Gospel Story Finder

Dear Miss A,Just a note to say hello and let you know of my love. I hope all is well.Love,Miss Antaloop
Julia folded up the note, then, in red marker, wrote, “Miss A,” in an extravagant, cursive style that didn’t resemble her own handwriting.
The bell rang, and the second grade classroom exploded in a frenzy of activity—backpacks zipped, desks slammed, and children noisily exited the room. Julia set the envelope on her teacher’s desk without being noticed and left with her classmates. She was determined that Miss Allen, or Miss A, as her second grade students called her, would have no clues about the mysterious Miss Antaloop.
A month earlier, Julia had overheard Miss A telling another teacher that she had nowhere to go for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Julia could not imagine a Christmas without family.
“I heard Miss A say she had nowhere to go for Christmas,” Julia told her mom after school. “Why doesn’t she go home to her family?”
“Julia, Miss Allen told me once that she was an only child, and I know that both of her parents have passed away. She probably doesn’t have any family to go to.”
Julia’s face twisted into a frown. “That’s so sad! Why, Miss A is the nicest, most wonderful teacher ever!” She paused, thinking. “Hey—can we be her family?”
“She is a very special teacher,” Mom agreed. “I’ve invited her to come to dinner before, when David was in her class. I also invited her to his mission farewell, but she didn’t come.”
That night Julia wrote her first letter to Miss A from the make-believe Miss Antaloop. Most of the students loved Miss A. But Julia wanted to find a way to show her that she was loved as a friend, not just as a teacher who might be forgotten. So she made up the character of Miss Antaloop. Julia wasn’t sure of Miss Antaloop’s age or background, but she knew that Miss Antaloop loved adventure and loved Miss A. The second letter established England as Miss Antaloop’s home.
Dear Miss A,I’ve heard all about you and what an incredible teacher you are. I was hoping we could be pen pals and friends. I’ve been in Italy, painting, and just moved to London to design jewelry for the Queen of England. You are pretty and a great teacher.Love,Miss AntaloopP.S. I’ve enclosed one of my latest jewelry designs. I hope you like it.
Julia carefully wrapped a bracelet she’d sculpted out of tinfoil in some tissues and placed it in a brown paper bag with the letter. The next morning she arrived at school early. She tiptoed into the main office, placed the brown sack in Miss Allen’s mailbox, and then ran out before she could be spotted.
Later that day, Miss A was wearing the silver foil bracelet.
“Hey, Miss A, where’d you get that silver thing?” Tommy asked.
“Why, it’s a bracelet all the way from England,” Miss A said with a big smile. Julia looked up from her spelling book with a start.
“Who gave it to you? Is it from a kid?”
Miss A put her finger to her lips, signaling Tommy to use his quiet voice.
“Is it from a kid?” Tommy repeated in a fierce whisper.
Julia swallowed.
Miss A’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s from a special friend,” she said. Since the first delivery, Julia had noticed her little gifts and letters appearing on Miss A’s bookshelf.
On the day before school was to close for the Christmas break, Miss A let the children share their holiday plans. Phillip was going sledding. Andrea was going to California to visit her grandparents. Tommy planned to eat all of the candy in his stocking in one day.
“What are you going to do, Miss A?” Andrea asked.
“I am going to spend my holiday at home.”
“Why don’t you come to my house?” Julia asked.
“And then come over to mine!” Phillip echoed. Suddenly the classroom broke out in a chorus of second-graders begging their teacher to join them for Christmas.
“You’re all very sweet,” said Miss A, “but you have your families to celebrate with and, as you’ve just told me, many activities planned. I’ll be right here by my desk at the first of January, waiting to see you and hear about all of your fun.”
The bell rang. As Julia walked slowly out of the room, Miss A said, “Good-bye, Julia. Merry Christmas!”
Julia’s house buzzed with Christmas preparations over the next few days.
While Julia helped wrap presents and bake food, she kept thinking of Miss A’s face as the different students described their holiday activities with their families. She had smiled, but her blue eyes had looked empty with loneliness. Julia decided to do something about it.
“David, David,” Julia whispered as she knocked on her brother’s bedroom door.
The door swung open, and David looked down at his little sister. “Hey, Jules, what’s up? Are you being a Christmas elf?”
“No,” Julia said. “I need help.”
David crouched down to look Julia in the face. “OK, Jules, what’s up?”
“I need you to help me—it’s very important. I want to deliver this to Miss A.” She held up a large white box. “Dad said you could take me.”
“What is it, Jules? I thought you already gave her a Christmas present.”
“I did, but this is a special present.”
David lifted the box lid to see the nativity scene that Julia had made with salt dough in Primary last year, nestled in tissue paper. Last year Julia had been so proud of it that she insisted that it be displayed in the living room.
“Your nativity set? But you love this.”
“I know.” Julia lovingly touched the Baby Jesus in the manger. “But I think Miss A feels lonely. I think she forgot that Jesus loves her.”
David smiled at the misshapen dough figures. “OK,” he said, picking up the box in one arm and Julia in the other. “Then let’s go, little elf.”
The car cut through the snowy, dark streets and stopped at a brown apartment building.
“I guess this is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is the address in the phone book,” David said. Julia looked doubtfully at the long staircase and dark windows.
“Jules, do you want me to do it?”
Julia’s face relaxed into a smile. “Will you?”
“Hand it over,” David laughed.
Julia straightened the bow so that “Merry Christmas from England! Love, Miss Antaloop” was visible. “Be careful, and run fast so she doesn’t see you,” she whispered.
Julia quickly changed into a Sunday dress and came down for the annual Christmas Eve family home evening. The family had just settled in the living room, when the doorbell rang. “Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Mom wondered aloud. Dad went to answer the door and returned, followed by Miss A.
“Miss A!” Julia ran up to her teacher.
“Miss Allen, what a wonderful surprise!” Mom said. “Come in.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I received a very special present this evening, and I had to come thank the person who gave it to me.”
“What … but … how did you know, Miss A?” Julia asked, embarrassed she’d been discovered.
Miss A smiled. “Julia, you must tell Miss Antaloop thank you for bringing some light into my Christmas.” She hugged Julia. “I had just sat down to watch a Christmas special on television, when the doorbell rang. I was surprised to find a present there and to open it and find such a beautiful reminder of the reason for Christmas!” Miss A’s eyes sparkled.
“Miss Allen, why don’t you take off your coat and stay. We’re going to have a little Christmas program, then dinner,” Mom said.
“Yes, please stay!” Julia begged.
“Come on, Miss A,” David chimed in.
“Well,” Miss A said. She looked around at the faces looking back at her with hopeful, welcoming expressions on them. Suddenly she did not want to return to her empty apartment. “OK—I will.”
“Hurray!” Julia cried.
“I’ll have to stay if I want to catch Miss Antaloop,” she whispered to Julia with a wink.
Julia smiled. She knew that Christmas wasn’t about make-believe friends. It was about love.

Another way we partner with God is by letting our light shine. Eighteen years ago, while I was serving as a bishop, a woman visited our ward for a Sunday worship. After the service, I invited her to meet in my office. During our discussion, a Primary child walked into my office, greeted the visitor, and gave me her tithing envelope, after which I proceeded to shake her hand and thank her. These few seconds with this faithful Primary child touched the visitor, and she began to ask questions about tithing and other doctrines of the Church. She later joined the Church and today serves as a stake Relief Society president—all because a Primary child was living the gospel.

Five cubs had been born to Red and Vixen only nine days ago. These young ones were still completely helpless, and their eyes were just beginning to open. Two of the cubs were the typical red color of their father; two were more of a cross like Vixen—reddish brown with a smoky stripe down the back and across the shoulders; and one had silver black fur sprinkled with white.
Red was now on his way back to his family, feeling rather smug after stealing some leftover meat that a wolf had cached for a future meal. Hunting was not usually so easy. As a matter of fact, when the snowshoe hare population was low and the marmots and ground squirrels were still in hibernation, death from starvation was a constant threat. As if that problem were not enough, a desperate lynx that depended on the hare for most of its diet might anytime add a red fox to its menu. But in recent years snowshoe hares had been plentiful in the north country, so Red had not noticed any extra attention from his lynx neighbors.
Another resident of the wilderness, however, lurked nearby. The clucking alarm and whirring wings of a willow ptarmigan were warning signals to Red. He stopped abruptly, forepaw in the air. His body was arrow straight, tense, ready to spring into action. Something was edging through the lodgepole pines. Suddenly a giant grizzly bear appeared. Its massive hump-shouldered body weighed almost a thousand pounds. The grizzly was one of the most ferocious of all wild animals.
The bear was headed toward the den of Red and his new family. Red couldn’t tell if the bear were aware of the den. But he knew that if the grizzly were not diverted before he had the scent of the cubs, they would be devoured.
Red was one of the smaller predators of the north country, but his intelligence, speed, and courage made up for his size. In a red blur of motion, the fox dashed out to meet the grizzly. He circled around the bear and then rushed in to nip at his heels. The bear turned and snarled. Red circled again and again, darting in and out as he went, teasing, taunting, challenging. He knew that he must draw the bear away from the den, so each time Red retreated from the savage claws of the grizzly, he backed a little farther away from Vixen and their cubs.
In one unguarded moment before the grizzly had completely turned, Red made a rushing leap and bit the bear on the rump. Snarling with rage, the grizzly lunged toward the little fox. The whole forest shuddered with the sound. But the agile fox dodged the lashing paw just in time, backing away in an effort to draw the grizzly still farther from the den.
By now the bear was breathing in hoarse huffs. He was rapidly losing his appetite for a red fox dinner. What may have once seemed like a good idea had become a painful, frustrating ordeal. With a resigned grunt, the grizzly turned and lumbered off into the pines.

All of the Authorities who are here tonight could testify that in the reorganization of stakes they have had remarkable and inspiring experiences. I recall being assigned to reorganize a stake about 40 years ago. The president had suddenly died. The Brethren asked me to go down and speak at the funeral and reorganize the stake. I had never done this before. I was new as a General Authority. I was to be all alone.
When I arrived, I was taken to another town, where I participated in the funeral service. I asked all of the stake officers and the bishops to remain after the service and announced that a reorganization of the stake would take place the next evening.
I asked the mission president to sit with me as I interviewed the brethren, none of whom I knew. We interviewed late into the evening. I soon discovered there were problems in the stake. There were divisive feelings. When we were all through, I said to the mission president, “I am not satisfied. Are there not others?” He said, “I know of only one man whom we have not interviewed. He moved here rather recently on a transfer in his company. He is the second counselor in a bishopric. I do not know him well. He resides in another city.”
I said, “Let’s go see him.” We drove and went to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Here I was, having interviewed all of these brethren and having not found one that I considered worthy to preside and having scheduled the reorganization for the next evening.
We arrived late at the hotel. I called the man; a sleepy voice answered the phone. I said that I wished to see him that evening. I apologized for calling him so late. He said, “I’ve just gone to bed, but I’ll put on my clothes and come.”
He came to the hotel. The conversation that followed was most interesting. He was a graduate of BYU in petroleum geology. He worked for a big oil company. He had served elsewhere in positions of responsibility in the Church. He knew the program of the Church. He had served a mission. He knew the gospel. He was mature in the Church. And the territory for which he was responsible as an employee of the oil company was exactly the same as the territory of the stake. I told him we would telephone him in the morning and excused him.
The mission president went on his way, and I went to bed.
At about three o’clock the next morning I awoke. Doubts began to flood my mind. This man was almost a total stranger to the people of the stake. I got out of bed and got on my knees and pleaded with the Lord for direction. I did not hear a voice, but I had a very distinct impression that said, “I told you who should be stake president. Why do you continue to ask?”
Ashamed of myself for troubling the Lord again, I went to bed and fell asleep. I phoned the man early the next morning and issued to him a call to serve as president of the stake. I asked him to select counselors.
That evening when people gathered for the meeting, there was much speculation as to who would be the stake president, but no one even thought of this man. When I announced his name, people looked at one another for a clue to discovering who he was. I had him come to the stand. I announced his counselors and had them come to the stand.
Even though they did not know him, the people sustained him. Things began to happen in that stake. The people had known for a long time that they needed a stake center, but they had been uncertain and argumentative as to where it should go. He went to work and within 18 months had a beautiful new stake center ready for dedication. He unified the stake. He traveled up and down, meeting the people and extending his love to them. That stake, which had grown tired, came to life and literally bubbled with new enthusiasm. It stands as a shining star in the large constellation of stakes in this Church.

I also remember a joint effort of my family with another friendly family. We provided care, comfort and food, for a relatively long period, to a single brother who had no family, and of whom it was being said was afflicted with a contagious disease. We found reasons to render a service to him instead of finding excuses to not come close to him. This act of love and service changed the life of this faithful member of the Church who now has raised a family.

I recall a particularly important crossroad—the decision to go on a full-time mission. I stood on that crossroad for a very, very long time. As I struggled to decide which road to take, my family, friends, and priesthood leaders came forward to take my hand. They encouraged and challenged me and offered countless prayers on my behalf. My full-time missionary sister wrote to me regularly and never gave up.

Even today, I am still carried on the shoulders of good men and women. I suspect that we all are. To some degree we all depend on each other to be able to make it back to our heavenly home.

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). This is the first scripture mastery verse I learned in my first year of seminary. After I memorized it, I tried to follow its teaching. I never knew who was watching me, but I wanted to set a good example for them. As I became good friends with my piano teacher, I learned that we can shine as bright as a candle and stand out in a group.
I’d begun practicing piano in kindergarten. After I finished sixth grade, my family moved to a different state, so I had to find a new music teacher. A friend at church suggested I take lessons from her instructor, Susan. At the time, Susan was teaching about 80 lessons a week and her schedule was very full. But she agreed to teach me and squeezed my piano lesson in right after school.
At each lesson, the first song I would practice would be a hymn. As I played, Susan sang the words and would often ask me questions about the scriptural meaning of the piece. This served as a great missionary opportunity. Susan and I had fun as we played duets and learned more about each other. I found out that she worked as the music director at her Catholic church. She always showed a great love for God, and I am glad we had such a strong relationship.
One day, Susan sent out invitations for a recital. At my lesson, she told me it would be our last performance. To her dismay, she had to close down her piano studio because our economic times hurt Susan financially and she knew she couldn’t pay the rent for her studio and keep her two other jobs going.
The night of the recital arrived and was filled with splendid talent and beautiful music. Before each student performed, Susan shared something unique about the person or information about the song he or she would play. As she stood before the audience to introduce me, she began to tear up. “I know that God sends certain people into our lives for a reason,” she began. She said she could see something bright and different about me. As she spoke about our friendship, I felt the Spirit strongly, and I could tell she felt it too. Then I played a duet with Susan for the finale of the recital.
The impact and importance of my lessons stretched far beyond improving my piano talent. There was a reason Susan chose to teach me even though she already had an overflowing list of students waiting for an open lesson. I know that because I tried to set a good example for Susan, she is now more familiar with the Church and its teachings. She has not given up her own religion to change faiths, but she knows about the restored gospel. I’m glad I could share my light with her.

In Hungary, when a class graduates from high school, we put on a grand ball. All teachers, parents, and friends are invited. The class members perform dances and give other presentations. When I graduated, I was asked to make such a presentation. I decided to play the piano. One of the two pieces I chose to play was a Church hymn. There are not many members of the Church in Hungary, so I didn’t expect any Church members to hear my performance.
The Sunday after the ball, a sister at church excitedly approached me, congratulated me, and told me that she, other Church members, and some investigators had heard me perform. Less-active members had also attended the ball and heard me play the hymn. The sister told me how wonderful it was to hear the hymn at an activity not sponsored by the Church and said that it had strengthened the testimonies of those who attended.
I learned that we never know when we are setting a good example and that even small actions can have a big impact on other people.

I spent three years in that ward where I had initially felt so uncomfortable. My last 18 months were a wonderful, fulfilling time. Sometimes I faced difficult trials, but I also felt an assurance that the Lord was mindful of me and that the painful experiences were for my growth.
By the time I left that ward, I not only felt loved, I also felt trusted and honored by the members there. I had had many humbling, spiritual experiences as well as opportunities to serve, to speak, and to teach. The ward had become a cherished family.
Julie remains a dear friend. Her gift for radiating light continues to touch my life and the lives of many others. Her example showed me how to reach for the Savior, the source of the light. And this has given me the means to lift and love and comfort many people. I believe that if I continue to progress, someday I, too, will be filled with his love and receive his image in my countenance.

After my friend Buddy was in a car accident, I didn’t see him for a while. I guess he didn’t want to see his friends because he had some scars on his face.
One day I decided to call him on the phone. He said if I saw him I wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore. “I’m ugly,” he said, and I could tell he was crying.
Before the car accident, Buddy had always been happy and fun to be around. Now he was sad and wanted to be alone.
Buddy’s birthday was coming up. He didn’t want a party. He didn’t want anybody to see him or stare at him. Mom told me that Buddy and his family prayed that Heavenly Father would help him to feel different about himself. He knew he was a child of God and that his family loved him, but he still didn’t want to see his friends.
Before I went to visit Buddy, I asked Heavenly Father how I could help my friend. On my way out of my bedroom I saw my rock collection on the shelf. Something told me to give Buddy the big quartz rock. The rock didn’t look like much on the outside, but it had bright crystals inside.
I wrapped the rock in blue paper and headed to Buddy’s house. He didn’t want to see me at first, but he finally told his mom it was OK. When I went in his room, he was wearing a bandana to cover part of his face. I handed Buddy his birthday gift. When he opened it, he just stared at the rock.
“Uh, thanks,” he said.
“It’s better than it looks,” I said. “Grab your dad’s hammer, and come outside with me.”
We went into Buddy’s backyard. I put the rock on the ground and hit it with the hammer. It broke open, and Buddy’s eyes widened with surprise. “Wow, cool!” he exclaimed as he saw the crystals inside glinting in the sun.
Then I realized why I had been prompted to give Buddy the rock. “It’s just like you,” I said. “People who know you don’t care what you look like on the outside. What’s important is your heart.”
Buddy didn’t say anything as he gazed at the quartz, but I could tell he was smiling under the bandana.
Buddy decided to have a birthday party with his friends, and he didn’t wear the bandana over his face. He was his old self again. He still had scars, but he didn’t mind and neither did we. We knew what was inside, and that’s what was important.

1 In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
2 I can’t do it, Sister Simon. Jason Edwards makes fun of me every day. How can I love him? I hate him!
3 Joshua, every commandment is given to us for our own good. Hate is a heavy burden to carry, and Jesus is inviting you to lay it down. But you’re trying to do the hardest part of the commandment first. Do you think you could start out by just praying for Jason?
I’ll try.
4 Please bless Jason, Heavenly Father. Help him stop being so mean. I mean, if he’s hurting somehow, please help him feel better.
5 Hey, Miller! Is it painful being that ugly?
Actually, I feel great, Jason. Thanks for asking, though.
6 What’s gotten into him?

It was Sunday, November 9, 1975, in Bountiful, Utah. The chapel was filled, and the doors into the overflow were opened. The echo of sliding chairs being set up in the cultural hall could be heard above the prelude music. It was because so many friends and family had come to rejoice with Elder Thorne in his sacred call from a prophet of the Lord—a call to serve for two years as a special witness for Christ to his brothers and sisters in Argentina. Just before the music stopped, Elder Thorne and his parents left the door where they had been shaking hands and made their way to the stand. All eyes were on them as they took the remaining seats just behind the pulpit. It was easy from where I sat to look over the audience and locate his proud grandmother and grandfather. This was an occasion for the entire family; they were all a part of this special event. His four younger brothers were smiling, probably because they would get to expand into Gale’s room as soon as he entered the mission home, or maybe because they anticipated how they would feel in just a few short years when they would respond to the call of a prophet.
In this setting I recalled the words of President Spencer W. Kimball:
“The gospel must go to all the world, to every creature, every clime, every people, every soul. It calls for an ‘all-out’ effort. This appeal is not for the rich nor for the poor, for the successful or the intelligentsia, but to every heart and mind in the world, to every corner of the earth. We are still far from our goal.”
This call to arms was given by a living prophet. He further stated, “We call for more missionaries, but we want more worthy missionaries and more able missionaries.” (Regional Representatives Seminar, October 2, 1975.)
I observed, in this large audience, an unusual number of young girls, many of them visitors to our ward. They brought with them the excitement and enthusiasm of youth. Their very presence added to the beauty and importance of the occasion. Among them I spotted the plain, the confident, the bashful; but common to each was the radiant, youthful expression of anticipation and commitment. I studied the expressions on the faces of several of these young women and followed their gaze resting upon Elder Thorne—the dark suit, the white shirt with the conservative tie, and the little-shorter-than-usual haircut.
The young women and young men in the audience represented a circle of friends bursting with pride and sharing the honor of one of their number. It was not hard to believe that in the heart of each one were the words, “I’ll go where you want me to go, and I’ll do what you want me to do.”
Since the girls were sitting in groups of twos and threes and fours, it appeared evident they were not competitors seeking the missionary’s attention. It was obvious that they too were part of the “all-out” effort spoken of by the prophet.
But what part did they play? What had their influence been in Elder Thorne’s preparation? In his closing remarks I began to sense the powerful influence friends had had on this young man who was spiritually mature beyond his years. After expressing gratitude for family and loved ones, and before his final testimony, he grasped the pulpit on either side and leaned forward. He dropped his head just a moment. Then, looking up, he quietly said, “And I give thanks to all my friends, especially you girls in the audience who have kept the standards and encouraged me to do the same.” His voice deepened as he continued, “Thank you for your influence that has helped me prepare for a mission.”
After the closing prayer there seemed to be a spontaneous gravitation as young men and women from all parts of the building quietly, with increasing power, moved forward until they encircled their young missionary friend. Without accompaniment their voices united in singing “God be with you till we meet again” like a prayer to heaven from the voices of living angels. The tears flowed freely from the eyes of these youth who had played a very vital part in helping to build a more worthy and a more able missionary.
In that moment I witnessed a power of love and support from friends that would serve as a reservoir of strength to each one of them in the days to come.
Leaving the chapel, I was driven by the desire to more fully understand how those young girls had been such a powerful part of the “all-out” effort. If it could be identified, it could be repeated over and over, and the results would be immeasurable. My search led me to many youth in many areas. The first responses were stated in a variety of ways, but the message was always the same.
“We don’t know what it is, but we can tell you what it isn’t.”
Tim said, “It isn’t just telling me that I ought to go on a mission, because I want to make that decision myself.”
After a few moments David, looking a little thoughtful, expressed himself this way: “Some girls say they won’t go with you if you don’t plan on going on a mission. It doesn’t seem to matter to some of them whether you are a good missionary or not, and that’s no help.”
Brent added, “A girl can talk to you about a mission, but when she starts to get close to a guy and influences him the wrong way, it is not what she says that counts.”
Bradley added, “A girl has a lot of influence, and if you like her, you try to do the things that impress her. If good things impress her, then that is what you try to do.”
In a tone of independence and conviction, David expressed these thoughts: “Some girls don’t even care if you go on a mission or not. I think they should care, but they shouldn’t try to force you, because when you are forced to do something, you just want to turn and go the other way. You want to use your own agency about something that important.”
It was Ross who said, “Occasionally I get the idea a girl is more concerned about what I ought to be doing than what she ought to be doing.”
Stan added, “If a girl is not willing to pay the price to do what she ought to be doing, then I think she is a hypocrite to be trying to tell me that I should go on a mission.”
Finally all of the comments about what it isn’t were expressed, and then, like nuggets of wisdom, I learned from many young men those truths that when understood and practiced by the young women of this church will be an influence of such power and magnitude as to affect for good every corner of this church and the entire world.
Young women of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, do the young men you associate with know that you have a standard of excellence from which you will not depart? Do they know by what you say and do that you honor and respect your parents and that you follow the counsel of the leaders of the Church? Do they know you will delay dating until after you are 16 because a prophet of the Lord has given that direction? By your actions do they know that you have made up your mind to be good and that you will not weaken? Can they look to your friendship to gain confidence and respect for themselves? Will your language, your dress, your choice of entertainment, music, books, and movies help the young men who associate with you develop admiration and respect for womanhood? As young men are exposed to the world’s distorted role of womanhood, can they see in you the refinement and sweetness that encourage an attitude of reverence, respect, and honor for that sacred calling?
Strange that I had not realized it before, but it is not as a young woman encourages a young man to go on a mission that her greatest influence is felt. Rather, it is through her actions as she reveals her commitment and testimony to the gospel of Jesus Christ and gives evidence through her power and influence in the advancement of good.
William George Jordan had this to say:
“Into the hands of every individual is given a marvelous power for good or evil—the silent, unconscious, unseen influence of his life. This is simply the constant radiation of what man really is, not what he pretends to be. … He can cultivate sweetness, calmness, trust, generosity, truth, justice, loyalty, nobility—make them vitally active in his character—and by these qualities he will constantly affect the world.” (As quoted by David O. McKay in April general conference, April 6, 1950, Improvement Era, May 1950, pp. 366–67.)
When a young man is encouraged by the example and testimony of his friends to do those things that are a magnification of his priesthood, preparation for a mission becomes one of those things. As a young woman begins to comprehend and accept her responsibility to her own mission in life, she becomes a powerful influence in the life of the young men who associate with her. They are encouraged by her example to attain their goals as she begins to prepare for her ultimate destiny.
Girls who are filling their own lives with righteousness, who are developing a taste for all that is good and wholesome, who are learning skills for successful womanhood and motherhood, radiate the light of God. Young men feel this light when they are in the presence of noble young women. The nobility within them is awakened. A yearning to be worthy to be the eternal companion of a noble daughter of God is kindled. Young men will stretch their lives to be equal to the greatness of the soul they feel within themselves. A mission will be one of the initial steps that can result from the influence of a girl whose own preparation causes her to radiate the light of God.
“That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.” (D&C 50:24.)
When a young man returns home from his mission, he can be assured that such a young woman will have kept pace with him spiritually, that she is prepared to receive inspiration, that she has progressed intellectually, socially, and has in every way prepared to stand as an eternal companion. She will sustain him, not drain him, so that together they come filled, ready to accept the further responsibilities the Lord has for those who love him and keep his commandments.
It was Sunday again, and another “more worthy and more able” missionary was responding to the call. I advanced my frequently asked question one more time, and Elder Snow, glancing warmly and respectfully at the young girl standing by his side, smiled and responded: “She never told me I should go on a mission. I just always knew it was important to her because everything about the Church is important to Jannie.”

Emma returned to Upolu on July 25, 1901, happy to find her father waiting for her at the harbor. During her absence, Emma had lost some ability to speak Samoan. But when she was invited to say a closing prayer at a meeting, the Spirit inspired her, and she offered it in her native tongue.

Emma was assigned to serve in Malaela, her hometown, where the Church had operated a school since 1896. She took charge of teaching the female students. She also led the Malaela Branch’s Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association. On Sundays and throughout the week, she would preach and teach alongside the other missionaries.

At first, some of Emma’s family on the island opposed her work and urged her to leave the Church. According to mission president William G. Sears, though, “she defended her course” and resolved to keep her covenants, despite opposition.

I want to thank you for the article “Why Am I Running?” in the January 1991 issue. I am a 27-year-old male who is currently serving a prison term. I am here as a direct result of “running.”
As a teenager I became too concerned about what others thought of me. I began to do things that were not socially acceptable. By the time I was an adult my free agency belonged to those I was constantly trying to impress.
I am trying to return to the gospel, but old habits die hard. Please use your agency wisely. The road back is tough, so stay on the straight and narrow path.
K. T.Clallam Bay Corrections Center, Washington

Josué walked into the internet café. Computers lined the walls, and the sounds of zaps and pings from video games filled the room. He didn’t have a computer at home, so this is where he came to use one. He couldn’t wait to watch some cool videos!
His friend Carlos came in behind him. Josué handed the owner some money. Then he and Carlos found a computer to use.
First Josué looked up a funny video a friend at school had told him about. Then Carlos picked a video to watch. They kept taking turns.
“Look, this one is about the Church,” Josué said. He clicked on the video and started watching.
The man in the video said confusing things about the Church. He said the Church wasn’t true. The video made Josué’s insides feel like they were being squeezed.
“Do you think what that man said is true?” Josué asked when the video was over.
Carlos shook his head. “Do you think what he said is true?”
Josué frowned. He had prayed to know that the Church was true and had felt good about it. He always felt peaceful when he went to church or read his scriptures. But he didn’t know what to think about what he’d heard in the video.
That night, Josué tossed around in his bed. He couldn’t sleep! So many questions swam in his head. But who could he ask? Papá wasn’t a member of the Church, and Mamá was too busy working. There was no one to talk to.
The next day at school, Carlos had a big smile on his face. “I asked my dad about what the man in the video was talking about. He answered all my questions.”
Josué straightened up. “Really? Do you think I could talk to your dad about it too?”
“Yeah! Come over to my house after school, and we can talk to my dad.”
The rest of the school day passed slowly. Josué bounced in his seat. He had a hard time focusing. All the questions bubbling in his head could have answers!
After school, Brother Zavala, Carlos’s dad, sat down with Josué and Carlos. They talked for a long time about the video. Brother Zavala had an answer to all of Josué’s questions!
“I was worried you wouldn’t know the answers to my questions,” Josué said.
“Even if I didn’t, Heavenly Father always has answers,” Brother Zavala said.
“But whenever I pray to know something, I just get a feeling. I don’t really get an answer,” Josué said.
“Sometimes a feeling is our answer,” Brother Zavala said. “We can always keep searching the scriptures and praying for understanding. Answers might not come right away, but that’s OK. Heavenly Father knows all the things we don’t know. And the Holy Ghost can help us feel peace.”
For the rest of the day Josué thought about what Brother Zavala had said. That night, he knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father,” he said, “is what Brother Zavala said true? I don’t want to feel confused.”
Josué felt calm and happy. He was grateful he could keep asking questions. And he was glad Heavenly Father gave him the answer he needed.
This story took place in Guatemala.
Turn the page to learn more about what to do when you have questions!

As soon as Brother Hansen said the closing prayer in church and the girls started handing out flowers to the mothers, I knew that we had forgotten. I looked down the bench at my brothers, Alma, Jarom, and Jared. Alma shrugged his shoulders. Jarom looked back at me with a sad frown on his face. Jared, who’s just two and a half, whispered, “What’s wrong, Aaron?”
“It’s Mother’s Day,” I muttered.
As we walked out of the chapel, I poked Alma with my elbow. “What are we going to do?” I asked him.
Alma shook his head, but I could tell that he was thinking hard.
Just then Dad touched me on the arm. “Aaron, Mom and I have a meeting for a few minutes. Do you boys want to wait here until we’re finished?”
Our house is just a little way from the ward, so I said, “We’ll walk home.”
“And we’ll take Jared with us,” Alma added.
Alma took Jared by the hand, and I took Jarom, and we headed home. Alma and Jared walked faster than Jarom and I, so by the time Jarom and I made it to our bedroom, Alma had all his money dumped out on the bed.
“Get your money,” he told Jarom and me.
It wasn’t long until all our money was piled in the middle of Alma’s bed, even Jared’s twenty-eight pennies.
Alma dropped to his knees, spread the money out, and started counting. He scratched his head and chewed his tongue a lot. Finally he scraped all the money into one big pile and announced, “There’s seven dollars and eighty-nine cents.”
“Is that a lot?” I asked.
Alma nodded.
“How much is it?” Jarom asked.
Alma tugged on his ear. “It could buy about twenty candy bars.”
“I want a candy bar,” Jared said.
“How much gum?” Jarom wanted to know.
“Maybe twenty-five or thirty packages. Or if we got it out of the gum-ball machines, we could each get a couple of pockets full.”
“I want some gum,” Jared said.
“Are we getting Mom gum or candy bars?” Jarom asked.
“I don’t think Mom would like candy bars or gum for a present.”
“What would she like?” Jarom asked.
“A dress or a purse or perfume or stuff like that,” Alma said.
“Are we going to buy junk like that?” I asked.
“Well, Aaron, it’s Mother’s Day. We have to get her something that she likes.”
“I think we ought to get her something good,” I growled.
“Yeah,” Jarom said. “If we get a purse she might not want it. Then she’ll just put it in the closet, and it won’t be any good to anybody. But if we get a lot of gum, even if she doesn’t like it, we can chew it for her.”
“I think that we can get a pretty good dress for five dollars,” Alma said. “With all our money we might even be able to get her some gum and candy bars too.”
“Let’s get the candy bars first,” Jarom grumbled. “Then if we have enough money, we can get a dress or something.”
“We can’t get her anything today,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Today’s Sunday. We don’t buy things on Sunday.”
We all looked at each other and sat down on the edge of the bed to think.
“I know,” I called out. “We can still give her the money, and tomorrow she can buy whatever she wants.”
We took the money, dumped it into an envelope, licked the flap, and closed it. Alma got a crayon and wrote, “To Mom from the boys.”
“But we have to do something for her today, too,” I mumbled. “Today’s Mother’s Day, not tomorrow.”
“I’m hungry,” Jared whined.
“That’s it!” Alma grinned. “We’ll fix a Mother’s Day dinner.”
Jarom and I looked at each other and then at Alma.
“I don’t know how to fix dinner,” Jarom said sadly.
“We can do it,” Alma said with a grin. “We’ll have the best Mother’s Day dinner ever.”
Jarom, Alma, and I changed our clothes, then we helped Jared change his. While Alma and Jarom worked on his bottom end, pulling off his shoes and pants, I worked on his top end and jerked off his shirt. It was pretty hard work because Jared thought that we were playing a game. But we finally got the job done.
A few minutes later we were all in the kitchen. Alma pulled open the fridge door, and we looked inside.
“Mom was going to have fried chicken and potatoes,” Jarom said.
“Do you know how to make fried chicken?” I asked Alma.
“No, but we don’t have to fix fried chicken. This is going to be a special dinner. We can fix anything we want.”
“I like peanut butter sandwiches,” Jared said.
“You don’t have peanut butter sandwiches for Sunday dinner,” I protested.
“Sure we can,” Alma said, still grinning. “Peanut butter sandwiches are good for you. Mom said so.”
“What do you want?” I asked Jarom.
He ran over to the pantry, stared at the shelves stacked with cans, and brought out a big can of pork and beans.
“I want baloney in it,” I said, grabbing a package of it from the fridge.
“OK,” Alma said, “but let’s hurry and fix everything before Mom and Dad get home.”
I helped Jarom open his can of pork and beans, and we dumped them into a bowl. Then we took the baloney slices, tore them into pieces, and mixed them in with the pork and beans.
Jared got out one of Mom’s loaves of bread, Alma cut it into slices. He got only eight slices out of the whole loaf.
“Aren’t the slices just a little thick?” I asked.
He laughed and shook his head. “Dad likes them thick.”
“But this is for Mother’s Day,” I pointed out.
“Well, we’ll just have to make open-face sandwiches and put on an extra layer of peanut butter.”
“What’s for dessert?” Jarom wanted to know, as Jared and Alma started digging out gobs of peanut butter and spreading it on the bread.
“Yeah,” I said, “we have to have dessert, especially on Mother’s Day.”
Jarom ran to the pantry and came back with two cans of applesauce.
Alma looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Looks good to me.”
“I want banana slices in it,” I said.
“And I want marshmallows in it,” Jarom insisted.
“All right,” Alma agreed, “but hurry!”
I dumped the applesauce into a bowl, then took two bananas and cut them up, dropping the chunks into the applesauce. I dumped half a bag of little marshmallows into it, too, then ran to get a spoon. When I got back, Jared was already stirring everything with his hands.
“Let’s set the table, now,” Alma called, putting the peanut butter sandwiches on the table. “Since this is such a special day, let’s use paper plates and cups and plastic spoons so that Mom doesn’t have to do the dishes.”
“We could do the dishes,” I said.
“Then let’s use paper plates for sure,” Jarom mumbled. “Then nobody will have to do the dishes.”
Just as I finished putting the plastic spoons on the table, we heard Mom and Dad pull up in the car. “Let’s hide,” Alma whispered. “When they come in, we’ll jump out and yell ‘Happy Mother’s Day!’”
Jared hid behind the couch, Alma and Jarom hid in the closet, and I ran into the bathroom and lay in the tub. We heard the front door open and close and Mom say, “It surely sounds quiet. I wonder what the boys are doing.”
“Maybe they went over to the Cauleys,” Dad suggested.
When Mom headed for the kitchen, we all ran out screaming, “Happy Mother’s Day! Happy Mother’s Day!”
Mom jumped and Dad laughed and grabbed Jared and put him on his shoulder.
“Who fixed dinner?” Mom gasped, looking at the food on the table.
“We did,” Alma said, beaming.
“And it’s the best dinner ever,” Jarom said with a grin.
“Probably even better than dinner at a restaurant,” I bragged.
“I helped,” Jared shouted, wiggling out of Dad’s arms. “Let’s eat,” he added, pushing his high chair up to the table.
After we sat down, Alma exclaimed, “Oh, we forgot something!” He jumped down from his chair and ran into our bedroom. A few seconds later he dropped the money envelope onto the table—CLUNK!
Mom took one look inside and gasped, “Oh, you shouldn’t have. It’s all your money.”
“But it’s Mother’s Day,” I cried, “and nothing’s too good for you, Mom.”
“I’m hungry,” Jared shouted, banging on the high chair with his spoon. “Let’s say the blessing.”
“Was it a good Mother’s Day dinner?” Jarom asked when we were all finished.
Mom came around the table and gave us each a hug and a kiss. “That’s the very best Mother’s Day dinner that I’ve ever eaten,” she told us.

To you deacons, may I say that I recall the time when I was ordained a deacon. Our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized were proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out. As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told how we should assist Louis McDonald, a particular brother in our ward who was afflicted with a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.
How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Brother McDonald sat. I was fearful and hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a small piece of bread and pressed it to his lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Brother McDonald made better deacons of us all.

“My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

“During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”2

“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”

At the beginning of my freshman year on my high school basketball team, I told my coach that Sunday practices were out for me because I had church. The team practiced from 10:00 a.m. to noon, but I never went.
Then during my sophomore year, things changed. “I moved Sunday practice so everyone can go to church first,” my coach told us. “Everybody’s going to be at practice at 3:00 p.m.”
Sports is a religion here in Louisiana. But now I had to explain to my coach that not practicing on Sunday was an all-day thing out of reverence. It wasn’t easy.
“Hey, Coach,” I texted him, “I wanted to let you know I can’t make practice on Sunday for the same reasons as last year. I believe the whole Sunday is the Sabbath, and my family and I don’t do any sports on that day.”
I was really worried my coach would be upset and kick me off the team. But in his text back to me, he said, “I completely respect this decision. You are one of the hardest workers in our program. I can’t promise you’ll score like Steph Curry. Ha-ha. But I can promise that you put yourself in a great position to help your team because of your work ethic.”
It’s not easy to say no in a situation like that. And not going to practice on Sunday doesn’t mean the Lord will bless you to be some great athlete. You still have to work hard. But the blessings are there if you have an eternal perspective.
Merrick R., Louisiana, USA