ward, Baguio Philippines Stake

Dear Reed or Elder May,
I miss you. I miss you very much! I miss you, very, very much! Do I have to call you Elder May, or can I still call you Reed? I’m glad that you got out of the empty sea. I was worried about you drowning or something. When I asked her, Mom laughed and said that you were fine there, but I was still worried.
I have something that I want to tell you. But maybe I’d better not tell you.
Please write a letter just to me.
Love,Brad
Dear Buddy,
I miss you, too—very much! When I think of how much you will grow and change in two years, sometimes it makes me a little sad that I can’t be there with you. But I know that I’m doing the right thing by going on a mission. Besides, the elders here who are almost ready to go home all say that two years zoom by so fast that you can hardly believe it.
To answer your question, yes, you can still call me Reed instead of Elder May. But do I have to start calling you Brad now, or can I still call you Buddy?
Buddy, I have to admit that I was puzzled for a long time about what you meant by the “empty sea.” Then yesterday I told Elder Watts, my companion, that you were worried about me in the empty sea, and all of a sudden it came to me! Where I was, was not the empty sea, but the MTC. That stands for Missionary Training Center. That’s where I learned about being a missionary and how to teach people the gospel.
The MTC was a good experience, but I’m glad to be in the mission field now. The members here are friendly, and some of them help us a lot. We are teaching some great families. Elder Watts is a hard worker, and we spend a lot of hours trying to find people who want to learn about the restoration of the gospel and the Church.
Write to me again soon. I want to keep in touch and know everything that happens to you, kind of like our talks in the dark across the bedroom as we were going to sleep. Only now we will have our talks by writing letters.
And remember, you can tell me anything, just like always.
Love,Reed
Dear Reed,
It was awesome to get my very own letter from you. I’ll keep writing to you, if you’ll keep writing to me. But I still miss you very, very much! Nobody else calls me Buddy, but you can because I will always be your buddy.
Last night was our second grade Spring Sing. Everyone was there but you. Even Grandpa Richards was there, and your girlfriend Kelly. She says that she misses you very much, but I know that she doesn’t miss you as much as I do.
After the Sing we went to get ice-cream cones, and we talked about you. Mom and Dad said that you seem grown-up now. Natalie and Rachel said that they’re proud to be the sisters of a missionary. Scooter didn’t say anything because he’s too young.
I ate two scoops on my cone, one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of your favorite, pralines-and-cream. I did it for you.
I still have something I need to tell you, but I’m still afraid to tell you.
Love,Buddy
Dear Reed,
I know that I just wrote to you yesterday, but I have to write to you again today. If you were home, we could talk about it, but you’re not here.
Last night Melissa came to our house. She brought chocolate chip cookies that she made. She gave me a big hug and said that I look just like a little Reed, like somebody took you and let some of the air out. She’s pretty! Anyway, she says that she misses you very much.
Tell me, Reed, does Melissa know about Kelly? Does Kelly know about Melissa? What am I supposed to do with all your girlfriends? What if they both come over at the same time?
I told Melissa that she should send some chocolate chip cookies to you. I can’t tell you what she said because she wants it to be a surprise. If I can figure out a way to do it, I’ll send you some pralines-and-cream ice cream too.
Maybe next time I’ll tell you my secret problem.
Love,Buddy
(To be continued)

Eli looked at the pile of homework his friend had dropped off after school. Eli had missed another week of school because of an ear infection.
That evening Eli’s parents came into his room. His mom sat on the side of Eli’s bed and took his hand. “Eli, the doctor thinks you need an operation,” she said.
“What kind of operation?”
“He wants to put tubes in your ears to keep you from getting more infections,” Mom said. “It won’t hurt, and you’ll be out of the hospital in a day.” She squeezed his hand.
Eli trusted his parents. But the idea of having an operation scared him. He thought about the story he had heard in Primary about Joseph Smith. When Joseph was seven years old, the bone in his leg became infected. The infection got worse until the doctor decided that he must remove part of the bone or Joseph might lose his leg or even die.
Eli thought about Joseph’s courage and faith in his father. “Can I have a blessing, Dad?” he asked. Eli knew a priesthood blessing could help him. At the beginning of the school year, Eli’s father had given him a blessing.
“That’s a great idea,” his father said.
Eli’s mother folded her arms and bowed her head. Eli felt his father’s hands on his head. His father’s voice grew in confidence as he blessed Eli that he would not be scared and that he would recover completely.
When the blessing was over, Eli was no longer afraid. “I can have the operation now,” he said.
Three days later he went to the hospital and returned home the next day. The ear infections soon stopped, and Eli quickly made up the schoolwork he had missed.
Eli was grateful that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that he could be blessed through the priesthood.

“Lowell, can you stay a few minutes after class? I’d like to talk to you,” Mr. Taylor, my tenth-grade history teacher, asked. He addressed me directly, which drew the attention of the other students, something I didn’t want, but I answered with a reluctant nod that I would stay.
My schoolwork had suffered in the past few weeks. My sense of self-worth had practically disappeared, and I had developed an inferiority complex. I had a bad case of acne and had become self-conscious because of the blemishes on my face. There was no way I could hide them. I imagined everyone was looking at me and saying, “Look at that ugly, pimple-faced kid.” I didn’t feel there was any place for me, in or out of school.
I tried not to associate with anyone. What did it matter if I didn’t get good grades in school or participate in the sports I used to enjoy? Even my church duties became unimportant.
I felt especially bad about letting my grades drop off in history because I liked Mr. Taylor. He wasn’t a trained philosopher or psychologist, just a good teacher who was genuinely concerned about his students.
I stayed in my seat when the others left the classroom. Mr. Taylor came and sat in a desk opposite me.
“Lowell, your schoolwork has fallen off lately. You have gone from a B student to a D. But I don’t care about that as much as I care about what’s happening to you.” He paused, waiting to hear a comment from me, then continued.
“Maybe we could find a solution to get you back on track. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you,” he said.
“Mr. Taylor, you see this acne on my face. I want to stay away from people. I don’t want anyone to see me. I really want to do as well as I can in school, but I don’t want to draw attention to my looks.” I stopped and waited for Mr. Taylor to speak.
“Do you think Coach Forsberg would say, ‘That kid has pimples, so he can’t play for me.’ No. If you can’t play for Coach Forsberg, it will be because you don’t put forth the effort. Do you think Coach Worthington is not going to let you high jump because your face doesn’t look just right? He doesn’t care if your nose is in the back of your head, as long as you are a good high jumper and can help the team,” said Mr. Taylor.
“Do you think if you work hard in my class and earn an A or a B, I’m going to say, ‘That kid has acne, so I’ll give him a D?’ Absolutely not, nor will any of your other teachers,” Mr. Taylor finished.
I gave what he told me a lot of thought. With my present self-conscious attitude, I wasn’t realizing any of my goals. I left the classroom with a determination to raise my head a little higher and test out his ideas.
I wasn’t a great football hero, but I made the team. I high jumped in track, and my grades improved. I even did my church duties again. I wasn’t a loner anymore. I had friends.
I was still conscious of my appearance, but I wasn’t letting it rule my life.
“Let what’s on the inside outshine what’s on the outside, and you’ll come out a winner,” Mr. Taylor used to say.
Thanks, Mr. Taylor.

Student: In ninth grade, my brothers asked me why I go to seminary and what’s so important about it. I showed them my scripture mastery cards. My brother was in third grade at the time. He went through his scriptures and marked all the scripture mastery scriptures. He asked me why those were important, and I said those were the ones we were asked to memorize. He started studying and learning them. It gave him a head start later on.

Illustration by Kevin Keele
The smell of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies started filling the house. Nathan caught the scent and ran as fast as he could toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Mom was pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven.
“You made cookies!” he said. He couldn’t wait to taste one. Mom’s cookies were the best.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Some are for us, and some are for Michael. I want to send him a care package.”
Nathan nodded in excitement. Michael would be so happy to get a box of Mom’s cookies out on his mission.
“Awesome idea! Can I put something in the care package?” he asked.
“Of course,” Mom answered.
Mom handed Nathan a cookie. He thanked her and started nibbling on the treat—so tasty!—while heading to his room. He wanted to search through his things for the best gift to send.
It had to be just right. Wrapping little presents and giving them to friends and family was one of Nathan’s favorite things to do. Sometimes he’d draw a picture and wrap that. Other times he’d give away an eraser. You never knew when you might need an eraser.
Nathan kept thinking as he finished his cookie. Would Michael want a small toy? Maybe. How about a nice pen? Possibly. A pen could be useful to a missionary.
Then his eyes landed on a two-inch flashlight that could fit right in your pocket. Any missionary would love such a cool flashlight. It would be the perfect gift! Nathan wrapped the flashlight and took it to Mom, who slid it into the care package.
A few days later Dad gathered the family. “I have some news,” he said. “Michael’s mission has been hit by a hurricane.”
Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. That sounded bad! Was Michael OK?
Mom held up a hand. “He’s fine. Nobody has to worry. The worst that happened to Michael was that the power went out. But I want to tell you something he said in his letter.”
Nathan let out a sigh of relief. Michael wasn’t hurt. But still, a hurricane! He leaned forward, listening closely.
“Michael said that our care package arrived about an hour before the storm hit. He said he appreciated the cookies.”
Nathan smiled. He knew Michael loved Mom’s cookies almost as much as he did.
“But then he mentioned something else. The flashlight he keeps in case of an emergency was packed deep in a closet. He wasn’t able to find that flashlight when the power turned off and everything went dark.” Tears started forming in Mom’s eyes as she continued. “However, that wasn’t such a big problem for Michael. Does anybody want to guess why?”
Nathan thought for a second. Then a smile spread across his whole face. “My flashlight!”
Dad nodded. “Yes, Nathan. The flashlight you sent your older brother was the only light he had during that big storm. He was so grateful you sent it.”
Nathan thought about how scary it would be to go through a hurricane without any light. He was so glad he’d been able to help his big brother. Nathan felt warm inside, happy that he’d made a difference.
Now all he had to do was figure out what to send the next time Mom put together a care package!

I love to read books that show temples from around the world. When I had a friend ask me about temples, I knew that my explanation wasn’t enough to help her understand. So I brought my books on temples and showed her what the temple is, the purpose of the temple, and how thankful we are to visit the temple. I decided to invite her to church on Sunday, where the missionaries and Sunday School teachers could help her learn more.
Jessica A., age 18, Indonesia

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter military service in World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Mine was the task to telephone President Paul C. Child, my stake president, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures, and it was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. As I knew from others of his rather detailed and searching interviews, our telephone conversation went something like this:
“Hello, President Child. This is Brother Monson. I have been asked by the bishop to visit with you relative to being ordained an elder.”
“Fine, Brother Monson. When can you see me?”
Knowing that his sacrament meeting time was 4:00 and desiring minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge to his review, I suggested, “How would 3:00 be?”
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures. Could you please come at 2:00 and bring with you your personally marked set of scriptures?”
Sunday finally arrived, and I visited President Child’s home. I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. He said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood.” Of course, I knew that. He continued, “Have you ever had an angel minister to you?”
My reply, “I’m not sure.”
“Do you know,” said he, “that you are entitled to such?”
Came my response: “No.”
Then he instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels …”
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then in a calm, kindly tone, he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels. Now continue the passage.”
I recited from memory the remainder of the section. President Child said, “Splendid.” He then discussed with me several other sections of the Doctrine and Covenants pertaining to the priesthood. It was a long interview, but I have never forgotten it. At the conclusion, President Child put his arm around my shoulder and said, “You are now ready to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Remember that the Lord blesses the person who serves Him.”

When I turned 18, I was definitely happy about it. What teenager isn’t? Sure, I was still in high school, still had acne, and still had to do chores around our family’s house in California, USA, but I was an adult. I was entering a whole new stage of life, and I was excited about it. What I wasn’t exactly excited about was the idea of being with all the “old ladies” in Relief Society. They had kids and careers and Crock-Pots and probably liked to bake pies in house slippers. I had homework and swim meets and blue nail polish and liked to avoid cleaning my room for as long as possible. How could I possibly relate to anyone there? I was sure it was going to be awkward, lonely, and boring. And then I went.
First of all, Relief Society wasn’t at all boring. There was a ton of smiling and laughter. They shared interesting and heartfelt comments, but they weren’t afraid to laugh either. Second of all, they weren’t that different from me. Sure, they were older than me, but they were joking around with each other the same way my friends and I did. More than once, someone asked the exact question I had been wondering. And when they announced the enrichment meeting that week, I was shocked. They were learning self-defense! I wanted to do that!
I was super nervous when Sister Larsen, the Relief Society president, asked me to stand and introduce myself, but that wasn’t bad either. Everyone was beaming at me. Sister Edwards, my sophomore seminary teacher, gave me a thumbs-up, and Sister Richards, who remembered me from Primary, said she couldn’t believe I was already “all grown up.” And they really treated me like I was “all grown up.” I felt like a little kid playing dress-up, but to most of the women that day, I was a new sister.
Since then, I’ve loved Relief Society, no matter what ward I’m in. As soon as I walk into a Relief Society room, I can feel it: that sisterly bond and sense of belonging. I love doing my best to uplift my Relief Society sisters and learning all I can from them.
And as it turns out, I’m pretty good at baking pies.