Gospel Story Finder

Anna Matilda Anderson huddled with her mother and sister, Ida, under the black umbrella. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the train approach. She shivered. This train would take her from Sweden and begin her journey to America.
“Be good and listen to Elder Carlson,” Anna’s mother whispered in Swedish. She held the girls close. Elder Carlson was a missionary who had been serving in Sweden for three years, since Anna was eight. Now it was time for him to return to his family in Idaho, in the United States.
When Mamma had decided to send Anna and Ida to America to escape the persecution in Sweden, Elder Carlson had offered to watch over them. Now he stood by the train. He motioned for the two girls to join him. Ida hugged her mother tightly and moved forward, but Anna stayed behind.
“I love you,” Anna said. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. Now listen closely. If you come to a place where you can’t understand what the people are saying, don’t forget to pray to your Father in Heaven because He can understand you.”
Still thinking of her mother’s words, Anna got on the train with Ida and Elder Carlson. She had been excited about her first ride on a train, but now she only wanted one last glimpse of Mamma. The train was too tall for her to see people’s faces, but she smiled when she saw her mother’s black umbrella held high above the crowd. It reminded her that Mamma was watching.
With a great bellow of smoke, the train lurched forward. At first it moved so slowly that Mamma ran beside the train. The black umbrella waved at Anna. But soon the black umbrella disappeared from view. Anna leaned against the windowpane. She knew it would be a long time before she saw Mamma again.
There had not been enough money for Mamma to buy a ticket. A family in Ogden, Utah, had paid for Ida’s passage to America. Ida would stay with them on their farm and work to repay them. But Anna would stay with her aunt in Salt Lake City. Anna’s aunt had gone to Utah several years earlier, and Mamma had written to tell her that Anna was making the long journey too.
After that first train trip, they took a boat over the North Sea to Denmark. Then they sailed to England and Ireland before crossing the Atlantic Ocean and landing in New York City. Anna was seasick for most of the 15-day journey. She was so relieved when she finally stepped off the boat!
“America looks different than Sweden, ja?” she said to Ida as they boarded the train in New York that would take them to Utah.
“Ja,” Ida whispered back in Swedish. “But America is home now, and if we work hard enough, soon we can bring Mamma here too.”
At last they were on the final stretch of their journey. Anna would have been excited for it to end if it didn’t mean losing Ida. There weren’t enough days left!
Finally Anna heard the conductor call, “Ogden, Utah!” She knew no English, but Anna recognized that name. Her heart sank. It sank even further when Elder Carlson stood and picked up his and Ida’s bags.
“Do you have to go?” she asked her sister.
“Yes,” Ida said gently. “Don’t worry, Auntie will be there when you get to Salt Lake City.”
Anna watched from the train as Ida and Elder Carlson met his family at the station. They would take Ida to her new home on the farm and then travel on to Idaho. Now Anna felt truly alone.
To be continued …

A few years after my mission, I moved to a city where I didn’t know anybody. I went to institute expecting to make new friends and begin socializing with other young single adults in the area, as I had previously done.
Initially, however, I found this difficult. No one was unkind, but there seemed to be little going on, and I sometimes felt lonely and distanced from those who already knew each other well. In contrast, I quickly made good friends outside of the Church.
It sometimes seemed that not going to institute would be easier than going. I didn’t have a ride, so I would have to walk or cycle each week to get there. I had found good friends with similar interests elsewhere. Besides, I had already graduated from institute.
However, as I thought about all of these reasons not to go, I remembered how much I had grown in the past because of the lessons I learned and friends I made at institute. Institute had nurtured my testimony and helped me better understand the Lord’s plan for me. I decided to keep attending, and I am glad I did. Gradually during that year I did make good friends at institute. I received invitations to social events and over time became much more involved.
It was hard to attend institute in a new area at first, but because I kept going anyway, I have received many spiritual and social blessings that I could not have received otherwise.

After Peter was released from the hospital, he arranged to go to Salt Lake City to undergo plastic surgery. He would live with his brother and sister-in-law and begin to work on his one great desire—to be normal.
But Peter was leaving a safe place in the hospital. There people understood what had happened to him and accepted him for the person he has inside. Now he must enter a world where people placed emphasis on appearances. An introduction to the outside world occurred when he went to the grocery store for the first time since his accident. He was feeling good about being out of the hospital, and his strength was returning. He walked to the store to pick up a few things. It was 5:00 P.M., and all the cashiers were busy.
I was standing in line behind this lady. She had two children with her, but they were running around. Finally it was nearly her turn to be checked out, and her two boys came running over. As soon as they came up to their mom, one young boy about four years old looked up and saw me. I suppose he was a little unprepared for what he saw. It scared him so badly, he started yelling, “Monster, monster!” He pulled away from his mother and started running down the aisle. She looked up to see what he was screaming about, and there I stood. She, too, dropped her groceries and ran down the aisle after her little boy. With this screaming, all the other people at the checkstands were curious about what was happening. Everything stopped. Everyone turned and looked, and there I was in the middle of the store. Then came all the ohs and ahs and people making comments that I could hear. It felt just like a knife turning in my stomach.
At this time Peter was going through a series of 28 operations to reconstruct his features and correct injuries suffered in his accident. He was approached by his bishop who asked what he would be doing if he could do anything he wanted.
Quickly it slipped out because it was a great desire of mine, but it seemed so totally impossible. I said, “I’d love to serve a mission.” And without even thinking twice he said, “Well, let’s get you ready.” I said, “Oh, bishop, I can’t do that.” I started to go over my finances and how much I owed and how my leg had not healed yet and all the operations I faced and the way people related to me. But he just said, “Let’s get you ready.”
The bishop called Peter to teach Sunday School, and after several trying times, Peter had some good experiences in teaching the Gospel Doctrine class. He was working several jobs to help pay his hospital bills. He had several more operations scheduled, and he was beginning to think seriously about his future. Some friends came one day to ask him to go to a stake dance that evening with them. Although he wanted to go, he refused. It took them six hours of talking to convince him to try going to the dance.
As I entered the foyer, I noticed that all the kids started looking at me, and I noticed some girls over by the coat rack. A couple of girls whispered, they didn’t know I could hear them, “Look at that guy. I sure hope he doesn’t ask me to dance.” Once again an ugly feeling shrouded my whole being.
I found a place behind the young men up near the band. I claimed a 60 cm square piece of board as my territory. I was going to own it for those hours at the dance.
At intermission his friends tried to encourage him to dance. They started pulling him out onto the floor. During the intermission, he resolved that as soon as the band began playing again, he would ask a girl to dance.
As soon as the music started, I remembered my commitment. I refused to think about my appearance and I went right out there to dance. I knew if I didn’t do it then, I would be a coward for the rest of the night.
He reached the section of the floor where the girls had congregated. He approached one girl from the back. When he touched her on the shoulder to ask for a dance, she turned and screamed. Embarrassed, she ran out of the ball, pushing her way through the crowd. It was just like the store. The band stopped; everyone stopped to see what was the matter. He returned to his place. His friends tried to comfort him, and the dance started again.
I wanted to shout; I wanted to get out of there. And this small voice deep down inside me said, “Peter, you can’t run now; you’ll be running for the rest of your life.” Another strange thing started to happen. My legs started to move across the floor. I watched myself go out there to ask another girl to dance. I had strength beyond my own power. It was like my spirit was up above me saying, “What are you doing? You’ve got to get back. Are you a glutton for punishment.” As I was walking across the floor, I was having this argument saying yes and no and yes and no. This small voice inside me kept reassuring me. It said, “Peter, you must keep asking them to dance. Don’t turn and run because you’ll be running forever.”
He asked a girl to dance every dance for the rest of the evening. He was discouraged when only two girls the entire evening would dance with him. That night as he knelt in prayer, Peter was one bitter young man.
Everything seemed to come together—all the pressure of the people, the way they treated me and stared at me and pointed at me, and all the operations that were left to be done. I still did not really know if they could correct my eyes and give me some eyelids, a normal mouth, and a nose. This feeling of ugliness came upon me, and in my anger, I said to my Father in Heaven, “There is a scripture that promises that we will not be tempted beyond our capacity to resist. I need that now.” I went to bed. The next morning I was blessed with a peace and a calmness that has stayed with me ever since. And regardless of how the world treated me from that point on. I was normal. My Father in Heaven just gave peace to me as He promised. If we live the commandments, he will give us what we need. He gave me a peace and a calmness so I was normal from that day on. Yes people would still react the same toward me, but I was different.
With his confidence in himself established on a spiritual basis, Peter was ready to work toward going on a mission. After submitting his papers and undergoing a special interview with Elder Thomas S. Monson, Peter received his call to the Northern California Mission.
Up until then Peter had always worn dark glasses in an attempt to cover the slits that had been sewn closed over his eyes to compensate for his lack of eyelids. He had been so self-conscious of his appearance that he never went anywhere without his glasses. On the way to his mission interview, he took his dark glasses off and never wore them again. Surgery later corrected the problem with his eyelids.
His new attitude about himself helped him serve a successful mission. He was able to influence people and encourage them to become members of the Church.
When Peter returned after completing his mission, he quickly began the routine of work and visits to the hospital as he continued with corrective surgery. At this time, he was called to serve a stake mission. In this capacity he met the secretary to the stake mission president, Marjorie Clegg of Tooele, Utah. They became good friends, and Peter started arranging dates for her with his friends. Finally, after having had too many dates arranged for her, Marjorie asked him to please not arrange any more dates for her. Peter asked her for a date for himself. Based on a foundation of friendship, the relationship grew into love, and they were married.
Except for the very first time Marjorie met me, she never seemed to notice my burns. I’m very much aware of people noticing that I’m different. I’ve never noticed that Marjorie ever thought me any different on the outside than she found me on the inside. She makes me feel very handsome. I love her not only because she’s my sweetheart, but because she’s my very best friend. She is the girl I prayed for who would take me for what I am on the inside. That’s what I needed because I couldn’t get very far using the outside.
From an accident that could have been devastating to any future accomplishment, Peter Jeppson struggled against adversity to become a successful businessman, Church leader, husband, and father. He is now the owner of his own insurance and investment agency, has served on the General Board of the Young Men, and has three children, two daughters and a son.
While Peter was lying in the hospital as a 19-year-old trying to figure out his future, he asked himself, “What one thing would I have to accomplish that would mean I had overcome my problems?” He was influenced by some books on setting goals that his friend had read to him before his bandages were removed from his eyes. He decided that if he could be a successful life insurance sales manager that would mean (1) he was able to develop a good relationship with people individually, (2) he would have gained an education, and (3) he would have proven his credibility and ability in one area.
With this goal in mind, Peter began researching insurance companies. He contacted 59 companies and was not offered a single job. He finally got a position as a planning manager for an insurance company. It was a very small beginning. Through persistence, hard work, and going to school at the same time, Peter began learning the business.
By the time Peter got married, he had paid all his debts to doctors and hospitals, but he was starting married life with no assets except his confidence and attitude. In ten years, he has built all that he and his family have from nothing by determination and discipline.
Now, Peter, Marjorie, and their children all keep journals recording the progress they are making on their goals. When the children are too small to be able to write, Marjorie records in their journals for them.
With a slim, athletic build, Peter points out that one of his goals this year was to be able to run 3 kilometers in 16 minutes. He has reached that goal.
Leaning back in his office chair and glancing out of the window of his own office building, Peter exudes confidence. This confidence, however, has not come easily. He often had to struggle to overcome depression. “I noticed as all this was happening to me,” says Peter, “that as bad as things are, if you’re not careful, you can get into the habit of letting things irritate you all the time. It can depress you forever.
“If you take yourself too seriously,” he continues, “you’ve got a real problem. People get in the habit too often of letting whatever happens to them get them in a tiresome routine. They let themselves become accustomed to reacting to the world in one way. So, if a person is overweight, or skinny, or has large, prominent front teeth it doesn’t matter. We all have problems. A beautiful girl seems to have no problems. She may have problems, too, inside. Everybody has problems. It’s not what the problems are, it’s how you cope with them that is important.”
Although Peter would have preferred the accident not to have happened, still he has learned from the experience. “Be thankful for your troubles,” says Peter, “because those are the things that teach you. We came to earth to work out our salvation (see Philip. 2:12.) That’s spelled w-o-r-k. Beauty comes from working out your salvation, (see Philip. 2:12) being close to the Savior.”
Now able to make people comfortable in his presence very quickly, Peter is indeed a handsome man. What he has developed inside is more obvious than any exterior scar. That evening long ago when he prayed to have the feelings of ugliness leave changed his life. He learned how to handle adversity and was given peace of mind.
When asked if he has any advice to give to others, Peter says, “Yes, if you want anything, learn the laws and commandments governing it and live them. Success doesn’t have anything to do with circumstances. Learn the laws and live them.”

I should like to challenge you to measure your acceptance of counsel from the following experience related by President Marion G. Romney in a general conference:
“I was greatly impressed by the President’s [President Joseph Fielding Smith’s] remarks. I am glad he said what he did. Listening to him, I was taken back in my thoughts a quarter of a century ago to an experience I had with President Heber J. Grant. We were discussing some criticism that had been directed against an action taken by him in his official capacity. Putting his arm across my back and resting his hand on my left shoulder he said, ‘My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church, and if he tells you to do something wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.’
“And then he added, ‘You don’t need to worry, however; the Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead his people astray.’
“I haven’t forgotten his counsel. I think I have been faithful to that charge ever since.” (Conference Report, Apr. 1972, p. 111.)

When my grandma was sick a few years ago, I would stay with her several nights a week. After giving her medicine and tucking her into bed, I would get in my car and drive through a dark canyon to get home. I would play this same song on repeat and cry and cry. I would beg Heavenly Father to give me more patience. To be kinder. To be softer. But most of all, I begged Him to know how I could fix her.
Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.
And finally, I recently hit a point of exhaustion I’d never felt before. My friends, family members, and even coworkers had been opening up to me about their current challenges, and the more they opened up to me, the more I would try to take on what they were struggling with. I was hyperfocused on that idea of “fixing,” and I felt powerless to do so.
So when that song came on at work, tears instantly flooded my eyes as I stopped typing and listened to the music. It was all I could do to mutter a small prayer: “Heavenly Father … I’m exhausted.”
Then God, in His loving grace, answered my prayer by patiently teaching me. These words instantly came to my mind: “You’re exhausted because you’re trying to be the fixer. And that is what I sent my Son to do.”
I felt incredibly humbled in that moment. I’d been trying to do a job that was never mine to do in the first place.
As Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Sometimes, the natural man or woman in us makes us think that we have been called to ‘fix’ other people. We have not been called to be ‘fixers’ of others, and we have not been called to lecture or to scorn. We have been called to inspire, to lift, to invite others, to be fishers of people, fishers of souls so they receive the opportunity to be spiritually healed by Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.”1
I’ve learned that because of the world we live in, we will constantly be with people, including ourselves, who are imperfect. And living in an imperfect world means that we will all experience challenges in this life, including difficult things that are beyond our control. That’s why God sent Jesus Christ—so He could help us.
Heavenly Father reminded me that day in my office that it wasn’t my job to heal my grandma. I wasn’t to blame for my friend’s death by suicide. And it certainly wasn’t my role to take on all the burdens and weaknesses of those around me.
Let us remember the Savior “descended below” all things (Doctrine and Covenants 122:8) because He is the Master Healer.
That’s a truth I’m continually learning to hold on to when I feel that need to solve everyone’s problems. I now strive to allow the Savior to guide and teach me.
Our simple mandate from Him is to “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8), which entails loving, supporting, listening, comforting, praying, fasting, forgiving, and serving. We can do that as we turn to follow the Savior. And as we let Him offer His healing hand to us and to those we love, our burdens will truly become light.

“Conner, it’s time to get up,” Mom said, gently shaking him. Conner moved slowly at first. Then he remembered.
“Today’s Sunday!” he shouted as he jumped out of bed. He raced to put on his Sunday clothes and hurried down to breakfast. He didn’t even slow down to play the game on the back of the cereal box.
What is he doing today that is so special? Mom wondered.
Conner did have something special to do. He had waited all week for Sunday to come.
Last week in his Primary class, Sister Plummer had said, “When I was about ten, I discovered something that helped me to be more reverent. If you would like to know my secret, listen for the words ‘always remember’ in sacrament meeting next week, then always remember what comes after those words.”
Conner had decided that he would listen. He wanted to know Sister Plummer’s secret.
At church, he heard Bishop Sheppard say, “Remember to come to the ward picnic.” Conner knew that that wasn’t Sister Plummer’s “always remember.”
He listened as the congregation began to sing the sacrament hymn. He wondered if Sister Plummer’s special words might be in the hymn. He pointed at each word and found himself singing along. But he didn’t find the special words.
Conner bowed his head and listened carefully as his best friend’s big brother began the sacramental prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, he heard “always remember.” He knew what Sister Plummer’s secret was! He knew who he was always to remember. But can I “always remember” Jesus? he wondered.
Conner folded his arms and sat reverently. When a deacon stumbled down the stairs coming from the stand, he wanted to poke his little sister and say, “Sara, did you see that?”
But he didn’t because he remembered.
After the sacrament, the first speaker was Sister Swanson. She smiled a lot and was easy to listen to. He had no trouble remembering while she was speaking.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters!” Brother Swanson said. He was a big man with a jolly voice. But the words Brother Swanson spoke were almost as large as he was. Conner didn’t understand and soon lost interest. His fingers began to fumble around in his pockets. He found a rubber band and started to twist it. Suddenly he remembered. The rubber band went back into his pocket, and he looked up at Brother Swanson and listened for words he knew.
A little girl in front of him was chewing bubble gum and blew a little bubble. It made a tiny pop. Conner watched as she began blowing another. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
Then Conner remembered. When the big bubble popped, he didn’t see the little girl’s face covered in pink. So he didn’t laugh like some people around him did.
Not long after the bubbles, the Johnsons’ baby rolled under the wooden bench and pulled playfully at Conner’s leg. The baby said, “Connn, Connn …”
Conner reached down to play with her, but he stopped himself just in time. He had remembered.
“Sorry, Conner,” Sister Johnson whispered as she struggled to grab the wriggly baby girl.
Conner didn’t hear or see them leave. His big blue eyes were watching Brother Swanson’s fill with tears. His ears were hearing the speaker’s voice soften to a near whisper as he spoke of his love for the Savior. Conner felt warm and tingly inside.
After the meeting, Mother said, “Conner, you were so reverent today. How did you do it?”
Conner smiled. “Every time I thought about something else, I always remembered someone.”
“Whom did you always remember?”
“I always remembered Jesus,” Conner said, “and it felt good!”

At some point during her drive to become a ballerina, Mavi realized that dancing was not the only goal she had or the only worthwhile thing she would need to sacrifice for.

Along the way, she gained a desire to follow Jesus Christ, and she realized that what ballet had taught her about discipline applies to gospel discipleship as well. Just as her friends had wondered why she would do what she did for dance, they asked why she lived such restrictive gospel principles.

“I explained that we have the liberty to choose, and I chose to accept this lifestyle in order to be free from sin and have the Holy Ghost with me,” she says.

Or as the Savior said it, a disciple must “take up his cross,” meaning to deny oneself all ungodliness and every worldly lust and to keep God’s commandments (see Joseph Smith Translation, Matthew 16:26). Such self-discipline brings us to “liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator,” while trying to live outside the commandments leads to “captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).

“Obedience brings greater freedom and peace than anything,” Mavi says. “My goals aren’t limited to this earthly life but include eternity.”

The gospel parallel is important. Following Christ takes strength. And the rewards are sweet.

“The rewards from so many sacrifices are that I can dance,” Mavi says. “I feel strong, and I feel the guidance of the Holy Ghost in every step I take—on stage and off.”

Little did I guess what would happen next. In May, I received a letter from an old friend, an American doctor named James Ferwarda. I had met Dr. Ferwarda during his visit to Mali in 1985. At his request, I had accompanied him on a tour of my country. Now, to my great surprise, he was sending me a round-trip airplane ticket and inviting me to visit him at his home in the United States!

I was astonished, overwhelmed at his offer. But it seemed impossible for me to leave my family at this critical time. The Church members urged me to accept the invitation, however. Perhaps, they said, the Lord would open the way for me to go to the temple while I was in the United States. Like many members, I cherished the dream of attending the temple “someday.”

Still dumbfounded, I did go, “not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.” (See 1 Ne. 4:6.) It was incredible that someone who was barely surviving financially could make such an expensive trip. After I arrived in the United States, Dr. Ferwarda learned of my deep desire to attend the temple, which was more than 2,000 kilometers away. Although he was not a member of the Church, he told me, “I respect your opinion, and I will pay for your ticket to Salt Lake City, too.”

I visited the Church offices as soon as I arrived in Salt Lake City. I will never, ever forget that day. Elder Alexander Morrison of the Seventy ordained me an elder. Then I went to the temple and received the endowment. Everyone in the temple was so kind. The beauty and serenity there moved me deeply. I was also impressed by the young missionaries, whom I saw for the first time. Now I knew that I wanted my sons to serve missions.

Sara Marshall watched as Mommy brushed her hair and put on lipstick. Sara thought that Mommy was beautiful.
Then Sara remembered that Mommy was going visiting teaching. That meant that Sara had to go to Sister Morgan’s house. Sara had just turned five. She could hardly wait until fall, when she would start kindergarten and go to school like her big brothers did. She wouldn’t need to go to a baby-sitter’s house then.
“Why can’t I stay with Grandma and Grandpa Thomas?” she asked.
Mommy gave Sara a hug. “Remember? Grandma and Grandpa are serving at the temple today.”
Sara’s lips turned down into a pout. She didn’t want to go to Sister Morgan’s house. She wanted to stay with her grandparents, as she used to.
Grandma Thomas often let Sara make cookies with her. Grandpa showed Sara his collection of toy trains.
Ever since Grandma and Grandpa had started working at the Salt Lake Temple two months ago, they didn’t have as much time for her.
She knew that the temple was a special place where people wore white clothes. Mommy and Daddy went there once a month. They called it their temple date. Sara thought that that sounded funny—Mommy and Daddy going on a date. Her big brother, Steven, took girls on dates. They went to the movies or basketball games. Sometimes he took a girl he really liked to dances.
“Grandma and Grandpa love you just as much as they always have,” Mommy said. “But they promised the bishop and Heavenly Father that they would serve at the temple three days a week. What if you and I make cookies after I pick you up from Sister Morgan’s? We can make extra and take some to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Sara’s frown disappeared. “Chocolate chip?”
Mommy ruffled Sara’s hair. “Is there any other kind?”
Sara enjoyed spending the morning at Sister Morgan’s. She played with Tiffany, who was also five. They played “Primary” and took turns being the teacher.
That afternoon, Sara and Mommy made cookies, then took them to Grandpa and Grandma. They looked tired but happy.
Grandma told her about helping a young bride go through the temple for the first time. Tears shone in Grandma’s eyes. “Doing temple work is one of the greatest joys in my life. Someday, maybe I can help you when you go to the Lord’s house.”
Sara kissed them both and decided that she was glad they worked at the temple.

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison thought about that. She remembered when her best friend, Erica, had said that Mormons weren’t Christians. She didn’t understand what Erica meant, so she had asked her parents about it.
“A lot of people focus on the name ‘Mormon’ or ‘Latter-day Saints,’” Mom had explained. “They forget that our Church is named for Jesus Christ.”
The next day at school, Alison had told Erica the first article of faith: “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”
But Erica had just shrugged. “Then why don’t people call you Christians instead of Mormons?” she asked.
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas” and “The Nativity Song,” and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.

A true story from Belgium.
Lou felt excited as she tore open the blue envelope. Her best friend Alice was having a birthday party, and she was invited!
But as Lou read the invitation, her heart sank. Not another party on Sunday, she thought.
Lou’s family didn’t go to parties on Sundays. Instead, they spent time together, went to church, and did other things to remember the Savior.
But this party was harder to say no to. How could she miss her best friend’s birthday?
“Can’t I just go this once?” Lou asked her parents that night. “I know Sundays are important. But I don’t want to miss out.”
“It’s a hard choice,” Dad said. “Heavenly Father asks us to make Sunday a holy day. But it’s up to you to decide how you’ll do that.”
Mom gave Lou a hug. “General conference is this weekend. Maybe this can be the question you ask.”
Lou’s family had a tradition to write down a question they had before conference. Then during conference, they listened for answers.
Lou sighed. “OK.”
At bedtime, Lou wrote down her question. Then she prayed. “Heavenly Father, I really want to go to this party, and I don’t know what to do. Will you please help me find answers as I watch general conference?”
A few days later, Lou and her brothers piled onto the couch. It was time for conference! Lou drew in her notebook during the opening song. Then the first speaker began.
Lou looked up. The speaker was talking about the Sabbath day! He said that God blessed those who keep His commandments, even if the blessing didn’t come right away.
“I think Heavenly Father already answered my question,” Lou said. “That was fast!”
The next day at school, Lou found Alice at recess. “Thanks for inviting me to your party,” Lou said. She took a deep breath. “Sundays are a special day for me and my family. So I won’t be able to come.”
“OK,” Alice said. “I’m sad you’ll miss it.”
“Me too,” said Lou. “But on Saturday, would you like to go with me to the trampoline park? Then we can still play together and celebrate your birthday.”
“I’d love to!” Alice grinned.
Lou smiled back. Not going to the party was a hard choice to make. But she knew it was the right thing. And she was grateful that Heavenly Father answered her important question.

In 1995 I returned from my last trip through the vast Argentina Córdoba Mission, having served as counselor to the mission president for eight unforgettable years. A new calling as president of the Villa Allende Branch was waiting for me. Twice before I had held that position in other units. As always I was grateful for the opportunity to serve. My new calling made me think about the growth of the Church in my part of Argentina; one particular experience made me even more grateful for my heritage in the gospel.
Forty years before that time, the original branch in Córdoba was divided. From that first division, a branch (now the Villa Belgrano Ward) was created west of the city. It was the basis for many other units created in subsequent years.
Each time a new branch was organized, the Villa Belgrano Ward, like the generous trunk of a robust tree, provided to the tender young shoots part of its leadership and membership and also donated whatever materials it could: a pulpit, chairs, tables, sacrament trays, and so forth. After a new branch was fully equipped, these extra items were again donated to other new branches. In this way furniture and other items were scattered as they were put to good use.
Today the little branch in Villa Allende is a ward with a beautiful meetinghouse and an excellent young bishop. But in 1995, when I began serving as branch president, we met in a large, old rented house. One Sunday when we were meeting in the old house, one of my counselors and I were blessing the sacrament. It had been years since I had officiated in this sacred ordinance; usually our young Aaronic Priesthood bearers enjoyed that privilege.
At first I paid no particular attention to the white tablecloth covering the sacrament trays. But as we stood to break the bread, the words santa cena (sacrament), beautifully embroidered and standing out in relief, made my heart beat fast and my eyes fill with tears.
In a simple, ordinary way Heavenly Father reminded me of the many blessings I had received during 60 years as a member of His true Church. Those embroidered letters were unmistakable. Forty years before, my mother, who along with my father was a pioneer in our city, had taken a piece of linen from her trousseau and asked me to write in the middle of it the words santa cena. She then delicately embroidered over the letters and donated to the branch its first tablecloth.
During our years of continual growth, changes, moves, and new units, I had sometimes wondered about the tablecloth. Had it burned in the Villa Belgrano meetinghouse fire in 1979?
But here it was safely in front of me. It brought to mind so many experiences, as well as a deep well of gratitude. After so many unit divisions and hundreds of washings and ironings and after being cared for by many loving hands, it was still giving service—far from the branch where it began but still in the Church after more than 40 years.
At that faraway time when the tablecloth was first made, I was serving as a brand-new, very young branch president for the first time. Many things had changed and grown during the intervening years; many other things had remained the same. I remembered and treasured both the things that change and the things that do not as I renewed my acquaintance with that very special tablecloth.

Many years ago I walked at dawn through the narrow cobblestone streets of Cusco, Peru, high in the Andes Mountains. I saw a man from a local indigenous group walking down one of the streets. He was not a big man physically, but he carried an immense load of firewood in a huge burlap sack on his back. The sack seemed to be as big as he was. The load must have weighed as much as he did. He steadied it with a rope that looped under the bottom of the sack and circled up around his forehead. He gripped the rope tightly on both sides of his head. He kept a rag on his forehead underneath the rope to keep it from cutting into his skin. He leaned forward under his burden and walked with deliberate, difficult steps.
The man was carrying the firewood to the marketplace, where it would be sold. In an average day he might make just two or three round-trips across the town to deliver similarly awkward, heavy loads.
The memory of him bent forward, struggling down the street has become increasingly meaningful for me with the passage of years. How long could he continue to carry such burdens?
I remember that man in Peru, hunched over and struggling to carry that enormous sack of firewood on his back. For me, he is an image of us all as we struggle with the burdens of life. I know that as we keep the commandments of God and our covenants, He helps us with our burdens. He strengthens us. When we repent, He forgives us and blesses us with peace of conscience and joy. May we then submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It isn’t always easy to reach a Book of Mormon reading goal, so the young women of the Hemet Third Ward, Hemet California Stake, set up a study buddy program where each person drew the name of partner to help encourage each other to read their two pages a day.
At the end of the nine-month program, more than half of the girls and leaders finished the entire book, and it was time for a celebration. They held a “Book of Mormon Fest,” with games like “Get the Gadiantons,” where the girls threw darts at balloons labeled with the names of Book of Mormon bad guys, and “The Mock Walk,” where the girls had to walk a beam representing the straight and narrow path while being mocked with laughter.

Susanna can still remember the good feelings she had when she was baptized. A week before her baptism she had a dream she remembers very clearly. In the dream she saw a huge mountain in front of her and a path that went straight to the top of the mountain. She saw another path that went sideways up the mountain, but it seemed well lit. She chose the sideways path and soon found herself in deep darkness. She had a sad feeling and turned around.
“Sometimes we choose the wrong path,” she says, “but we can always turn around and find the way to Heavenly Father.” Susanna is courageous enough to always find her way!

During the tears and other hubbub of leaving the airport, I paid little attention to all the words of advice and caution everyone was giving me. All I could see was the jet pulling up to the gate and visions of converting the entire countries of Guatemala and El Salvador. Finally, we were told to board, There was a rush of last minute hugs, kisses (from my parents and sisters), and, of course, that special handshake from a smiling, beautiful girl who was close to crying.
When I reached the door leading to the boarding area, my father said, “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” I nodded a hurried “Sure, Dad” and left. As I walked to the plane, I laughed to myself. “Dad, you got your words mixed again. You meant to say, ‘Obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy on your mission.’” With that, I tossed his advice into my memory, filed under “Parental Counsel.”
Seven months later, my father was dead.
In those first wavering hours after my mission president told me of the tragic plane accident, I found myself much like the cartoon character who has a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil said: “What are you doing here? All that talk about life after death is not true. You go on a mission and what happens. You break your foot; go to the hospital; come to a strange land, with strange people and strange customs; and your father gets killed. Sure it’s the happiest two years of your life. 3,200 kilometers away from home, and you’re all alone.”
Such thoughts were foreign to me. I had been a faithful member of the Church all my life; yet, the thoughts were there.
The angel on my other shoulder said: “Be strong, Elder. You had a great father you can be proud of, a mighty patriarch who taught you the gospel in all things. You know eternal life is a true principle of the gospel, and you know your father will be waiting for you. You ve had a testimony of the gospel since you were old enough to cry. This is no time to start doubting.”
In the midst of this struggle between doubt and reality, my father’s last words at the airport came echoing into my mind: “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.” Dad hadn’t confused his words at all. Those final words to me were inspired counsel that would guide me for the rest of my life. My father lived as he taught, and a few weeks following his death, the full testimony of his life was made manifest to me.
Finances became a major concern. I had enough money in the bank to cover 11 of the remaining 15 months of my mission and hoped Mom could get enough together for the remaining four. My plans for college now became hopes and dreams. However, the Lord takes care of his missionaries.
I received a letter from my mother telling me that I needn’t worry about finances anymore. A man had contacted my bishop and asked if he could support me for the rest of my mission. This is not too unusual, since there are many good-hearted men in the Church, but the difference in this instance was in what the man told my bishop: “l’m not a member of your church, but out of the love and respect I have for Horace Rappleye, I’d like to support his son for the rest of his mission.” And he did. For 15 months the money was placed regularly in my bank account by the anonymous benefactor.
He remains anonymous to this day.
My father’s life of obedience brought blessings to him even after he died. His death became the highlight of my mission. That may be a strange thing to say, and I wish my father were still alive, but my mission thereafter became a living testimony to my father’s life. I soon found how precious it is to live “all the rules.” No matter how small or insignificant the rule seemed, if I obeyed, I was happy.
We are told by the Lord, “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—
“And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130:20–21.)
This scripture is true. Whenever I find that I become depressed or unhappy. I usually find it is because I am not being obedient in all things as I should. At these times a comforting echo reverberates in my head. “Son, obey all the rules, and you’ll be happy in life.”

The story is told of a professional driver who applied for a job driving high level government officials to their various destinations often on dangerous winding mountain roads. The interviewer asked each applicant the following question: “How close can you drive a car to the edge of a dangerous mountain road and remain safe?” The first applicant responded, “I can get within ten centimeters and still be safe.” The second said, “I can get on the edge and still be safe.” The third driver stated, “I can get one wheel over the edge and still protect the passenger.” Finally, the last driver said, “I will stay as far from the edge as possible.” It is he who got the job.

The air was stiflingly hot, and birds filled the blue Portuguese sky. Nearby, some of my nephews were playing in the river, plunging into the water to escape the heat.
I wished I could escape my troubles so easily. I had recently decided to become active again in the Church. Through the Holy Ghost, the Lord had confirmed my decision, but my family and friends didn’t understand. They had criticized and abandoned me, and I felt utterly alone. A request to watch my sister’s boys swim had offered some needed moments of peace in what seemed a constant battle against forces intent on keeping me from the truth.
I had brought my Book of Mormon with me, and while my nephews splashed in the river, I sat under a tree and read. Tears started to flow as I thought of those I loved who told me I was making a mistake. I was so sure I was doing the Father’s will.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I could no longer hear my nephews. I looked toward the river, but they weren’t there. Concern, bordering on panic, flooded my heart.
And then I heard a young voice calling out my name. I turned to see my nephews standing behind me, smiling, cheeks as radiant as the light of the sun. The youngest, about five years old, was hiding something behind his back—an arrangement of multicolored flowers he and his brothers had picked from the nearby field. He presented them to me in a voice that sounded like music to my ears.
Tears sprang again to my eyes. But this time they were tears of happiness. As I embraced my nephews, I lifted my face to the sky and saw rays of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds. A great peace filled my heart. Because of this small, simple gesture—made with love—I knew I was not alone. Even though they did not understand my decision, my nephews—and all my family members—still loved me. But more important, Heavenly Father knew of my trials and was there to sustain me with His infinite love and concern.

Thirteen-year-old Henry Sanderson, on his way from Connecticut to Nauvoo, Illinois, was not sure if he was riding a railroad train or a boat on wheels.
This was September 1842, and Pennsylvania’s forests were becoming dotted with the reds and golds of autumn. To cross the Allegheny Mountains, Henry boarded a train with his parents and two younger sisters. It had a steam engine like a normal train, but the passenger cars were actually boats on train wheels. Near the mountain summit, trainmen unhooked the engine and snapped a cable to the cars. A motor at the top wound the cable and pulled the train cars up. At the summit, men released the cars and let them coast down the other side of the mountains without any engine at all. Then, for Henry’s final train-boat adventure, trainmen removed the wheels and put the boat-cars into a canal. Horses on a towpath beside the canal pulled Henry’s boat-car to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Henry knew his stay in Pittsburgh would be short, lasting only one winter. His parents, James and Mary Jane Sanderson, had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few months earlier and had decided to move to Nauvoo. Henry felt glad to move because boys in his neighborhood in Norwalk, Connecticut, had made fun of him after his parents were baptized. At Pittsburgh, Henry helped his father do shoemaker’s work, a skill Henry had learned from him.
Late the next spring, the Sandersons boarded a steamboat and churned down the Ohio River and up the Mississippi River. They reached Nauvoo in the summer of 1843 when Henry was 14 and Nauvoo was barely four years old. Henry found young Nauvoo filled with new buildings, most of them small and made of wood, with taller brick houses here and there. Embracing the city on the west was a broad, crescent-shaped bend of the Mississippi River.
Soon after Henry’s family arrived, he hiked up the bluffs to visit the temple construction project. He walked around the 60-centimeter-high walls that workers were building skyward. He inspected the red brick store whose upper floor was the headquarters for the Church. On Main Street he found a brick post office and the Merryweather store.
The Sandersons became neighbors of Joseph Smith on Main Street, two blocks from the river. Henry’s parents moved into a log cabin next to Sidney Rigdon’s home, which stood between them and the Smiths’ new residence, the Mansion House. Henry saw workers put the final touches on the Mansion House, which the Smiths opened that September as a hotel.
Henry played with the Prophet’s sons. The oldest was Joseph Smith III, three years younger than Henry. Henry became best friends with Sidney Rigdon’s sons, Algernon and John W., who were near his age.
In Nauvoo, men and boys paid their tithing by working every 10th day on building projects. “My father and myself went regularly every 10th day to labor on the temple,” Henry said, “sometimes at the quarry and other times on the temple grounds.”
Henry, who knew and liked the Prophet, “had been to his house frequently and played with his boys and he would occasionally join us. I had been in games of ball where the Prophet was one of the players.”
Henry, 15, was outside his house when Joseph Smith left for Carthage. Henry saw Joseph shake hands and exchange canes with a stranger. Then Joseph rode away. That was the last time he saw the Prophet alive. Henry first heard the tragic news from Carthage Jail “when a runner went past our house shouting that the Prophet was killed.”
A day or two later Henry and crowds of others visited the Mansion House, where “I saw their murdered bodies after they were brought from Carthage.” The murders were “a sad blow to my father,” Henry said, “and for a time he was at a loss to know what the results would be, but [he] finally settled to the conviction that the Church would continue its progress and that the Twelve Apostles were the proper leaders.”
Needing income, Henry and his father went downriver to St. Louis, Missouri, to find jobs. His father joined George Betts’s shoe shop, which employed 25 men. Henry took a job at a small shop belonging to three LDS shoemakers. His mother and sisters joined them in St. Louis in the spring.
Henry’s good friends from Nauvoo, Algernon and John Rigdon, visited him in his new home. Their father, who had been Joseph Smith’s counselor, had decided to leave the Church and was moving to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. In “the last conversation that I had with them as we were saying good-bye,” Henry said, “the boys declared that they would return to the Church. … Knowing they were … sincere, I expected for some years to hear from them but was disappointed.” (John Rigdon rejoined the Church in 1904 just before he died.)
Mr. Betts sent Henry’s father to work on a farm that the Mississippi River had flooded the year before. The Sandersons moved there and lived in a “very good log house.” They plowed and planted, and the farm prospered. But with the summer heat, river sickness (probably malaria) struck the family. Henry’s father suffered the most and died on 16 September 1845, at age 41.
Henry, now 16, returned with his mother and younger sister, Mary Jane, 4, to Nauvoo. An older sister, Maria, stayed behind to work for the Betts family.
Henry, weak himself from the summer sickness, returned to St. Louis for his sister. He earned his passage downriver and back by working on the riverboats. On the trip down he was an assistant fireman, carrying firewood and loading and unloading freight.
On the boat trip back to Nauvoo, Henry was third cook and “had the cabin dishes to wash, they being brought down to me by the cabin boys.” He liked the job because he could eat the leftover food, which was better than what he usually ate. Some plates of food came to him “untouched,” so instead of dumping the food overboard as ordered, he let other cabin boys eat it.
Henry, who was big for his age, joined the Nauvoo Legion. He “enrolled in a Captain Black’s company” when unfriendly neighbors began harassing the Mormons in and around Nauvoo. Officers gave this teenager “something of a gun,” and he “sometimes was scouting all night and took delight therein, even at times when the mob was expected every hour.”
Early in 1846, when Henry was 17, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo. For the wagon trek across Iowa, Jonathan C. Wright hired Henry to be a chore boy and drive an ox team. Henry liked this job, except for Brother Wright’s restriction that Henry walk his horses but never run or race them.
While Henry was camped with the Wrights at Council Bluffs, Iowa, a United States army recruiter arrived. “I had told my comrades that he would not get a man,” Henry said. But President Brigham Young called a meeting in a brush-covered bowery and asked that 500 men enlist in the Mormon Battalion for the Mexican War. Henry felt impressed to answer the call, so he joined the army. Mr. Wright, upset at losing his hired hand, “was wrathy and said that I could not go.” But Henry went. He was not yet 18, as required by the government, “but as I had nearly got my growth in height I passed without difficulty.”
The next summer, when he was 18, he left California, where the Mormon Battalion had completed its march, and entered the Great Salt Lake Valley just after the 1847 pioneers arrived. Wanting to rejoin his family, he returned east with Brigham Young’s company late that same year to the Winter Quarters area.
Henry and his family came west three years later, in 1850. He married and lived at Union Fort, Fillmore, and Fairview, Utah. During his adult years he was a farmer, teacher, and shoemaker.

Before I went into combat experience, I had, at the prompting of my father, a patriarchal blessing given to me. As you know, that’s an opportunity, under the hands of those who hold the priesthood, to have the spiritual gifts and opportunities, the actual capacities that are within us, revealed to us in such a way that we can actually formulate our lives for the future as we apply the principles of the gospel. And you know, that patriarchal blessing stated in a number of paragraphs that I would live, as we might term in the vernacular, to a ripe old age, that I would have a wife and a family and certain experiences in the Church. And then it concluded, as they often do, with the conditional clause, “if thou art willing.” See, there’s the condition. If you are willing, Paul, these things will come to pass. And one of the paragraphs indicated divine intervention in time of combat.
Now there were 1,000 of us in my combat team who left San Francisco on that fateful journey, and there were six of us who came back 2 1/2 years later. How do you like that for odds! And of the six of us, five had been severely wounded two or more times and had been sent back into the line as replacements. There had been literally thousands of incidents where I should have been taken from the earth by the enemy and for some reason was not.
Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.