Gospel Story Finder

Susan Madsen tells the story of Agnes Caldwell in the Willie handcart company. They were caught in heavy storms and suffered terrible hunger and cold. Relief wagons came to deliver food and blankets, but there were not enough wagons to carry all the people. Even after rescue, the majority of the people still had to trudge on many more miles to the safety of the valley.
Little nine-year-old Agnes was too weary to walk any farther. The driver took notice of her determination to keep up with the wagon and asked if she would like a ride. She tells in her own words what happened next:
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that … could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of. … Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped [and pulled me into the wagon]. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up … , warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon” (in I Walked to Zion [1994], 59).
The driver of that relief wagon made the little girl run as far and as fast as she could to push blood back into her frozen feet and legs. He saved her legs, possibly her life, by letting her help herself.

Another experience illustrating his love for family occurred at the death of his firstborn, a little daughter, Mercy Josephine, whom he affectionately referred to as “Dodo.” Little Dodo died when she was three. After watching over her night after night, holding her, and encouraging her, Elder Smith grieved when she went sleepless one entire night. The next morning when she said, “I’ll sleep tonight, papa,” the words “shot through my heart.” Shortly thereafter, she died.
He expressed the sorrow of his heart in a letter: “I scarcely dare to trust myself to write, even now my heart aches, and my mind is all chaos; if I should murmur, may God forgive me, my soul has been and is tried with poignant grief, my heart is bruised and wrenched almost asunder. I am desolate, my home seems desolate and almost dreary … my own sweet Dodo is gone! I can scarcely believe it and my heart asks, can it be? I look in vain, I listen, no sound, I wander through the rooms, all are vacant, lonely, desolate, deserted. I look down the garden walk, peer around the house, look here and there for a glimpse of a little golden, sunny head and rosy cheeks, but no, alas, no pattering little footsteps. No beaming little black eyes sparkling with love for papa; no sweet little enquiring voice … no soft dimpled hands clasping me around the neck, no sweet rosy lips returning in childish innocence my fond embrace and kisses, but a vacant little chair. Her little toys are concealed, her clothes put by, and only the one desolate thought forcing its crushing leaden weight upon my heart—she is not here, she is gone! … I am almost wild, and O God only knows how much I loved my girl, and she the light and joy of my heart.”
Forty-six years later, just two years before his own death, President Smith wrote in his journal, “This is the 49th anniversary of the birth of my firstborn child, Mercy Josephine. A most beautiful and intelligent little girl. She died June 6, 1870, nearly three years old, leaving but the memory of the sweetest, happiest, loveliest three years of my whole life up to that time. O how I loved and cherished that little angel of love and light.”

“Time for bed, Ethan.”
“Just five more minutes, please, Dad?”
“You’ve been studying that word list all evening.”
“But I have to know every word to beat Blake in the spelling bee tomorrow. He’s the best speller in class, and he’ll be sure to wear his lucky socks.”
“Lucky socks?” Dad questioned.
“He has the ugliest pair of socks I’ve ever seen—red with little gray and white diamonds. He wears them every Tuesday when we have our spelling test, and he’s only missed one word all year.”
Ethan’s father laughed. “And you think that it’s because of his socks?”
“It must be,” Ethan said. “Blake even says so.”
“Well, you won’t do well at the spelling bee if you’re tired, so off to bed now.”
“All right. These words are all beginning to look alike anyway.”
The next day after lunch Mrs. Miller said, “Class, today is the first round of our spelling bee. The words that you draw from the box today are from past tests. Tomorrow we will use the new words from the list I handed out yesterday. Cindy drew number one, so she will be first.”
Cindy stirred the folded slips of paper in the box, picked one, and handed it to her teacher. Mrs. Miller removed the tape, unfolded the paper, and read, “Official.”
Cindy smiled. “Official,” she repeated. “O-f-f-i-c-i-a-l. Official.”
“Correct,” Mrs. Miller said. “Blake, you’re next.”
“Come on, socks, do your stuff,” Blake muttered, handing a word slip to the teacher.
“Community,” Mrs. Miller said.
“Community. C-o-m-m-u-n-i-t-y. Community.”
“Correct.”
Ethan drew special and spelled it correctly. By the end of the seventh round, only Mary Ann, Blake, and Ethan had spelled all of their words correctly.
“Time’s up,” Mrs. Miller said. “We’ll start tomorrow with the new words.”
After school Blake asked Ethan if he wanted to play baseball.
“Aren’t you going to study for the spelling bee?” Ethan asked.
“Nope.”
“But the new words are a lot harder than our old test words were today,” Ethan said.
“I don’t have to study. I’ll just wear my lucky socks again. They worked for me today, didn’t they?”
“Well, I suppose, but …”
“You’ll see,” Blake said.
At supper that evening Ethan asked, “Dad, do you think that lucky socks can really help someone spell well?”
“Are you kidding!” Ethan’s sister chortled. “Socks have nothing to do with spelling well.”
“That’s true,” Ethan’s father agreed. “Let’s set up a hypothetical situation: All the students have studied and know the words, and one student has a special good-luck charm—”
“Like Blake’s lucky socks?” Ethan broke in.
His father nodded. “This student really thinks that the charm will help him, and because he believes that he has more ‘luck’ than anyone else, he has more confidence and he does do better.”
Ethan thought for a minute. “But what if he doesn’t learn the words and only counts on his lucky socks?”
“What do you think, Ethan?”
“I think that he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“I think that you’re right,” his father agreed, smiling.
“Today,” Mrs. Miller explained the next morning at the beginning of the spelling bee, “all of you will take part, but yesterday’s three finalists may each miss two words before being disqualified. The rest of you may only miss one. The winner will go to the all-city contest next week.”
“Blake, you will be first,” Mrs. Miller said.
“Go, socks,” Blake said, grinning as he picked a word out of the box.
“Definition,” Mrs. Miller read.
“Definition,” Blake repeated, his smile fading. “D-e-f-a-n-i-t-i-o-n. Definition.”
“I’m sorry Blake,” Mrs. Miller said. “That’s incorrect.”
Blake sat down and tugged on his socks. If he missed one more word, he would be out of the competition.
Blake and Ethan both advanced to the third round, along with four other students. When it was his turn, Blake stirred the words in the box twice before finally handing one to Mrs. Miller.
“Vegetable.”
Blake looked confused.
“Vegetable,” Mrs. Miller repeated.
“Vegetable. V-e-j-t-a-b-e-l. Vegetable.”
“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Miller shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Blake. You’ve always done well before. Didn’t you study the word list that I gave you?”
“Well, no,” Blake admitted. “I didn’t think I needed to this time.”
“Why did you think you didn’t need to study this time?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Because I’m wearing my lucky socks,” Blake said impatiently, pulling his pant legs up so that Mrs. Miller could see his red socks. “My mother washes them every Monday, I wear them every Tuesday, and I always do well on my spelling tests.”
“Blake, don’t you think that studying the workbook every Monday is what really helped you to learn the words for the test on Tuesday?” Mrs. Miller asked.
Blake dropped his pants legs back down over his socks and slowly nodded in agreement.
Only Ethan and Mary Ann remained after the fourth round, and Ethan drew the word apothecary. He couldn’t remember if the sixth letter was an e or an a. He spelled it with an a, and because he had missed poinsettia earlier, Mary Ann was the winner.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win, Blake,” Ethan said on their way to lunch.
“Thanks, Ethan, but I should have studied. I’m sorry that you didn’t win.
You must have worked hard on those words.” “I did,” Ethan admitted. “But so did Mary Ann. She won fair and square.”

My name is Claudio Lico Villa, I have been a member of the Church for 11 years and belong to the Consuelo Branch, San Pedro Dominican Republic District.
I was born in 1982 in the province of Seibo, Dominican Republic. When I was three months old, my parents gave me to my grandmother to raise. At eight years old we left Seibo, and I was not able to finish school there. A few years later with very limited means I began working because of a need and a desire to be independent. Although this was long before I would join the Church, the self-reliance principles were ingrained in my heart.
“The Lord has declared, ‘It is my purpose to provide for my saints’. This revelation is a promise from the Lord that He will provide temporal blessings and open the door of self-reliance, which is the ability for us to provide the necessities of life for ourselves and our family members”.
I knew I wanted to be independent and could be. I had to work. At the age of 14, I started working in a mill to be able to support myself and to help my grandmother who gave me all the love in the world. I finished high school and started my first business, looking for any items I could find to sell on the street in my neighborhood. Eventually I was able to sell dishes and tableware. A few years later, after working with a friend in his hair salon, I started my own hair salon.
At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.

Of all her designs, her most important project came as an assignment from President David O. McKay and Sister Belle S. Spafford, the Relief Society General President. They asked Rose Marie to help design temple clothing.
So instead of designing swimsuits in a large factory, Rose Marie set up her sewing machine in her own home. She spent hours cutting patterns and sewing white fabric. “This clothing is beautiful and sacred and precious,” she said. “Designing it is the most important calling of my life.”

As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn 12?”

This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”

The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

I hated collecting fast offerings. The very idea of doing it made me shiver. Collecting fast offerings was a chore and one I thought was a waste of time, though I never really understood why I had to do it. I didn’t even know what fast offerings were used for.
As a deacon in my ward, I had the “route” which took me by my house and up an adjoining street, full of various houses. There was one home I always noticed. In this house resided a man I knew only as Brother Nichols. As a Blazer in Primary, I was once assigned to visit his house along with the rest of my group to bring him cookies and talk. But other than that, I never saw him.
Brother Nichols was an older fellow, a widower whose wife had died a couple of years earlier, who now lived in secrecy. His yard had decayed, and his home seemed to have died as well. The inside was filled with old black-and-white photographs of him and his wife. Brother Nichols had been a skier in Utah for many years, and he had plenty of what I considered boring stories to tell.
I never saw him at church, and every time I came to his house during my fast offering route, I would either pass his house completely or ring the bell once and hope he didn’t answer.
One Sunday, I felt particularly good. I decided that I would visit every house I was assigned to visit so that everyone would have a chance to donate fast offerings—even Brother Nichols.
When I got to Brother Nichols’s home, I rang the doorbell. No response. I tried at least three or four times, but nobody answered. As I started to walk away, I heard the door open. There was Brother Nichols.
I greeted him with a warm smile and began an attempt to converse with him.
“Hello, Brother Nichols. I’m here to collect fast offerings.”
“Why, hello young man,” he responded. “Nice of you to stop by.”
I wondered if he knew I had skipped his house on occasion and not cared to see if he was home. I decided that I would repent and become friends with him.
Brother Nichols placed a meager amount of money in the envelope, and I thanked him, giving him a smile and telling him to have a nice day.
This continued for two more months. During each visit with him, the conversations were longer, and I soon felt I could ask him to come to church with no trouble.
“Brother Nichols, you know, I haven’t ever seen you at church.”
“Ah, well, I haven’t ever had the interest …”
“Brother Nichols,” I interrupted, “please come once or you’ll regret it.”
He agreed, and sure enough, the following week, Brother Nichols came to church. He was smiling and he looked great. I thanked him for coming, and he thanked me for the invitation. I could tell by the look in his eyes that the Spirit was with him and his warm hand-shake filled me with the Holy Ghost as well. Throughout the entire meeting he smiled, and the messages from the speakers were fantastic. I was proud that I had brought this man to church, and I knew God was proud of me.
I never knew why I felt so good until a few days later when I found out that Brother Nichols had died. He was now with his wife and with the truth of the gospel which he had experienced.
I felt the Spirit strongly for the next few weeks, and I knew what it meant to be a deacon, to hold the Aaronic Priesthood and act in the name of the Lord. I also learned to not treat the responsibility of collecting fast offerings as a burden. Most importantly, I learned a bit more about the power of the truth of the gospel.

During my school’s values-education month, our teacher asked us to write an essay titled “Why am I here?” It had to be a 10-paragraph essay on the topic of our purpose in life. As I read the topic on the board, my heart was filled with comfort and happiness. As a member of the Church, I had known my purpose as a daughter of God for many years. But as I looked at my other classmates’ faces, my heart was filled with sadness. Why? Because they started to murmur regarding the difficulty of the topic. They didn’t have the same knowledge I did.
When I turned in my essay, I realized how blessed I am to be a member of the one true Church. From that day on, my desire to serve a mission and share my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was strengthened.
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to be with Him someday. I also know that it is my purpose to serve others.

My heart stopped beating as I peered over the edge of the thirty-meter cliff. I couldn’t believe I’d put myself in this position. My friends in the boat below were laughing at my hesitation to jump, which made me even more determined to do it.
We had decided to celebrate our high school graduation by camping at a lake resort. The surroundings were beautiful, and the temperature climbed into the 90s each day. It felt great to be healthy, suntanned, and eighteen years old.
As we climbed to the top of that cliff, we laughed at our friends down below in the boat. They were always talking about the adventurous things they were going to do, but never did them. They were the ones who always did the “safe” things at school. Now, we laughed, they were missing a great opportunity to jump off a cliff into the beautiful, clear waters of the lake.
The first to run and jump was Bryce. I watched him twist and turn his body as he fell through the air, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled up at me as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my other three friends smiling at me. I suddenly had a sick feeling at the bottom of my stomach as I realized that jumping off a thirty-meter cliff wasn’t such a good idea. But how could I not jump now? My friends were expecting me to jump. If I didn’t, they would never let me forget that I had backed out and not accepted Bryce’s challenge.
Just when I was about to jump, I was overtaken by Kelly, who gave an excited yell as he leaped into the air. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat. His knees had slammed together upon impact, and his legs would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now really scared of making the jump, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to Brigham Young University, and about my plans to serve a mission after my first year of college. I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. Not a very encouraging thought.
I slowly walked back from the edge of the cliff, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the air. I looked straight down as I quickly dropped, my arms waving to maintain my balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard something in my back crack. As I sank into the water, I realized that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to Kelly with his injured knees. I was soon moaning in pain right along with him.
Then Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as our remaining two friends at the top of the cliff prepared for their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since the nearest doctors were more than 200 kilometers away, I decided to stay with my friends and finish the camping trip. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only eighteen, yet I had risked my life for the sake of having “fun” and impressing my friends.
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause me problems with arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself the luckiest person in the world.
Looking back on my life, I realized that I had wasted most of my teenage years doing stupid, irresponsible things—like jumping off a thirty-meter cliff. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a disastrous leap into the lake to shake me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

Elder W. Douglas Shumway of the Seventy: “I shall never forget the family home evening, years ago, in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your ‘secret friend’ for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, ‘Hope you had a good day—your secret friend’” (p. 94).
Read the rest of this fun family experience. Think of a secret service you can give to each family member during the next two weeks.

Last year while Elder David S. Baxter and I were driving to a stake conference, we stopped at a restaurant. Later when returning to our car, we were approached by a woman who called out to us. We were startled by her appearance. Her grooming (or lack of it) was what I might politely call “extreme.” She asked if we were elders in the Church. We said yes. Almost unrestrained, she told the story of her tragic life, swamped in sin. Now, only 28 years old, she was miserable. She felt worthless, with nothing to live for. As she spoke, the sweetness of her soul began to emerge. Pleading tearfully, she asked if there was any hope for her, any way up and out of her hopelessness.

“Yes,” we responded, “there is hope. Hope is linked to repentance. You can change. You can ‘come unto Christ, and be perfected in him.’” We urged her not to procrastinate. She sobbed humbly and thanked us sincerely.

As Elder Baxter and I continued our journey, we pondered that experience. We recalled the counsel given to a hopeless soul by Aaron, who said, “If thou wilt repent of all thy sins, and will bow down before God, and call on his name in faith, … then shalt thou receive the hope which thou desirest.”

My wife, Martha, and I were called from our home in Canada to serve in the Denmark Copenhagen Mission. After two weeks full of excitement and learning at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, and a long flight from Salt Lake City, we arrived in Copenhagen on June 22, 1999. President and Sister Rasmussen, our mission president and his wife, met us at the airport and took care of us for the next two days. We were then given a car and asked to live in Aabenraa and help in the Sønderborg Branch with missionary and membership work.
The first Sunday at sacrament meeting we greeted members and introduced ourselves. Shaking hands with a middle-aged gentleman, I said, “I am Ejnar Iversen.” He replied, “I am Bent Bisgaard.” We looked at each other and could hardly believe our eyes. It was the same Bent Bisgaard who 32 years earlier had joined the Church while living with us in Canada. He said he lived in Fredericia and had been assigned to speak in our branch that day. What a wonderful reunion it was—much more than a coincidence. We felt that our Father in Heaven had sent him to welcome us.
Martha and I are very happy to have known Bent and Svend all these years. And had we not served as a missionary couple, we never would have had this wonderful reunion.

Last year I experienced what Lemony Snicket would describe as A Series of Unfortunate Events.
In a space of four weeks I had seven major surgeries, the possible amputation of my leg, and was diagnosed with stage-three cancer. I told you it was unfortunate! Prolonged hospital stays and treatments gave me ample opportunity to reflect on my relationship to God and others. Sometimes limitations placed on us can be liberating in other ways. I know that for all our weakness, fears, and failings, including our own hypocrisy, there stands Christ perfect, preeminent, loving, and anxious to bless us.

Over the years, Sally has served in many callings. She has always had a love for music and one of her favourite memories is singing ‘The Heavens Were Opened’ with her fellow Relief Society sisters—affectionately known as ‘the singing housewives’—in St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow. President David O. McKay, then president of the Church, was there and enjoyed it so much he asked them to sing the song again. It’s a moment Sally still remembers with joy.

When I was a young man, a mere boy of 11, I received a patriarchal blessing from a man I had never seen before and never saw thereafter. It is a remarkable document, a prophetic document. It is personal, and I will not read extensively from it. However, it contains this statement: “The nations of the earth shall hear thy voice and be brought to a knowledge of the truth by the wonderful testimony which thou shalt bear.”

When I was released from my mission in England, I took a short trip on the Continent. I had borne my testimony in London; I did so in Berlin and again in Paris and later in Washington, D.C. I said to myself that I had borne my testimony in these great capitals of the world and had fulfilled that part of my blessing.

That proved to be a mere scratching of the surface. Since then I have lifted my voice on every continent, in cities large and small, all up and down from north to south and east to west across this broad world—from Cape Town to Stockholm, from Moscow to Tokyo to Montreal, in every great capital of the world. It is all a miracle.

Kendra:
I was so mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. I actually moved to Florida for a few months. One day I just cried out to God, “I’m tired of the arguing. Please help me figure out if this Church is right.”
As I prayed, peace came to me. Once I came back to North Carolina, I didn’t have all the negative energy I had before. I used to leave the room when the missionaries came, but after this experience, I started interacting with them and cooking dinner for them. But I still wasn’t ready to go to church with Kevin.
I started searching for another church that my children would be interested in, but no matter how good a church was, my daughter, Aryanna, would say, “I want to go to church with Daddy!” We eventually agreed to go one Sunday to Kevin’s church, and the next Sunday we’d find another church.
Later on, a friend I made in the ward texted me and asked if I wanted to sing in the choir for a stake conference. Why does she want me to sing? I thought. I’m not a member. I kept battling it, but finally I said, “Sure, I’ll do it.”
It wasn’t like singing in other churches where there’s a band, it’s loud, and it feels like you’re at a concert. We sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” The words of the hymn and the sweet sound of the music really touched me.
Kevin:
A few months later, we were sitting in fast and testimony meeting, and Kendra said to me, “I think you should go up and share your testimony about prayer because of what it did for Dad.”
Kendra’s stepdad had just had a massive heart attack. We called on the ward to pray for him and our family during that time. Thankfully, he pulled through.
“I think you should do it,” I said. She got up and bore her testimony. It was so amazing. After this, things just started to unfold for her.
Kendra:
At the beginning of 2018, I kept hearing the name “President Monson.” At this time, I didn’t know this was the prophet. One night the missionaries came over and asked how I was doing.
“I’m doing fine,” I said, “but a person’s name keeps coming to my head, and I don’t know who it is.”
“What’s the name?” They asked.
“President Monson.”
“Kendra, that’s not just any name,” they said. “That’s the name of the prophet who just passed away. You should look at some talks he gave and see what the Lord wants you to learn from him.” I looked at some of his messages, and they were really touching and helped me. From there, it just seemed that the gospel kept coming back to me.
When we would go out to eat before, I would usually order a sweet tea, but Kevin would say, “You don’t need a sweet tea; get something else.”
One day I went to a fast food restaurant for my lunch break and ordered a sweet tea. A few minutes later, an employee said, “At the very moment you ordered a sweet tea, the machine broke.”
She said it would take about an hour to fix the machine. I only had 30 minutes for lunch. I just ordered a soda instead. At that point I laughed and said, “All right, I get it now!”
I wanted to join the Church, but I also didn’t want to make my mom mad. My mom played a big role in my decisions while I was growing up. She was a minister, so I constantly listened to her instead of going to church and learning for myself.
I was a little hesitant when we set a date for my baptism. The missionaries came over, and we talked about it.
Finally, I asked my daughter, Aryanna, “Do you want to be baptized?”
She said, “Mom, I’m ready whenever you are.”
She told me that when she went to church, all the girls ran and greeted her. They took her to Primary classes and were always friendly. They wanted her to be part of things. She became really good friends with one of the girls. That’s what she enjoyed about it.
At Aryanna’s baptism, she cried tears of joy. When I saw her, I thought, I’m where I need to be.
Kevin:
I know Heavenly Father brought the gospel to our family because He loves and cares about us so much.

I was nervous when I first started serving in the temple because I knew I would have to memorize the words to all the ordinances. I was worried I would mess up, so I spent hours studying the words to make sure I could get them right. And while I’ve heard stories of workers who felt like the Holy Ghost helped them memorize the words faster, that wasn’t my experience.
Sometimes I felt upset that I was struggling to memorize the words. Learning the words to the first ordinance took me almost a month. But looking back, I’ve realized that my struggle was an amazing blessing. I was able to sit in the Lord’s house and study the words of the ordinances for hours. And deepening my understanding of those words brought both peace and power into my life. I was able to recognize the voice of the Lord more clearly and more often when I was both inside and outside the temple.
This experience was a testament to me that Heavenly Father knows us personally and knows what experiences will be the most beneficial to us. The opportunity to contemplate the ordinances gave me a better understanding of what the ordinances say and strengthened my desire to keep the covenants I made in the temple.

“See, Mom!” I was almost shouting as we walked into the cultural hall. “Nobody’s here!”
She looked down at me with a slight grimace. “There are plenty of people here. It’s early. More people will come.”
I knew that more people would come, but none of them would be from my class. There were only four of us, and the other guys never came to any of the Primary service projects. I only came because Mom and Dad made me. It was a real waste of my time.
Sister Montgomery, the first counselor in the Primary presidency, came over to us. “Good morning, Sister Drew. I’m glad Rick could join us today.”
I stared at the floor.
“I’m sure that he’ll have fun making up bags to take to the less-active children in the Primary.” Sister Montgomery paused. “Why don’t we go over to that table and paint, Rick?”
I looked up. Painting was one of my favorite things to do. Sister Montgomery took me to the table with small ceramic figures on it. “You can paint three, if you’d like. There aren’t very many of us here today.”
I looked into the box and chose three pairs of Noah’s ark animals. Those were the ones I’d like to be given.
After I finished painting, Sister Montgomery had me decorate three paper sacks. The little kids were having a ball. I guess they like to cut and paste.
I wasn’t done with my second bag, when Brother Kennedy, the ward mission leader, came in. Sister Peterson, the Primary President, had us sit in a semicircle around him. He told us about how we could be missionaries by being friendly to the less-active children in our ward. He talked for a long time. I listened really closely until Brother Tisch came in with a couple of big brown boxes and a few gallons of milk. I watched him take doughnuts out of the big boxes. I wanted one with the colorful sprinkles.
Before I knew it, a bunch of the little kids were running up to the table—Brother Kennedy had finished!
“Rick, you can get a doughnut now, too.” Sister Montgomery was standing next to me.
I stood up and walked as fast as I could, but it was too late. All the sprinkled doughnuts were gone. I had to settle for a plain-frosted one. I sat on the floor and ate it slowly.
After eating, we finished decorating the bags, then put some treats, a church schedule, one ceramic figure, and a picture of the Savior into each one.
“Because there aren’t very many of us here today, each group will have to visit a few extras,” Sister Peterson announced.
I groaned—more time wasted!
Some of the leaders walked around with slips of paper with the addresses of those we were going to visit. Other leaders were gathering the classes into groups.
“I guess it’s you and me, Rick!” Brother Tisch put his hand on my shoulder. “Where’s your coat?”
I trudged over to the coatrack. I didn’t want to go outside. It had been cold when we came to the church, and it would take forever for the cars to warm up.
I returned to where Brother Tisch was, and we grabbed the bags. He led the way out the door. I turned toward the parking lot. Almost everyone was gone, and all of the cars I saw had people already in them.
“Rick,” Brother Tisch called from behind me.
I turned around. The bags were in a red wagon. Brother Tisch was pulling it by the handle. “My wife had to run some errands with our car, so I borrowed my daughter’s wagon.”
I just stood there.
“Come on, Rick—let’s go! If we walk quickly, it won’t be too cold.”
Brother Tisch checked an address on a slip of paper, and we walked to the house that was farthest from the chapel. “This is Diana’s house.”
“Brother Tisch, I really don’t want to go up there. She goes to my school.”
Brother Tisch nodded. I was sure glad that he understood. I stayed by the wagon while he knocked on the door. No one was home. Great! I thought.
Brother Tisch returned to the wagon with a smile on his face. “I’ll take this one to her later.”
We walked to the next house. This time the girl on our list was home. She smiled as Brother Tisch told her about the bag. I didn’t say anything. The same thing happened at the next two houses.
“Rick, I’d like you to talk to the next boy. He should be in your Primary class.” Brother Tisch had stopped walking. “Would you please do it?”
I hesitated.
“Just do it the way I did,” Brother Tisch reassured me.
I nodded, though my stomach jumped a little. This bag-giving stuff looked pretty easy. Besides, I knew Carl pretty well from school. I hadn’t known that he was supposed to be in my Primary class, though.
I knocked on the door. When Carl came to the door, I gave him the bag and told him all about it, just the way Brother Tisch had.
Carl stood there quietly. After I finished, he said “Thanks” and shut the door. For a second, I thought I saw tears in his eyes. But I must have been mistaken. It was only a silly bag of stuff.
Brother Tisch walked me home. We didn’t talk much. I was thinking about the look on Carl’s face.
The next day, as I walked into Primary and looked at the row of chairs where my class sits, Carl was there!
“Thanks for the bag. I never knew when church started. My mom and dad don’t go to our meetings very often, and I always feel kind of dumb asking about it.” Carl had a big smile on his face. “I put the picture right next to my bed, so I can see it every day!”
I felt a warm feeling grow inside of me. It seemed to start in my chest and move up to my face, and I had to smile, too.

One time during a particularly intense blizzard, our tractor tore a drive belt in the middle of our driveway. My mother and I soon discovered we had no more extra belts. The tractor had to be pushed back into the garage. With the wind chill, the temperature was about 20 degrees below zero (-29° C). My fingers were so cold they had become almost nonresponsive. Unfortunately, the tractor wasn’t going to go anywhere by itself, so Mom and I put it in neutral gear and tried to push it.
Our initial efforts were futile. Even with heavy-duty snow boots we couldn’t get enough friction to push the tractor forward. I remember falling and bruising my knees several times as my feet failed to get any traction on the slippery ice. I was cold, I was miserable, and I wanted hot chocolate. If we were going to get this done, we needed a different approach.
It became apparent that we needed to literally put our “shoulders to the wheel,” simultaneously pushing down with all of our strength on the front side of the tires. Because we were pushing down instead of forward, we were able to move the tractor! Slowly but surely, we pushed the tractor back into the garage.

In the winter, Mother and Father like to hibernate in the 150-year-old house that they are restoring. But Crystal and her sisters enjoy sledding in their backyard, ice skating in town, and participating in Friday-night sleep overs. Making snow sculptures can be fun too. One time, instead of making a snowman, Father, Dawn, and Crystal made a pink snow bunny with Easter eggs! Many people drove by to see it.