Gospel Story Finder

I was born into a family of many children, and I remember being able to have open discussions with my mother. One day, I asked her: “Mommy, why does one of my classmates always obtain the highest grades in class?” She looked at me and kindly replied: “Indeed, you are going to the same school; but he does something differently than you do. In fact, he goes to church every week, but you only attend Church sometimes.”
Since that day, I made a personal commitment to always attend church on Sunday so that I could do better at school. My grades became better because I did go to church regularly, although I did not always fully understand the teachings.
Later, I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, where I was taught the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy. I soon realized that going to Church was not only a matter of obtaining good grades at school but was also a matter of giving priorities to God in our own lives. It is a matter of keeping the Sabbath Day holy (see Exodus 20:8), a matter of partaking of the sacrament so that we might always remember Jesus Christ and His Atonement, and finally a matter of eternal life, which is the greatest gift of God to those that endure to the end.
Additionally, one of the greatest blessings I see in my life is to learn of Jesus Christ and His everlasting Gospel, and especially to keep His Sabbath Day holy. My understanding of the purpose of the Sabbath Day increased also.

Anna sat quietly in the backseat of the van next to her older sister, Sara. It was taking a long time to get to the family reunion. Anna watched the canyon trees fly by, and every now and then she spotted a silvery mountain stream snaking its way down the hill. The sky was as blue as Anna’s eyes, and the clouds looked like white puffs of popcorn.
“Are we almost there?” she said, knowing it hadn’t been long since the last time she had asked.
Mom shook her head and pointed out the window. “We have to go over this mountain, and then you’ll see the lake. About another hour, I’d guess.”
Anna sighed. It was hard to sit still and wait when they’d been planning for months to come to the reunion. All her favorite cousins would be there, and so would dozens of others whom she didn’t know at all. Mom said there were relatives coming from New York, California, and even Hawaii! Suddenly Anna’s three-hour drive didn’t seem so long.
“There’s the lake!” Sara shouted. Anna strained her neck to look. Beautiful Bear Lake stretched out before them like a bright blue carpet. From the mountaintop, sailboats and motorboats looked like tiny toys on the surface.
“When your great-great-grandparents got married in the Logan Temple,” Dad said, “they came down this same road in a wagon. Great-Great-Grandpa looked out at Bear Lake and said, ‘Let’s take a swim before we go home.’ And even though it was early June and the water was freezing cold, they waded in at the north beach and had a nice brisk swim!”
Anna loved that story, even though Dad told it every time they came over this hill. Mom said one of the aunts was bringing 95-year-old Great-Great-Grandma to the reunion and that this might be the last time they were all together.
Finally the houses and farms started looking familiar, and Anna didn’t have to ask if they were almost there. Just past Great-Great-Grandma’s white frame farmhouse, Dad turned onto a dirt road and drove to the community center. It had once been an old church with hardwood floors and wooden benches, but now it was just a place for large groups to gather.
Anna spied Aunt Laura’s car and wriggled out of her seatbelt to go find her cousins. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the old church, and there were games set up on the lawn outside. Mom and Dad were already hugging people and talking excitedly. Even Sara had spotted one of her pen-pal cousins and was running to meet her.
It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad were calling Anna and Sara to “come meet someone.” Anna tried her best to smile and be polite. One after another, she shook hands with and hugged cousins, uncles, and aunts until their faces and names were a blur. Over and over again, she heard, “Why, Anna, you look just like Great-Great-Grandma! You two could be twins!”
What? Anna couldn’t believe it. Even Mom and Dad were nodding their heads in agreement. She glanced over at a shady spot under a cottonwood tree where an old, feeble, white-haired lady sat in a lawn chair—it was Great-Great-Grandma! Twins? No way!
Someone came out on the steps of the old building and began loudly ringing a handbell. “Calling all the family of Heber and Lizzie Nelson! Time for lunch! Come on in!”
Long tables and folding chairs were set up inside, along with rows and rows of food. Anna slid onto a chair beside Sara. “Sara,” she whispered, “why does everyone say I look like Great-Great-Grandma?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because you look like Mom, and Mom looks like her mom, and she looks like her mom. …”
It was true. Anna did have big blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, just like Mom. But they certainly weren’t twins!
Great-Great-Grandma was walking slowly to her seat at the head of one of the tables. Mom was helping her, and Anna stared again at the old, wrinkled face and snow-white hair. “I do not look like her,” she whispered as she folded her arms for the prayer and blessing on the food.
The man who prayed thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful legacy of Heber and Lizzie Nelson, and the blessing of having dear, sweet, Great-Great-Grandma with them at the reunion. He gave thanks for her testimony, her gentle nature, her willingness to be an example to everyone she met, and for her beautiful spirit. By the end of the prayer, most of the adults were crying. It was clear that Great-Great-Grandma was well loved in this big family.
As Anna munched her chicken and potato salad, she again heard someone say, “Did you see little Anna? She’s the mirror-image of Great-Great-Grandma!”
Mom saw Anna frown. She stood up and held out her hand. “Come here, Anna. I want to show you something special.”
Anna slowly put down her fork and followed Mom over to a large display table by the wall. On it were an old saddle and branding iron that had belonged to Great-Great-Grandpa, the lunch bell that had come across the ocean with the first Nelsons, heirloom quilts, and lots and lots of family pictures. Mom pointed to one picture in a pretty silver frame. The photo had originally been black and white, but it had been colored by a professional photographer. Anna looked at it with wide eyes. “Why is my picture here, Mom?”
Mom smiled and hugged Anna. “That’s not you, honey. That’s Great-Great-Grandma. She’s seven years old in that picture, just like you.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. There were Anna’s blue eyes, Anna’s reddish-brown curls, even Anna’s dimples. The little girl was even missing a front tooth, just like Anna!
“Wow!” Anna exclaimed. “She really does look like me!”
Mom laughed, leaned down, and whispered, “I hope you grow up to be like her inside, too.”
Anna turned around and saw Great-Great-Grandma. She hurried past aunts, uncles, and cousins until she was standing in front of the little white-haired lady. Great-Great-Grandma smiled, and Anna saw the dimples so much like her own. “I’m glad I came to the reunion, Anna,” the lady said in a soft, gentle voice, “just so I could see you.”
“Me, too, Great-Great-Grandma,” Anna said, hugging her tightly. “Me, too.”

This next example shows you do not have to be wealthy or old to be an instrument for good. Eighteen-year-old Marie “Djadjou” Jacques is from the Cavaillon Branch in Haiti. When the devastating earthquake struck near her town in August, her family’s house was one of tens of thousands of buildings that collapsed. It’s almost impossible to imagine the despair of losing your home. But rather than giving in to that despair, Djadjou—incredibly—turned outward.

Associated Press

She saw an elderly neighbor struggling and began taking care of her. She helped others clear away debris. Despite her exhaustion, she joined other Church members to distribute food and hygiene kits to others. Djadjou’s story is just one of many powerful examples of service carried out by youth and young adults as they strive to follow the example of Jesus Christ.

One sunny afternoon Cory slipped into the kitchen after finishing his daily chores. “Hi, Mom. What’s for dinner?”
“Hungry so soon?” Mom replied as she wiped flour from her elbows. “I’m making chicken potpie, but it won’t be ready for an hour or so. Think you can wait, big guy?”
“Sure,” Cory said. But instead of running to his room to grab his baseball and glove to practice pitching, Cory stayed in the kitchen and sat stiffly on a chair. “Can I help you, Mom?”
Mom put down the ball of dough she had been molding in the middle of the table and gave Cory a quick glance. “Isn’t it your turn to do the dishes tonight, Cory?”
“I think so.” Cory was staring out the large window over the sink into the bright blue sky. Mom could tell that something was bothering him.
“Hand me the rolling pin from the big drawer there, please.”
As he handed her the rolling pin, Cory asked, “Mom, how do you know when you have done something right”—he paused—“or wrong?”
Mom sat down, dusting off her apron. “Well, I look inside myself. I listen for the Holy Ghost to guide me. If I feel good, it’s usually a good thing. I feel warm all over.”
Cory was confused. “You look inside yourself?”
Mom began again. “Imagine yourself taking a bath. If the water’s warm, you’re comfortable, right?”
“Right.”
“What if it’s cold?” Mom asked.
“You want to get out.”
“Exactly. When something is right, you might never question it. It’s like taking a warm bath. But when something is wrong, it’s like a cold bath; you want to get out. Many times the Holy Ghost guides us by the way we feel.”
There was silence.
“Is something bothering you, Cory?”
“Yeah.” Cory hesitated. “A kid at school wanted me to give him the answers to our homework.” He glanced down to his shoes. “He said I would be a great friend if I did.”
Mom looked at Cory as he wriggled in his chair.
“I said no, Mom, but I didn’t feel warm.”
“Well, what if your friend had asked you for your help instead of just your answers?” Mom asked.
Cory’s eyes brightened. “I would have liked that. That’s not wrong.”
“See the difference?”
“I think so.”
Talking and laughing, they chopped vegetables and cut up chicken and got the pie ready for the oven.
“Thanks for your help, Cory,” Mom said.
“Thank you, too, Mom.”
After school the next day, Mom was in the kitchen, writing out checks for bills, Cory bounded in, followed by a shy, stocky boy. “Mom, this is John. Can we study together at the kitchen table this afternoon?”
“Of course,” Mom answered. She hid her smile as she slipped her checkbook into her purse. She winked at Cory. “I’ll be upstairs taking a warm bath.”

Emmeline and Newel had two daughters, Isabel and Melvina, before Newel died suddenly in Salt Lake City, Utah Territory, in September 1850. Emmeline was only 22 and again needed to support herself as a teacher. Though feeling lost, she cherished a prophecy Newel made about her life: “He said I should have nothing to do but to devote my whole time to writing and to literary pursuits, and that I should sit and eat and drink and converse with the nobles of the earth and tell them of the Gospel.”4

I didn’t have much chance to play while I was in the MTC until the night before I left. Those from my branch who were leaving had a meeting together with the branch president for some final words of advice. There were many tears and tender feelings. And I was asked to play the closing hymn, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” (Hymns, no. 152). This stirred up more emotions and made the Spirit even stronger.
After the closing prayer, which built upon the Spirit we already felt, I played some quiet postlude music as people talked and began to filter out. I played “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2) very softly on the upper keys. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes just believing in the words of the song you’re playing, and having the Spirit with you, causes you to play so that the people listening feel what you’re feeling. You can actually express your emotions through the way you play the song. It doesn’t always happen (at least not to me), but it happened this time. I really felt what I was playing, and I really wanted to convey a message by the way I played it.
As I played, I noticed that someone was behind me watching and listening. I finished the hymn and quickly glanced to see who it was. It was Elder Smith, someone I didn’t know very well. He was standing there, crying.
He had already felt the Spirit during the meeting, like the rest of us, and now the music was helping to intensify it. So I kept playing.
That’s when it struck me. For perhaps the first time, I was playing the piano, not for my own enjoyment and not to receive praise, but to help someone feel the Spirit. I actually, truly wanted to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands and serve him. In this case, the best way I could serve him was to help convey the Spirit to one of his children through music.

As we sat in sacrament meeting one Sunday morning, our bishop asked the members of our ward to give a more generous fast offering. My husband and I were newlyweds struggling to make ends meet while he completed his education. Shouldn’t wealthy ward members be the ones to increase their fast offerings?
The bishop promised ward members they would experience miracles in their lives if they doubled their fast offerings. Despite my concerns, the Spirit confirmed to me that his promise was true.
Trembling as I wrote our fast offering check the following week, I doubled the amount. “We’re going to starve,” I said to myself as I sealed the envelope.
A few days later as I got into my car to drive to work, the red warning light came on for the oil. I added oil, but it leaked from the engine as quickly as I poured it in. When I called our mechanic, he told me to drive straight to his shop. Holding back tears, I drove a few miles to his repair shop and silently said a prayer.
The mechanic warned that the repair would probably be expensive but had to be done. He also pointed out that it was almost time to replace the car’s timing belt—another expense we couldn’t afford. I left the car at the shop and went to work devastated.
Later, when the mechanic called, he was upbeat and excited. “Of course he is,” I thought. “He’s about to make a ton of money off of us.”
Actually, he called to share an amazing story. As he was working on our car, a friend happened by his auto shop. This friend, who works at a dealership that services my make of car, asked our mechanic what he was working on. When our mechanic explained the problem, his friend said, “Well, you know there’s a recall for that problem. It’s covered by the automaker.”
I couldn’t believe it! Then our mechanic explained that oil had gotten all over the engine, so the automaker would also cover the replacement of the timing belt and other belts!
Tears of gratitude sprang from my eyes as I recognized the blessing we had received from the Lord. I felt overwhelmed by His love and embarrassed by my lack of faith.
I haven’t had perfect faith since this incident a few years ago, but I know that the Lord is acutely aware of our needs and struggles. I know He loves us and wants to help us. I also know that Heavenly Father will test us and not always answer our prayers as quickly as He did in this instance.
Most important, I have a testimony of the blessings we can receive by paying a generous fast offering and of the blessings others receive as a result of our generosity.

Last spring, our golden retriever, Duchess, had seven brand-new puppies. One day, when the puppies were about five weeks old, I brought the puppies to the Tanner Building so the secretaries could see them.

While I was here on campus, I took them out on the east side of the Tanner Building and let them run around on the patio area which leads down to Helaman Halls. It was a neat experience to watch these mature, scholarly students as they would stop to play with the puppies. Everyone who stopped got down on their hands and knees and played with the puppies, allowing the little dogs to kiss them.

It was great to see these college students “reach out and touch” and extend love to little warm puppies. Surely the Peanuts character, Charlie Brown, was right when he said, “Happiness is a warm puppy.”

At one time I worked on the immediate staff of a very hardworking, demanding, misunderstood man who became the father of the nuclear navy that provided great protection for the United States at a critical time in world conditions. His name is Hyman Rickover. I have great respect for him. After 11 years in that service, I received a call from the First Presidency to preside over a mission. I knew I would have to tell Admiral Rickover immediately. As I explained the call and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather excited. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and in the comments that followed, clearly established two points: “Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”
I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”
There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”
I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual.”
He asked, “What’s the name of the man who wants you?”
I told him, “President David O. McKay.”
He added, “If that’s the way Mormons act, I don’t want any of them working for me.”
I knew he would try to call President McKay (1873–1970), who was ill, and that conversation would benefit no one. I also knew that in the Idaho Falls area there were many members of the Church whose families depended upon their working in our program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I also knew that I had been called by the Lord. I didn’t know what to do. Then, the words of the song we sang tonight began to run through my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, number 237). While I had never contacted a General Authority in my life, I had been interviewed by Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, so I had a feeling to call him. I explained that the admiral would try to call President McKay and would make some negative comments, but everything was all right and I would be able to accept my call. While doing that, my heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?” The song would come back: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger or I would communicate through a third party. We accomplished the changeover.
On my last day in the office I asked for an appointment with him, and his secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott. What do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?”
There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time. He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something I never thought would occur happened. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

Eventually we felt prompted to move again—this time to Alnwick, the most northerly branch of the Church in England.
On our first Sunday in Alnwick we walked into the rented rooms used for meetings and were greeted by a lively group of teenagers. ‘You’re going to be our next branch president,’ they told Paul, explaining that their parents had been praying for someone to move in. ‘That’s not how things work,’ Paul smiled. But three months later, following the departure of the missionary couple who had been serving in leadership, Paul was called as branch president. He served for six and a half years.

Back in 1977-78, Southeast Idaho, like in recent years, was in the grip of a devastating drought. This is, after all, a desert where precipitation is always going to be sparse and unpredictable. The stakes in Idaho Falls where I was working that summer organized a vigil of prayer and fasting to the end that the Lord would moderate the weather for their good. I wondered at the time at their use of language—why ask for the weather to be moderated, why not simply ask for more rain? After participating with our stake in the fast, I was impressed to observe that while the historic amount of rain received in the spring and summer did not appreciably change, the timing of the rain was such that the non-irrigated dry farms in the region got the needed rain at the proper time and in the proper amounts to ensure a bumper crop. From this perspective, I have no doubt that the Lord’s hand has been manifest in moderating the climate in our mountain valleys to allow for productive agriculture. However, I am also satisfied that the active faith and work of the people of the area in building large dams and irrigation projects has also contributed hugely to making agriculture successful in Southeast Idaho.

Pierre’s idea for a choir of homeless men never got off the ground in Paris because he didn’t stay in Paris. His older brother and sister had moved to Montréal, and he visited them frequently. In April 1995 he moved to Québec to get married. His engagement didn’t work out, but Pierre fell in love with Canada and decided to stay. He set up a successful dental lab and, of course, began volunteering.
“On my second day here,” he says, “I inquired at the tourist office where I could volunteer.” By coincidence, the tourism officer was a volunteer at l’Accueil Bonneau, a homeless shelter, and told him how to find it. “I arrived in time for lunch, and they gave me an apron,” he recalls. “I started to serve lunch to the homeless. For more than a year I did this.”
But the same frustrations he had felt in Paris resurfaced, and so did his idea. He typed a flyer and handed out 600 copies to the men in the food line. It offered employment to “singers, even beginners, for part-time work. Men only. Any age. Any nationality. Must love to sing. Musical knowledge not necessary.” Thirty men expressed interest, but at the first rehearsal only 3 showed up. However, 7 came the next day. The day after, 12 showed up. Pierre taught them four Christmas carols from the LDS hymnbook.
The metro was an inspired and logical location for their performances. “If the mountain won’t come to you, you must go to the mountain,” says Pierre. “Thousands and thousands of people come to the metro.”
Residents of Montréal are accustomed to seeing homeless people on the street, but they were not prepared for what they encountered in the metro station at 7:30 A.M. on 17 December 1996. It was an unforgettable experience for the performers and the commuters. “I couldn’t see the faces of the spectators,” Pierre explains, “because I was conducting, but I could see the faces of my friends in the choir. Their faces changed. People crowded around us. Several missed their trains to listen longer. One woman began to cry, and her sobs filled that improbable event with incredible emotion. It was like a tide coming in. People were crying, singing with us, putting money in the hat to the cadence of the melody, clink, clink. They started to make a line to put money in the hat. It was a wonderful experience.”
That first concert brought in more money than they had expected. The next morning the choir earned even more. “But the greatest pay the men received,” says Pierre, “was when people came directly up to them, spoke to them, and shook their hands. This meant much to men who had spent their lives digging in garbage cans, begging, or even stealing simply to survive.”
The choir sang every day that Christmas season except Sundays. The money they earned allowed all of them to spend the holiday in more comfortable circumstances. A few were able to visit relatives. Some hadn’t seen their families in years.
“After the last performance,” Pierre recalls, “I asked my friends, ‘Do you want to keep going with this choir, or do you want to stop now and start it up again next Christmas?’ ‘Keep going,’ they insisted.”
After the choir’s first subway concert, the media quickly learned about them. Two days later they were invited to introduce the weather forecast for a large television station, and the next morning articles appeared in most of the Québec newspapers. This unexpected free publicity allowed the choir to sign contracts for concerts at festivals, schools, churches, banks, and other television stations.
“The media,” says Pierre, “has helped give us a voice for our message that life is beautiful, that it is really worth living, and that we should never give up. Everyone deserves a second chance, and no one should be excluded, even if he or she is different.”

One day I sat on the school bus near two brothers. They started singing a song I hadn’t heard before. A few of the words were about the Holy Ghost, but they weren’t very nice. I started to feel sick. Later, just thinking about the song made my stomach hurt. After school, I told my mom about it. She thought it was possible that I had misunderstood what the boys were singing about. She told my dad, and we decided to talk to the bus driver about it.
The next morning, the three of us talked to the bus driver. We explained that the boys were singing a song that made me feel bad. My mom said that maybe I had not heard exactly right. The driver seemed concerned and said that he would ask the boys about it.
That afternoon, when I came home, my parents were waiting at the bus stop. The driver got out after me. He told my parents that he had talked to the boys. They said that they had heard the song on a CD but they hadn’t been using the words that were bad. Then they admitted that they really had been singing the bad words. The bus driver said that he felt that the song’s words really were bad and that the boys could not sing it on the bus anymore. They haven’t, and I’m very glad. Now I don’t feel awful inside every time I ride the bus.Aubrey Fitzgerald, age 6West Linn, Oregon

The idea for this project came, in part, through an experience I had with some friends in college. A young married couple we knew was trying to better manage their finances, so they met with a financial advisor. The advisor told them that before he could really help them, they needed to track every penny they spent over a period of a month or so. It was a tedious task, but in the end they had some interesting results. One finding was that the wife had a serious liking for bubble gum. They discovered that she was spending approximately ten to twenty dollars on bubble gum a month.
She had no idea her sweet tooth was costing them that much. She enjoyed bubble gum and would pick up a pack what she thought was just every once-in-a-while. Now armed with this new information the couple could make some decisions. The wife enjoyed bubble gum so they could continue spending a good portion of their starving-college-student income on gum. Another option could be to set a limit on the amount of gum she purchased every month. They could even choose to cut it out all together and spend the savings on more extravagant college meals like mac and cheese or ramen noodles.

In 1972 my father, his mum and two brothers and two sisters immigrated to Australia establishing themselves in Perth, Western Australia. My father joined the Australian army in 1973, serving in various postings. He met my mother in Melbourne in 1982 and their first date was to a Stake YSA dance. Later, my mother introduced him to the missionaries. Accepting what he had been taught and with the faith and testimony the size of a mustard seed, he was baptized on 9 May 1982. A year later my parents were married and sealed in the New Zealand Temple. Together they had five children. Heavenly Father and living the Gospel have been a blessing in all our lives.

I recently had the opportunity to visit my home town, Maputo, where I received the Gospel of Jesus Christ as a single adult in 2000. My first calling in the church after a month of being a member was Primary President. At the time, I could not comprehend why I got that calling. Besides the fact that it was to look after the children during church hours, I knew nothing about Primary and the way that was supposed to be run. I was totally unsure what I was to do in this organization. I thought that the branch presidency was mistaken on their choice.
As I think about it today, it was not a choice of the branch president. It was a calling from Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ. In my human understanding, there were many sisters in the branch that I could point out as more prepared and capable of fulfilling that calling. Sisters that were mothers and were probably more experienced in dealing with children of different ages. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, I accepted the calling and learned line upon line and precept upon precept.
It was a great and humbling journey of learning and service. I remember many Sundays when I was the only teacher for the whole Primary. On those Sundays I had to teach music, run sharing time, and teach primary lessons. The best thing was that we always had a senior missionary sister that would play piano for our sharing time. I grew to love Primary music timewhere I could teach the gospel to the children through music. Almost every Sunday, we sang the primary songs “I hope they call me on a mission” and “Follow the Prophet” from the children’s songbook at the request of the Primary children. These were our Primary favourite songs. During my service in Primary, I learned the most basic and valuable principles that helped me grow and understand the fullness of the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. I grew to love my Primary children. My Primary class varied from five to twenty and sometimes even more children on some Sundays. But I strived to know each child by name.
It felt overwhelming at times – trying to coordinate Sunday activities, music, lesson, assigning children for the following Sunday. But as I reflect upon the experience, it was a time that Heavenly Father helped me establish deep roots in the Gospel. I often felt loved and needed by the children. It was hectic, yet very rewarding calling.
I loved seeing them having the desire to come to Primary, and my favourite part was the big hugs that I would get from the children at the end of our time together. I often never knew how I was doing as a teacher, until I would hear from a parent or two that their child or their children speak about me at home. Thinking back, I realize that this was the most rewarding calling in the church – there were great needs and a huge opportunity for service.

“When Elder [David A.] and Sister [Susan] Bednar were married, they consistently had family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening with their three sons. Sometimes things did not go well, and Elder and Sister Bednar wondered if their efforts were worthwhile. Now and then during scripture study there were outbursts such as, ‘He’s touching me!’ ‘Make him stop looking at me!’ and ‘Mom, he’s breathing my air!’ Family prayers were sometimes interrupted with giggling and poking. And family home evening lessons were not always calm with three active, noisy boys.
“But they kept trying.” 1

—Kevin Leach, 20, from Sparks, Nevada, spent a summer as an emergency medical technician intern in Atlanta, Georgia. He was able to associate with a lot of other people in the medical field. He came to see that besides his EMT and paramedic training, a nursing degree would be important. Since returning, he’s taken the additional courses necessary, and will soon graduate with three degrees.
“I’m not only going to be able to be a paramedic out on the streets, but I’ll be able to be a nurse in the hospitals, to ride on Life Flights, to teach emergency medicine up to a certain point, and to move up into administration. What I discovered was that some extra work can open a lot of doors.”

The notebook describes projects, such as making homemade bread and delivering it to nonmembers living near the meetinghouse along with a card that read, “Merry Christmas from your neighbor, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The bread was delivered by caroling seminary students. “The surprise and joy of most of the people was great,” Sabina said. “We invited the people to our meetings, too. We contacted 37 families in this way.” Many of the families responded by sending gifts of chocolate, nuts, oranges, and cookies, along with thank-you notes, to the seminary group. “This helps pave the way for the missionaries,” Sabina said.

A true story from the USA.
Rowan watched as Miss Brody invited a new student to stand at the front of the classroom.
“This is Ernest,” Miss Brody said. “He just arrived in Hawaii from a country called Ukraine. He doesn’t speak any English. Will you all be kind and make friends with him?”
Rowan and his classmates nodded.
Ernest was looking down and frowning. He was the only person wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Rowan wondered what it would be like to move to a new country and not speak the language. It sounded scary!
At recess, Rowan saw Ernest walk to a spot by himself while the other kids ran off to play together. He was still frowning.
Rowan wanted to be friends with him, but he didn’t know what to say. How could they be friends if they didn’t speak the same language?
After school, Rowan went home and asked Dad for help. “Can you help me look up how to say things in Ukrainian?” Rowan asked. “There’s a new boy in our class who doesn’t speak English.”
Dad nodded. “Of course.”
First, they looked up how to say, “It’s lunchtime.” Rowan listened to the answer. “Nastav obidniy chas.” Rowan tried saying it a few times. It was hard! So he looked up how to say “hello.”
“Pryvit,” the voice on the computer told him. That was easier. Rowan replayed the word over and over and practiced saying it.
The next day during recess, Rowan found Ernest sitting alone on the grass again. Rowan stood next to him and smiled. “Pryvit!” he said in a loud voice. He hoped he said it right.
Ernest smiled and handed Rowan a gummy bear.
Rowan sat next to Ernest and said pryvit again. Then he said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Ernest said slowly. He gave Rowan another gummy bear. It smelled like oranges, and it was delicious and chewy.
Rowan drew four lines in the dirt next to them to make a tic-tac-toe grid. He taught Ernest how to play. It was hard to explain since they didn’t speak the same language. Sometimes Ernest drew X’s when it wasn’t his turn. But Rowan didn’t mind. He just wanted to make a new friend.
Every day that week, Rowan played with Ernest at recess. They shared gummy bears and played games together.
One day at home, Dad asked, “How’s the new boy in your class? Did you practice the words you learned?”
“Yes! His name is Ernest,” Rowan said. “We play games at recess, and he gives me gummy bears.”
Dad smiled. “That’s awesome.” He sat next to Rowan on the couch. “Ernest and his family are refugees. They come from a country far away. Elder Kearon said that Jesus Christ was a refugee as a boy and asked us to be friends when we meet people from other countries. What do you think it takes to be a good friend?”
Rowan thought for a second. “It takes some love and finding a game to play together,” he said. “Then, others can join in and play the game too and get to know each other.”
Dad pulled Rowan in for a hug. “You are following Jesus and doing what the prophets ask us to do,” he said. “And now you have a new friend.”
“The Savior knows how it feels to be a refugee—He was one. … He repeatedly taught us to love one another, to love as He loves, to love our neighbor as ourselves.”
Elder Patrick Kearon, “Refuge from the Storm,” Liahona, May 2016, 111–12.
Illustrations by Josh Talbot