Gospel Story Finder

As the day for the high school’s Sixties Dance approached, the Seminary Friends decided it would be fun to attend with their seminary partners. The group got together and made tie-dyed T-shirts, then organized van rides for the group of 24.
The evening was a success. The students jumped up and down together for the fast songs and held hands and danced in a big circle for the slow songs. Everyone had a good time.
For the special-needs students, the dance was a first, and their reactions were particularly enthusiastic. “My favorite thing was dancing with the boys,” says Jané Peart.
“It was my first date, but there were many, many girls,” signs Timothy Smith. “I like it because I’m a good dancer.”
“It was so fun to see Timothy smile and laugh and dance,” says Aundi Robison, one of the Seminary Friends. She is learning sign language to better communicate with her special-needs partner. “Timothy flexed his muscles for the girls. I’ve never seen him laugh so much.”

When our children were young, we moved into a small house with a beautiful yard. On either side of the front door were two empty flowerbeds, and though my gardening experience was limited, I was excited to plant flowers there. I bought a gardening book and ordered plant and seed catalogs and studied them carefully.
Over the next few months I planned my garden, prepared the soil, and planted more than 200 bulbs. I knew it would be a few more months before I would see any results, but still I checked the garden often for growth. In early spring my flowers started to bloom, beginning with tiny purple irises and then daffodils. By the middle of spring my flower boxes were filled with a splendid display of tulips. I loved my garden, and I often sat on the front steps just to look at the flowers.
One afternoon our four-year-old daughter, Emily, had a friend over to play. Just before her friend’s mother came to pick her up, the girls struggled in through the kitchen door, their arms filled with heaps of tulips. “Look what we’ve brought you,” they said happily. They had picked nearly every bloom.
Tulips bloom only once a year. I was heartbroken—all that work, all that waiting. We filled my vases with flowers and sent the rest home with Emily’s friend. Later, as I complained to my mother about the disaster, she said, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re raising children and not flowers.”
I realized that I needed to change my perspective. I remembered the Primary song I had sung with my girls about gathering flowers:
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower.1
I saw the ruin of my garden, but two four-year-old girls saw a gesture of love.
Planting a flower garden had required patience, and stepping back and looking at this incident through my child’s eyes required even more patience. But learning patience as a mother draws me closer to the Lord.

Still another teacher taught me that the ultimate discovery in growing up is the discovery of oneself, when one comes face-to-face with his own limitations and, simultaneously, has his eyes opened to his talents.
Ellis “Red” Wade helped me make this discovery. He tested my manual skills (and his patience) by having me construct a piano stool and hall tree in a year of shop work. I labored endlessly. Nothing would fit together or vaguely resemble the paper sketches. It was apparent that building things with my hands was not one of my endowments. When I took my handiwork home, Mother positioned my hall tree behind a door where it served a purpose without being seen. My dad, I think, used the piano stool in milking the cow.
Fortunately, Mr. Wade could see I possessed physical skills and coordination. He taught me to respect my body and to strive toward athletic goals. He, and later Coach Staples, transfused me with the desire to strive for excellence in various forms of competition. This was not done in a lopsided fashion. They were always advocates of balance between physical and mental pursuits. I thank them for helping me follow this inspired direction: “Let no man despise thy youth; … Neglect not the gift that is in thee … Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them; that thy profiting may appear to all” (1 Tim. 4:12, 14–15).

You are not too young to gain a testimony and bear it. In a stake conference we called on a young lady to speak. She had just returned from the Hill Cumorah pageant. She bore a fervent testimony. After she finished we called on 17-year-old Gary. He looked surprised when his name was called. He unwound his full six feet and came to the pulpit. His first words were, “I don’t know why the president called on me; I don’t even have a testimony” (referring, evidently, to the testimony borne by the young lady). For several minutes he spoke about seminary, he expressed gratitude for his family, then said: “I know the gospel is true, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

The brothers seldom separated; their desire to be together continued until the end. Only a few days before Joseph and Hyrum were taken to Carthage, Joseph asked Hyrum to leave, with his family, for Cincinnati, Ohio, where he would be safe. Hyrum rarely refused Joseph’s requests, but on this occasion he did, saying, “Joseph, I can’t leave you.”
Joseph once said about Hyrum, “I love him with that love that is stronger than death.” In the end their love did carry them to death together. On June 27, 1844, while they were being held as prisoners in the Carthage jail, a mob stormed into the building and murdered Hyrum. Seeing his brother fall, Joseph exclaimed, “Oh, dear brother Hyrum!” Then, just minutes later, he, too, fell dead, also a victim of the mob’s gunshots.

My sister Rylee is allergic to nuts. If she eats any, they can make her stop breathing. One night we ate some salt water taffy, not knowing that some of the pieces had nuts in them. Rylee’s mouth started burning. Mom gave her some medicine, but it didn’t help. Next, Rylee’s throat started to burn, and she couldn’t swallow. Then her chest started to burn. It soon became hard for her to breathe.
Dad was out of town, so he wasn’t around to give her a blessing. Mom decided to call 911. The operator told her to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
My sisters Kelsey and Haley and I were really worried about Rylee. We knelt on the kitchen floor and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father not to let Rylee die. Soon the paramedics arrived, but Rylee was already doing better. Mom was really surprised at her recovery.
Later, after everyone had left, we told Mom about our prayer and asked if she thought it had helped. She told us that it was probably the reason why Rylee was all right. I am grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Mason Cate, age 4, with help from his familyLayton, Utah

In September I was invited to give a talk about my conversion at Stake Conference. I was so nervous, but I knew that I had the Holy Spirit with me and I knew that what I was about to say was true. At university I studied Egyptology and Ancient History, and the knowledge I acquired has helped to strengthen my testimony regarding the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have been able to find many links between the Book of Mormon and the civilisation of ancient Egypt.

On the day of my baptism I was nervous – not about the decision that I had made to become a member of the church, nor about my belief in our Saviour Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon – but because I was worried about being fully immersed in water. However, I should not have worried. I cannot adequately describe the feeling I felt as I was immersed and raised out of the font feeling clean, fresh, pure and rebuilt. As I was confirmed I could feel the Holy Spirit at work. I had a tingling sensation down my spine, I felt calm, strong, and galvanised. I still feel the Holy Spirit with me, especially when I study the scriptures and pray to Heavenly Father. When the Holy Spirit is near I feel goosebumps on my arms and legs, and this sensation gives me comfort, and I know that I will never be alone.

My life has changed dramatically since my baptism. I continued with my weekly lessons with the missionaries to help further my knowledge and understanding of the Book of Mormon. I have spoken publicly regarding my testimony and I have written an article for the Liahona.
I love going to sacrament meetings every week, I have joined the choir and I defy anyone not to leave a Sunday service with a big smile across their face and a feeling of empowerment for the week ahead. I have repaired the relationships within my biological family, but I have also gained a new ‘church family’ and I have a genuine love for the brothers and sisters in my ward.
I am a much happier and far less stressed person since becoming a member of the Church. Everyone has noticed and commented on it, and I am so happy that my husband decided to be baptised too. I look forward to our future – serving in the church, participating in ordinances, attending the temple, and being sealed to my husband for all eternity.
The gospel has transformed my life and for the first time in a long time I am hopeful and excited to see what Heavenly Father has planned for me.

At the age of 16, Judy Potter’s hobby, letters to pen pals throughout the world, brought something quite unique to her home in Coventry, England.

“I had pen friends in many faraway places, like Trinidad, Australia, and Hong Kong,” says Judy, “but the country which fascinated me most was America. When the International Friendship Association sent me the name of Tammi Fawcett (now Gilson) from Utah, I was thrilled.”

Judy soon found out Tammi was a Latter-day Saint. “My curiosity was roused,” Judy admits, “and I asked plenty of questions. She always had plenty of answers.”

But the most exciting event for Judy was a gift Tammi sent—a one year’s subscription to the New Era.

“I was absorbed from the first copy,” Judy says. “In fact, I’ve never stopped renewing that subscription. I was having all sorts of problems in my life, and every story, or article, seemed just for me.”

She smiled, adding, “Like adjustment into the adult world after leaving school that year. I felt so small and helpless. The New Era helped me realise each person is unique, with a definite purpose in life.”

One day she was reading about an activity called Mutual. “I immediately wrote asking Tammi what it meant,” Judy continues. “As soon as her reply came, I telephoned the Coventry Chapel to ask more. The custodian invited me down that night. Much to my own surprise (for I was terribly shy then), I agreed to go.”

Judy describes her introduction to the Church with peaceful satisfaction. “It was such a special feeling,” she says, “like fitting exactly. I’d been brought up to believe that the Church of England was a good place to go, but was never encouraged to attend, so my desire for religion always hovered below the surface.”

Judy was so touched by the welcome and love received from Coventry Ward members, young and old alike, that her confidence rose and progress flourished.

After three months of lessons from sister missionaries, she was baptised. One month later, her parents too entered the waters of baptism.

When Judy wrote to Utah, telling Tammi of her new happiness, rejoicing spread from one side of the Atlantic to the other.

One of my friends is very special, and I call him Cheep. My younger brother, Craig, has a special friend too. He calls him Cheepest. Both of our praying mantis friends like to play with us and crawl on our hands and arms. One day when I was holding Cheep he jumped onto my face. That really tickled! I wanted to take him off, but my Dad said, “Wait!” He wanted to take a picture of him.
It was very hard to hold still with Cheep on my face. I blinked hard and shut my eyes tight. “Hurry up, Dad!” I shouted. But Dad seemed to be enjoying watching me and wanted to get more pictures. “Hold still, Keith,” he cautioned. “Just a couple more minutes.”
By now I was starting to sweat a lot. Finally Cheep crawled over my forehead and did a Tarzan swing from one lock of my hair to another. He’s a real strange guy.
You probably wonder where all of our praying mantises come from. Well, in the fall the large ones lay lots of eggs on our trees and the walls of our house. Then in the spring when they first feel the warm rays of the sun, they begin to hatch. Every day we check to see if they’ve started hatching, so we can watch them and take pictures of them. This is really fun! First one will come out of the egg case and then another. They stretch and squirm to get out, and then they rest in the sun until they feel brave. Sometimes fifteen or twenty of them will be resting by an egg case when we find them. When they see us, they run away.
Once when Grandma and Grandpa Wakefield were visiting us from Minnesota, we watched some eggs that were hatching on the wall of our house. Right beside the egg case a spider had built a nest; and whenever a small mantis came out, the spider would dash over and bite him, spin him up in a web like a mummy, and pull him over to his nest. I wanted to squash that spider, but Grandpa said that spiders need to live too.
The little mantises that aren’t eaten by spiders run off to live in our flower beds and garden. There they sit very quietly until an even smaller insect comes by that they can catch and eat. As they get bigger, their appetites get bigger too, and they crawl out of their old skins and grow new ones. When they are full grown they are two or three inches long. Once we saw one of these big ones catch a stinkbug on some vines near our house. And another time we saw one catch a honeybee that was eating an old pear that had fallen off our pear tree. It was kind of scary.
In the fall, after they have laid their eggs, the big mantises die. That’s what my dad said he read in a book, anyway. But one time we found some that had lived over the whole winter in the vines by our house. I think that they must have hibernated.
We always try to be nice to our praying mantis friends, because they eat a lot of bad insects that hurt our garden. They are also fun to study and write stories about.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked his big sister, Jessica.
“Writing a thank-you to Grandma for my birthday present.”
“I want to write one too.”
“You don’t know how to write yet,” Jessica said. “Besides, you write thank-yous to someone who gives you a present, and it wasn’t your birthday.”
“Oh,” said Nate, rolling his tongue around in his cheek. Then he started to grin. “I know someone I can make a thank-you for. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, Nate dumped crayons, markers, and a big sheet of plain white paper on the table.
“Now what are you doing?” Jessica sighed, moving over.
“Making a thank-you picture. I can’t write, but I can draw.”
“Who are you thanking?”
“It’s a surprise.” Nate picked up a yellow crayon, drew a round sun, and colored it in. Then he used markers to make a red house with two blue windows and a door.
Jessica peered at it. “I know who that picture’s for. It’s for Dad.”
“No,” said Nate, smiling. He drew his black cat, Pepper, and the swing hanging from their big oak tree.
“I bet that picture’s for Mom,” Jessica said.
“Nope.” Nate picked up a blue crayon. He colored birds flying in the sky, and the pond next to their house.
“I’m done,” said Jessica, putting her note into an envelope. “Now I have to write Grandma’s address on it and send it.”
“I’m done, too,” said Nate, coloring a frog by the pond.
“I bet that picture’s for your kindergarten teacher,” Jessica said.
“No,” Nate said. “It’s for someone who gives me different things every day. It’s a thank-you picture for Heavenly Father.”
Jessica smiled. “You’re right, Nate. He does give us all kinds of presents.”
“Do you think he likes my thank-you picture?”
“Sure he does. Everyone likes it when you say thank you.”
Nate smiled. “Help me hang my picture up for Heavenly Father to see. Then I’ll help you mail yours.”

I’m an average 16-year-old high school junior. I’m on the pom squad, I work in the mall, and I am on the Bishopric Youth Committee. I keep the Word of Wisdom, attend church regularly, and have a strong testimony. But there are some things I’ve never put a whole lot of emphasis on—like not swearing. I was always careful never to use the Lord’s name in vain, and I didn’t by any means swear as a regular course of conversation. But if I occasionally said a “bad” word, I never really stressed over it.
That was until this past summer when I became close friends with someone who was very careful never to swear. By just spending so much time with her I got in the habit of not swearing, which presented an interesting problem when school started again. My drama teacher gave a friend and me dialogue to learn for a forensics competition, dialogue that contained some profanity. So whenever my friend and I ran through it together, I modified my lines to avoid having to swear.
A few weeks later, we had to perform this dialogue in a school assembly. When we did, I modified my lines as I always had, and my friend delivered hers as they were printed. I didn’t think twice about it until I was talking to another nonmember friend later that day who told me something very interesting. After about the third word I had obviously changed, this person commented about how my church must mean a lot to me if I was going to go out of my way not to use profanity.
When she told me that, I was taken by surprise. I know everyone knows I’m LDS, and I know they watch to see how I live my life. But I didn’t think something like altering a few lines to eliminate bad language could have so much importance. My friend said what I had done really made an impression.
It also taught me that everything counts. Each commandment has a purpose and is important. I’d hate to think that someone’s connection or indirect introduction to the gospel of Jesus Christ was a negative one because of something I did. I now know more than ever that leading by example is a great way to share the precious truths I’ve been given.

Little Evaline Burdick sat on the floor of her family’s small log cabin in Kirtland, Ohio. It was wash day, and there were clothes and bedding hanging outside on the line and drying on the lawn. She played happily while her mother tended to the washing.
Evaline saw a tall, handsome man with sandy hair walk up the steps of their front porch and enter the open door of their cabin. He greeted her mother and then picked Evaline up. He held her in his left arm and crossed the room to a large mirror. They both looked in the mirror and smiled at each other. Gently he set her back on the floor and asked where her father was.
When the kind man left the room, Evaline’s mother called her over and told her that the man was Joseph Smith, a true prophet of the Lord. What a good man he was! Evaline would never forget that experience.

I recall in my own ministry joining with members of the Holladay Seventh Ward in the spring of 1956 as we gathered on the hillside near Mount Olympus. Under the direction of our stake president, G. Carlos Smith, we broke ground for the construction of a new ward building. At the time the ward was created, we had a total of 373 members. As I recall, more than half of them were under the age of twelve. I served as second counselor to Bishop William Partridge. Under his leadership this little band of people proceeded immediately to build a three-phase ward building.
The ward was divided in 1958, and I was named bishop of the Holladay Twelfth Ward. In those days, local members paid 50 percent of the cost of constructing a building. One of the most important leadership experiences in my life came several weeks before the announced dedication of the building. Our ward of young families, who were struggling to make ends meet, needed to raise the final $30,000 required to pay our share of the cost. I fasted and prayed, asking for help from Heavenly Father to know what I should say to our ward members regarding this obligation. We already had pressed them very hard, and they had willingly contributed money and personal labor beyond anything I believed possible. But still we needed to raise the last $30,000.
As the brethren gathered for priesthood meeting, I was impressed to read to them the testimony my Grandfather Ballard bore to the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve on January 7, 1919, the day he was ordained an Apostle. I quote just a small portion of his testimony.
The Spirit of the Lord touched our hearts. Very little else was said because this small group of faithful people also knew in their own way that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that He is our Savior and our Redeemer. We all knew that with greater faith in Him, we could reach our goal. During that same day, family after family came to my office with money, making personal sacrifices that were far beyond what I, the bishop, would ever have asked of them. By eight o’clock Sunday evening, the ward clerk had written receipts for a little more than $30,000.
Sacrifice truly brought forth the blessings of heaven to the members of our ward. Never have I lived among people who were more united, more caring, more concerned for one another than these ward members were when making their greatest sacrifice. In the midst of this effort, the sick of our ward were healed through priesthood blessings. The youth committed to live righteously. The young men set their goals to be fully worthy to serve missions, and most of them did; and the young women resolved to settle for nothing but a worthy temple marriage. Sisters of the Relief Society found great joy in rendering compassionate service to others, and home teaching and visiting teaching were completed every month in the spirit of joy and service. In the midst of our greatest sacrifice, our ward members became bonded together in the true spirit of the gospel of love and service.

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
Each week as we partake of the sacrament, we covenant and promise that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. If we are willing to do so, we are promised that most wonderful blessing—that His Spirit will always be with us.
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.
The importance of having a good name is spoken of in Proverbs, where we read: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold” and “The [name] of the just is blessed.”
As I pondered these scriptures and the importance of having a good name, a flood of memories came into my mind about the good name and legacy my parents left my four brothers, my two sisters, and me. My parents did not have the riches of the world, nor did they have silver or gold. Nine of us lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath home with an enclosed back porch, where my sisters slept. When my parents passed away, my brothers and sisters and I gathered to divide their earthly possessions, which were few in number. My mother left a few dresses, some used furniture, and a few other personal items. My father left some carpenter tools, some old hunting rifles, and little else. The only things of any monetary value were a modest home and a small savings account.
Together we wept openly, giving thanks, knowing they had left us something much more precious than silver or gold. They had given us their love and their time. They had often borne testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, which we can now read in their precious journals. Not so much by words but more by their example, they had taught us to work hard, to be honest, and to pay a full tithing. They also engendered a desire to further our education, to serve a mission, and most important, to find an eternal companion, be married in the temple, and endure to the end. Truly they left us the legacy of a good name, for which we shall ever be grateful.

Illustrations by Mina Price
When Ian woke up, he heard his mother singing. It was “I Feel My Savior’s Love.” That was Ian’s favorite Primary song. He started singing along with her.
“You’re awake!” she said. She was smiling and had tears in her eyes. Ian saw his dad sitting next to her. He looked happy too.
“I’ve been singing your favorite songs to you every day,” Mom said.
Ian smiled back—but his head hurt. Actually, his whole body hurt, especially his leg.
He slowly looked around. He wasn’t at home. He was lying on a metal bed in a strange room. Then he saw a nurse and lots of other beds nearby. This must be a hospital, he thought.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
Mom’s face turned sad. “You were in a bad accident. A metal gate fell on you. You’ve been in the hospital for two weeks, but you are going to be OK.”
Two weeks! Wow, that’s a long time to be asleep, Ian thought. The last thing he could remember was being at the church building, practicing for the Primary program …
Oh no! The program!
“Did I miss the Primary program?” Ian asked. He had been looking forward to it for so long! He loved singing with his friends.
Mom smiled and shook her head. “No, you didn’t miss it. The ward decided to postpone it until you woke up so you could be part of it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Dad said. “All the Primary kids asked the bishop to wait. They wanted you to be there. They knew how excited you were for it.”
Ian was happy he could still be in the Primary program. But he had to get better first. And that took a long time. He had to stay in the hospital for a while longer. When he finally got to come home, he still couldn’t walk or play.
But his friends got to come visit him. Ian would ask them about school and church. And they would ask him when he was coming back.
“Not until my leg is better,” he would tell them. “I still can’t walk.”
October turned into November, and Ian slowly got better. One day his friends invited him to come over and watch a movie with them. Ian’s mom and dad helped get him there.
“Does your leg still hurt?” his friend Chaís asked him.
“Yes,” Ian said. “But it’s getting better little by little.”
“Can you walk yet?” Chaís asked.
“I haven’t tried today,” Ian said.
“Here, let’s try right now,” Chaís said. She helped him stand up. Carefully, Ian put his foot down. He moved his body forward. He was still standing! It was his first step in over a month! Everyone clapped.
“Maybe this means you can come back to church soon!” Chaís said.
She was right. In a few more weeks, Ian’s leg finally stopped hurting. The doctors took the cast off his leg and put on a brace instead. When Sunday came, it was time for the Primary program.
During sacrament meeting, Ian walked to the front of the chapel with his friends. He stood up straight and smiled at his mom and dad. He sang the songs as loud as he could. When it was his turn, he stood at the microphone and shared his testimony. He was grateful for his Primary friends. And he was glad he could be part of the Primary program after all.
Ian lives in the Dominican Republic. Go to pages 12–13 to learn about this country and see a picture of Ian!

Painting Yourself into a Corner
One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of re-sanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.
Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

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

Recently, on one of my trips at the Lagos airport, a registered taxi driver with the airport management who knew very well about the pick-up rules of the airport chose to violate the rules. He had the choice of picking passengers up at the official designated area or doing so at prohibited places. Rather than chose to exercise his agency wisely, he chose to use his agency wrongly and had his car impounded, his time wasted, his passengers disembarked, and his car dented.

My young friend whom I’ll call Lindsey needed hope. She lived in a home which was devoid of the Spirit and of love. Her friends were wild, and even most of her Young Women leaders looked on her only as a “project.” But deep inside she felt that the Lord loved her, despite her deplorable situation. She focused on always remembering Him. She chose not to participate with her friends when they did bad things. She tried to worship Heavenly Father in the privacy of her own bedroom because she wanted to feel His Spirit in her life. Something in her wanted to be good, to keep His commandments. Even with her limited knowledge and lack of outside help, she was trying to keep her baptismal covenants. She felt hope to carry on, and she felt love from Heavenly Father.

Like the Saints in Missouri, Lindsey knew that in spite of her deplorable conditions, Heavenly Father hadn’t given up on her. His love was firm. She took comfort in the “immutable covenant” of His love—that “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good” (D&C 98:3). As with Abraham, hers was not an easy path to walk, yet she pressed forward. As she did so, she found help. One special Church leader loved and guided her. She grew closer to Heavenly Father and eventually found a young man who loved her, taught her much about the gospel, and married her.

At last many of the blessings she had longed for earlier in life were poured out upon her. She found she could have the Spirit in her own family and raise righteous children. Where once she was isolated and neglected, she now feels enveloped by love. This has come from pressing forward while waiting patiently on the Lord. Being steadfast in Christ brought hope to Lindsey as it will to each of us as we struggle with life’s challenges. The words the choir sings tonight will encourage us to come unto Him:

When I was a young boy, I loved Saturday because everything I did on that day seemed like an adventure. But no matter what I did, it was always preceded by the most important thing of all—watching cartoons on television. One such Saturday morning, as I was standing by the television and flipping through channels, I discovered that the cartoon I expected to find had been replaced by a broadcast of the general conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. While looking at the television and lamenting that there was no cartoon, I saw a white-haired man in a suit and tie sitting in a nice chair.
There was something different about him, so I asked my oldest brother, “Who is that?”
He said, “That’s President David O. McKay; he’s a prophet.”
I remember feeling something and somehow knowing that he was a prophet. Then, because I was a cartoon-crazed young boy, I changed the channel. But I’ve never forgotten what I felt during that brief, unexpected revelatory moment. With a prophet, sometimes it only takes a moment to know.