Gospel Story Finder

I learned at a young age that inspiration can come to any of us. When I was in junior high school I was taking a difficult class where most of what was being taught went over my head. One day the teacher asked me a question. I didn’t understand the question, let alone the answer. Out of nowhere a response came into my mind, which I repeated to the teacher. It was the right answer, but I knew it had not come from me.

So how can we recognize inspiration when it comes? Enos stated, “While I was thus struggling in the spirit, behold, the voice of the Lord came into my mind.” The voice of the spirit of revelation is not necessarily audible, but it gives us divine confirmation through our thoughts and feelings. As we are told in the Doctrine and Covenants, “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.” We must cultivate our sensitivity to that divine voice.

I am the only boy in my family, and I have four sisters. I’m really close with them.
I’ll never forget one night when one of my older sisters helped me gain a testimony. My dad was giving the home evening lesson about testimonies. The whole time I was frustrated with myself because I didn’t feel like I had one.
Later that night, I was reading the scriptures in my room, and my sister came in and asked what was wrong. I was afraid she would make fun of me when I told her, but she didn’t.
We decided to read the First Vision story. I had read it many times before, but not like this. As I read, I had a feeling that’s not easy to describe. It was peaceful, calm, and quiet.
We stopped and said a prayer, and I continued to feel the Spirit. Now I can say I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ restored the Church through him.
I love my sisters because they are good examples and they look after me.
Josh J., Alabama, USA

When he was assigned to home teach a sister (whom we shall call Ruth Elliott), she was relatively new in the ward and Jay Lyman did not know her. By talking with her daughter who lived in another ward, and with others who could give him information about her, Brother Lyman was able to learn a little about Sister Elliott before he first called at her home.
Sister Elliott lived in a small apartment in a nice neighborhood. The apartment had been fashioned from the bedroom of a home and had its own outside door. The closet was used as the kitchen and was fitted with a small stove and a sink. The room was furnished with a broken-down upholstered chair in which Sister Elliott spent most of her time when she was not in bed. She seldom left the apartment and had no outside interests. Her days were spent alone at home.
This sister smoked and depended heavily on medications. Through the years her doctors had prescribed a number of medicines, and she continued to take many of them. Moreover, her appearance, manner, and conversation reflected a bitter attitude toward her life and circumstances. She harbored deep resentment toward her father and others, and an unfortunate incident with a Church member had wounded her deeply. Altogether, her life did not appear to be a pleasant one. Brother Lyman prayed fervently to know how best to serve this troubled sister.
Shortly after his call as her home teacher, an opportunity came. Her landlady was having the apartment painted, but Sister Elliott was responsible to move her furniture out to the patio before the work could be done. Brother Lyman and the ward’s high priests group leader moved the furniture out and then back in after the paint had dried. In this way they were able to be of service, although it was sad to see how little Sister Elliott owned and how meager her circumstances were.
On one occasion, while Sister Elliott had gone for a few days to visit with family members, Brother Lyman and his wife, Virginia, went to her apartment and “confiscated” the broken-down chair. It had a good frame, but needed new padding and fabric. Virginia did an excellent upholstering job on the chair, and they had it back in the apartment before Sister Elliott returned from her trip.
Brother Lyman and his junior companion visited this woman regularly, and Brother and Sister Lyman also went of ten to visit, to talk about the gospel, and to offer a simple prayer. Gradually, Sister Elliott began to accept and return their friendship, and they became closely involved in each other’s lives.
One spring, just prior to a surgery which their new friend needed, the Lymans spent many hours with her, on the phone or in person, taking her to church, to the doctor’s office, or shopping. They kept in touch daily. For a time she would call each night before going to bed; she was lonely and needed a listening ear, and they were somehow able to fill part of the void and provide a needed close association.
The Lymans were vacationing when Sister Elliott had the surgery, but they called her at the hospital to offer words of encouragement and cheer. She had received a priesthood blessing and felt that the Lord would watch over her. Moreover, following the operation she determined to stop smoking, which she did successfully.
Prior to his entering the mission field, a grandson had asked her to give up smoking—and she was able to accomplish the task through the help of the Lord and her own strong desire to please her missionary grandson.
As the months passed, Sister Elliott made new friends and found outside interests. Her church attendance improved, and she began to pay tithing. Brother Lyman recalls accompanying her to tithing settlement: at first she protested that she was ill and did not want to go, but he asked her to be ready and he picked her up. Returning home afterward she radiated happiness. She paid a full tithing for the first time in her life.
By now, her attitude toward life had changed dramatically. The bitterness was gone, replaced by a humble and contrite spirit. Those who had offended her were forgiven. Relations with her children improved, and there were changes in their attitude and behavior toward their mother, prompted by her increased tolerance and love for them.
This good sister was eventually able to move to a new apartment, furnish it attractively, and make new friends in her apartment building. A new physician, determined to correct her dependency on medication, insisted that she rely on her own strength to cope with problems and would not allow her to use medication for that purpose. Through his diligence and the power of the priesthood to bless and strengthen, she was able to endure a difficult period of withdrawal.
The blessings which have come to the “new” Sister Elliott have been many, including participation in the sacred temple ceremonies with her family and friends. Brother Lyman reports: “I am deeply grateful for the opportunity which has been mine to serve as her home teacher. Indeed, I loved the ‘old’ Sister Elliott as much as the ‘new’ Sister Elliott—but now I need not feel sad because of her meager and dreary life. Today it is full and pleasant, enriched by the blessings of gospel living.”

We still had at least three more discussions left when we were interrupted. Our four-year-old daughter, Nancy, came down with what appeared to be polio. I was still teaching a class in my church—dreading now to go—but instead of teaching my Sunday School class that morning, I was feverishly getting Nancy ready for a spinal tap at the local hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed; she had polio. We took Nancy to the Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I packed my Book of Mormon, knowing there would be many hours of waiting ahead of me. Somehow I knew that she would be all right.
In two weeks she was released from the hospital, and I had read a great deal of my new book.
Once more the missionary discussions began. At the next meeting I finally learned why it was that the missionaries kept refusing when I asked them if they would like a cup of coffee. When they told me they abstained from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco, my heart sank. I thought to myself, “Now they’re going to tell me they don’t dance, go to movies, cut their hair, and any number of things.” But I was ready to give up whatever they asked. I already knew the gospel was true.
Now we were near the end of the discussions, and the plan of salvation was being presented. I’ll never be able to describe the joy I felt when I was told that I had dwelt with God before—that he knew me and taught me before I was born. You mean he actually knows me? Me? Just think! God knows me! Me! I was overjoyed. I wept. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever hear—that I had dwelt with God before, and that he knew me personally. Now I could easily think of him as a kind Father, a God of flesh and bone.
When the elders were introduced to us, I was very excited. The sister missionaries had told us about the priesthood, and I was in awe of the elders when they came. I felt the greatest respect for someone who held the priesthood of God. It was such a new thing for me. The children loved them instantly.
Yes, we were baptized. We had knelt in prayer and for the first time, self-consciously and timidly, and prayed together vocally. In simplicity and humility we asked our Heavenly Father if these things were true, and, in answer, received the warm, sweet assurances that only the Holy Ghost can bring.
In the many years since our baptism as a family, there have been many joys—yes, and many sorrows too, especially the death of my husband. Yet we have known the security of the priesthood in our home, the comfort of home teachers. We have laughed, sung, cried; we’ve been down to the depths of despair, and up to the heights of spirituality. We have experienced the sweetness of a temple marriage, the meaning of eternal friendships, the strength of the iron rod when all seemed utterly hopeless. We have helped make peanut butter in welfare projects in Texas, and helped to weed beet fields and canned peas in Provo, where we now live with our new husband and father.
Above all, we are truly grateful to be members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the missionaries who made it possible. And now we have sent our own David out as a missionary, with the hope that he will find other receptive souls and bring to them the joy and happiness that the missionaries brought to us.

Great-Grandma came to live with Grandpa and Grandma Marshal about two years ago. My family lives just up the street, and we like that because we can visit them a lot.
Grandma Marshal is Great-Grandma’s caregiver. She helps take care of her mother’s needs, and is a very good and loving daughter.
Great-Grandma is old. She told me one day, “I’m so old I feel guilty every time I draw a breath!”
Great-Grandma makes me laugh. And she’s always smiling, even when she’s sad. “Life’s too short to waste it by wearing a long face, even at my age. Happiness is a choice, Makinzee,” she explained one day. We were sitting on the porch swing together watching a little autumn breeze carry leaves and birds across the sky. “The only one that can make you unhappy is yourself.” Great-Grandma tapped the tip of my nose. “Besides, there’s so much to be happy about!”
“Like what, Great-Grandma?” I asked.
Her smile got as bright as the sunlight shining through the elm tree’s yellow leaves. “Even at 93, I’m a child of God,” she said. “And just look about you, child. There are birds that sing their hearts out. There’s the sun that can light a whole world, and there are flowers that bloom.”
She patted my knee. “I have a family who loves me, and I have hands to help others.” She held up a pair of fleece mittens she was sewing for a needy children’s program.
Then she looked up at the sky. “My, my, everywhere I look there’s more. A loving Heavenly Father watching over us, and, oh!” She pointed to a huge, misty rainbow a ways off. “Rainbows are not only promises of better times, but reminders that when we have trials we can still be happy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t rainbows come after it rains? Don’t wildflowers grow when it rains?” Great-Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“If rain can make the flowers grow, Makinzee, then why not the rest of us too?” Great-Grandma smiled.
The next summer Great-Grandma got really sick. She had to stay in bed a lot of the time. One day I looked quietly into her room, and she was lying in bed staring at an empty wall, watching the shadows get bigger. I guess she was happy because she said life was too short to be sad, but, well, today she looked sad.
I decided it was my turn to make her smile. Grandpa Marshal had planned for a long time to take my brother, Ethan, and me to the circus. I really wanted to go, and today was the last day before it left town. But instead I asked Grandpa if he would mind taking just Ethan. I had a strong feeling that I should stay and do something for Great-Grandma.
Grandpa didn’t say anything. His chin started shaking like the leaves do when the wind blows, and he hugged me for a long time.
When I told Grandma Marshal why I was staying, her eyes filled up with tears, and one ran down onto her smile before she could push it away. She always said if a warm tear touches your lips it makes sweet words grow, and I guess she’s right because she whispered, “Bless you.”
Grandma keeps lots of paper, crayons, watercolors, and other fun stuff for her grandchildren in what she calls the “kids’ corner.” After Grandpa and Ethan left, I set to work.
Three hours later I hung pictures of rainbows all over the empty wall in Great-Grandma’s room. She cried. It was only the third time I ever saw her cry. The first time was when she bore her testimony at church. The second was when a little bird died in her hands—she said it’s a sad thing when someone or something passes away and nobody sheds a tear. And the third time was when she saw all those rainbows. But those tears—like the ones when she bore her testimony—were happy tears. She laughed. “So many rainbows,” she said, “and all in my room!”
Two days later, Great-Grandma died. I cried, but they were warm tears, the kind that make sweet words grow. I wrote some of them down on a piece of paper and put them in Great-Grandma’s casket. I said, “I love you, Great-Grandma. Thank you for your smiles. I will try to be like you by being my own best self. Mom and Dad said that if I can learn to be happy like you, even when I’m sad, and to think of others like you always did, that I will be in pretty good shape when it’s my turn for someone to paint rainbows in my room. I’ll see you later, Great-Grandma, so I won’t say good-bye. Love, Makinzee.”

My mom took my little brother and me to a fun water park. While we were playing, a boy kept throwing a ball at my brother and me. We tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t stop throwing the ball at us. We played somewhere else, but he found us. I decided that I would try to make him stop. I found the boy, said hi, and stuck out my hand. “Peace?” I asked. The boy looked a little shocked and shook my hand. He said “Peace” back to me. He did not bother us anymore. I felt good that I made the decision to be brave and to be kind to the boy, just like I imagined Jesus would have done.

An example from Church history is that of Reddick Newton Allred. He was one of the rescue party sent out by President Brigham Young (1801–77) to bring in the Willie and Martin handcart companies. At the Sweetwater River near South Pass, Captain George Grant asked Reddick Allred to remain there with a few men and wagons and be ready to help when the rescuers returned with the handcart pioneers.
The rescuers found the Willie company mired in the snow, freezing, starving, and dying. Some of the rescuers continued to search for the Martin company, while the others helped the Willie company make that heartrending pull up and over Rocky Ridge. Soon after they made camp, Reddick Allred and his men came to deliver essential assistance and supplies.
Allred then waited for Captain Grant to return with the Martin company. Week after week passed with no sign of them. As blizzards howled and the weather became life threatening, two of the men decided it was foolish to stay. They thought the Martin company had either wintered over somewhere or perished. They decided to return to the Salt Lake Valley and tried to persuade everyone else to do the same. Allred refused to budge. President Young had sent them out, and Captain Grant, Reddick Allred’s priesthood leader, had told him to wait there.
Those who returned took several wagons, filled with needed supplies, and started back to the Salt Lake Valley. Even more tragic, they turned back 77 wagons that were coming from the valley to help. Some of these wagons returned all the way to Big Mountain before messengers sent by President Young met them and turned them back around.
Finally, more than three weeks after Reddick Allred had assisted the Willie company, Captain Grant arrived with the Martin company. These pioneers were even more destitute and had suffered dozens of deaths. Captain Grant’s rescue team was small and low on provisions—and still more than 200 miles (320 km) from the Salt Lake Valley. Once again, because Reddick Allred had stayed true to his assignment, even in the most trying circumstances, he was able to provide life-sustaining assistance and supplies.

When I returned to Buenos Aires, my mother realized that I truly wanted to be baptized. Since I had a somewhat rebellious spirit, instead of opposing me, she very wisely took my side. And without even knowing it, she did my baptismal interview herself. Indeed, I believe that her interview was even more in-depth than those that our missionaries conduct. She told me, “If you want to be baptized, I will support you. But first I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to think very hard and answer me honestly. Do you commit to attend church absolutely every Sunday?”
I told her, “Yes, of course I’m going to do that.”
“Do you have any idea how long church is?”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
She replied, “Well, if you get baptized, I am going to make sure that you attend.” Then she asked me if I was truly willing to never drink alcohol or smoke.
I answered, “Yes, of course I am going to comply with that as well.”
To which she added, “If you get baptized, I am going to make sure that that is the case.” And she proceeded on in that way with almost every commandment.
My uncle had called my mother to tell her not to worry, that I would get over this soon. Four years later, when I received my call to serve in the Uruguay Montevideo Mission, my mother called my uncle to ask him exactly when I was going to get over all this. The truth is that from the time I was baptized, my mother was a happier mother.

Illustrations by Hollie Hibbert
Tomorrow was Moresby’s first day of school. He was nervous.
“Mummy, do you think kids will tease me?” he asked at breakfast.
“Will my teacher be nice?” he asked at lunch.
“What if no one plays with me?” he asked at dinner.
That night Dad gave Moresby a priesthood blessing. Dad said it would help him be brave. During the blessing Moresby felt warm in his heart. Mummy said that feeling was the Holy Ghost.
At school the next day, Moresby tried his best to be brave. He met his new teacher, Mrs. Moetu. She was nice. He met lots of new friends, and nobody teased him!
But during recess, two boys made mean faces at a girl on the playground. She started to cry. Moresby wanted to be brave. He walked over to help her. The boys saw him and ran away.
“I miss my mum.” The girl sniffed.
“Me too,” said Moresby.
Moresby thought of how he could cheer her up. He scooped up some dirt. “Want to bake a cake with me?”
The girl wiped her tears. “How?” she asked.
“We can make pavlova,” Moresby said, shaping the dirt like a cake.
The girl smiled. “I love pavlova.”
Later that day, Mummy picked up Moresby from school.
“How was your first day?” asked Mummy.
Moresby smiled. “I was brave, and I made a new friend!”
“That’s great!” Mummy said. “I’m glad Heavenly Father helped you today.”
Moresby smiled. “From now on, you can call me Moresby the Brave!”

Over 1,000 seminary students from Orem, Utah, participated in building a replica of the Salt Lake Temple. The project, entitled “Get on the Stick and Read,” was designed to help motivate students to read as part of their seminary assignments. A student could earn a stick by reading a specified amount consisting of several reading assignments. He could then write his name on the stick and attach it to a framework of the temple replica.
Julie Renstrom said, “Seeing my name up there on the temple replica made me want to hurry and read my next assignment so I could see it up there again.” Russell Teichert said, “The project motivated me and several of my friends to read. I think it was good idea.”
The seminary principal said that the project was part of a “Back to Zion” theme for the year. The hope was that by reading the scriptures, the students would become a more spiritual people.

On the day the Montclair Third Ward was created from parts of three existing wards, the new bishop, Bishop Trask, asked to speak to the youth in his ward for a few minutes after church.
Those waiting for him were mostly all strangers to each other. The ones who came from the same wards sat in small groups and talked about how they wished things could have been left the way they were.
Bishop Trask came in and looked around the room. “Look, I know this is hard on you, but if we try to make it work, the Lord will bless us. And before long all of you will be close friends.”
Bishop Trask looked at the oldest-looking girl in the room. “Excuse me, what’s your name?”
“Dyan. It sounds like D-I-A-N-E, but it’s spelled D-Y-A-N.”
“Which ward are you from?”
“Montclair First. I was the Laurel class president.”
“Glad to have you with us.”
Next he picked out a priest-age boy. “And what’s your name?”
“David Grant. It sounds like D-A-V-I-D and it’s spelled D-A-V-I-D.” David glanced at Dyan and smiled. “I used to be in Cedar Park Second.”
“Could you two stay for a few more minutes? I have to meet with the stake president for just a few minutes, but I would like to discuss some things we could do in this ward as far as youth activities.”
After a few more minutes of introductions, Bishop Trask scheduled another meeting and then excused everybody. A minute later, the room was empty except for David on one side of an aisle of chairs and Dyan on the other.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“Well what?”
“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” she asked.
“What’s there to talk about? I lost all my friends. Not a single one of them is left in the new ward.”
“I lost friends too,” she said.
“But my friends and I were really close.”
She shook her head but didn’t say anything.
David continued, “Cedar Park Second Ward had the best basketball team in the stake. We would have won the tournament this year. I’m the only one from the team in the new ward. Did you look around the room? I’ve never seen so many short guys in my life.”
“I’m going to miss the girls in my Laurel class. We were all really close.”
“This is my senior year. I wish they could have waited a year before making the split.”
“It’s my senior year too.”
“The thing I want to know is why we didn’t get a chance to vote on this,” David said. He rested his head on the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling.
“They asked for people to raise their hands if they sustained the wards’ being split.”
“I know, but that’s not exactly the same thing,” he said.
“Well, it’s common consent. Did you raise your hand to sustain the split?”
“Yeah, sure, everybody did.” David crumpled a piece of paper into a ball and lobbed it toward the wastebasket. It went in. “Three points.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Anybody can do that.”
“You can’t.”
She got up and retrieved the paper from the wastebasket, returned to her seat, and shot. It went in. She looked over and smiled.
“You were closer to the basket than I was,” he complained.
“Maybe six inches.”
“More like two feet.”
“All right, let’s make it fair,” she said.
They stacked all the chairs except two, which they set up side by side in the center of the room. And then they placed the wastepaper basket midway between them on the opposite wall.
Five minutes later they both had made every shot.
“You’re banking the ball off the wall,” she complained.
“So?”
“Anybody can do that.”
“I don’t need the wall,” he said.
They moved the chairs even farther back, then set the wastebasket away from the wall.
After five more minutes, he was forced to admit, “You’re pretty good.”
“I know,” she said with a smile. “I went to the state basketball tournament last year.”
“You did?”
“We made it to the finals. We were ahead most of the game but ended up losing by two points.
“Did you play?”
“Yeah, until I fouled out.”
“How many points did you have?”
“Seventeen.”
“That’s really good.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Not good enough.”
He put the wad of paper in the wastebasket and returned the basket to the corner where it belonged, then came and sat down next to Dyan.
“What are we going to tell the bishop when he comes back?” Dyan asked.
“I don’t know. If they could’ve just waited a year.”
“They didn’t, though.” She paused. “I’m sure the stake presidency prayed about it.”
“I suppose.”
“And the bishop seems nice,” Dyan said.
“I guess so, but he’s not like Bishop Campbell, that’s for sure.”
“He’s not like my old bishop either. But look, I doubt this is very easy for him.”
He scowled at her. “You’re going to say we need to set an example so we can make this work, aren’t you?”
“What would be wrong if I did say that?” she asked.
“I’m still sulking.”
“All right. I’ll give you two minutes to sulk, starting now.”
She watched the clock while he muttered all the reasons why he wished the wards had not been divided.
“Time’s up,” she announced.
He looked over at her. “Already? I was just getting started.”
“We have a new bishop now and in a few minutes, he’s coming back to ask for our help.”
“There’s too many short people in the new ward. The boys’ team will never do any good in basketball.”
“You’ll make up for it.”
He smiled. “You think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe so.”
Just then, Bishop Trask entered the room. He looked around. “Thanks for stacking all the chairs,” he said. “That’s very considerate for the people who will be cleaning the building tomorrow.”
“It was David’s idea,” Dyan said. “We both helped put a piece of paper in the wastebasket too.”
“Several times, actually,” David said with a big grin.
“Bishop, we’re ready to do whatever it takes to make this new ward work out,” Dyan said.
“That’s wonderful! Thank you so much. Do you have a few minutes to talk about how we can help the youth pull together?”
“Sure, no problem. I think we should have a prayer before we get started,” Dyan said.
“Thanks a lot,” David whispered to Dyan as they knelt side by side while the bishop brought a chair over to where they were sitting.
“What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“I was going to suggest we say a prayer.”
“I can’t wait around for you all the time.”
“You won’t have to,” he said.
“Good. That’s the way it should be.”
The bishop returned.
“We’re going to help you any way we can, Bishop,” David said.
“I just said that,” Dyan said.
“I know, but I just wanted the bishop to know I feel the same way.”
The bishop looked confused. “Uh, maybe, I’ll just say the prayer if that’s all right.”
“Whatever you say, Bishop. We’ll support you in whatever you do,” David said. He then looked at Dyan and winked.

After Lee finished sweeping the back room, he tiptoed into the front of the Chinese shop to watch his father, dressed in a long gown, cover the rich carvings with beautifully colored silk cloths. When everything was well covered, his father’s head dipped in a bow. Lee knew it was time to go home!
Although the shop was filled with fine old porcelain cups and plates, hand-painted fans, and ivory and jade statuettes, Lee didn’t like it. The shop was too Chinese. His father still clung to the ways of the old world. His manner was humble, his step soft, and he seldom spoke—not even to the customers.
Once Lee spoke up. “You’re supposed to talk to customers,” he told his father.
The only answer was his father’s lowered eyes. Lee waited a minute and then dared to say even more. “You’re supposed to tell customers about the things you have to sell.”
Father’s searching eyes looked at Lee from across the room. Then he said, “What I do not wish men to do to me, I also wish not to do to men.” He turned and quietly walked out of the room.
Lee’s mother said nothing until she was sure they would not be overheard. Then her dark head went from side to side. “It is not right to talk to your father that way.”
“But,” Lee began, “you have to talk fast and push hard.” He wanted to tell his mother what his friend’s father had said, but his mother’s long cool fingers pressed against his lips.
“No more,” she said softly. “You must remember that you are your father’s son.”
Lee tried hard to remember, but one day he forgot. He had just finished sweeping the back room when a lady entered the shop.
Lee knew that after a brief nod the customers were permitted to browse and look about. He also knew that he should not approach customers. But all of a sudden he found himself saying to the lady, “Are you looking for cups?”
The lady half-smiled, and before she could answer Lee said, “We have porcelain cups and also beautiful hand-painted fans. They came all the way from China! So did the ivory elephants and the frogs carved of jade. Would you like to see them? We have nice incense burners too.”
Lee spoke so fast and said so much that the lady turned and hurried out of the shop.
His father watched but did not speak. Lee was grateful, for his face was already crimson with shame. He had talked fast, pushed hard, and lost a sale.
He waited for his father to speak. All he said was, “One good word is better than a thousand bad ones.”
Lee remembered his father’s words long after they had been spoken. He often said the words to himself, repeating them again and again, burying them deep in his mind.
He did not go near a customer again, but one day a customer approached him. A man came into the shop and looked about. When he saw Lee’s father was busy behind the counter, he motioned to Lee. “I’m sure you can help me,” he said.
Lee’s feet refused to move. It was only when his father nodded that he went forward. Have I learned, he thought, or will my tongue prattle?
The man smiled, and Lee’s lips quickly parted. But just as quickly his lips closed. Instead of speaking, his head dipped low just as his father’s would have done. Then he stood silent and waited while the man’s smile broadened as he picked up an ivory elephant and a green jade lotus blossom.
“I’ll take the elephant,” the man said at last. But he did not leave the shop. He stayed to look at the many other lovely carvings. At last he turned to Lee and said, “Most salesmen talk you to death when one good word could make a sale!” He turned and called to Lee’s father, “Your son is a good salesman. You should be proud of him.”
Lee saw a small smile cross his father’s face before they both quietly bowed their heads.

Can a clown fish from the Indian Ocean find happiness with an anemone from the Gulf of California? That is the question we asked ourselves as we watched our recently acquired amphiprion bicinctus wriggle out of the plastic bag it had resided in for the past hour and into our aquarium. The salesman at the tropical fish store had assured us that the two of them would get along famously, but then that’s what he had also told us when we introduced a moray eel to our seven-armed octopus!
The meeting in this instance was considerably less dramatic. After hovering around in an upper corner of the tank for a few minutes and being sized up by the other fish, the banded clown made her maiden voyage across the ten-foot expanse of our upstairs show tank. Scattered across this stretch of sand and coral are twelve different anemones that we have collected from the Gulf of California just south of Puerto Penasco, Mexico. We wondered which one the clown would choose for her own. Would it be one of the smaller reddish ones? Or would it be the large brown and purple one in the center of the tank? Or maybe several of them?
Throughout that first day we didn’t notice too much activity on the part of the clown fish directed toward any of the anemones. But then on the second day, we saw that she had taken up a semipermanent residence close by the large anemone near the center of the tank. And soon she was vigorously wriggling among the many tentacles of her newly claimed possession.
This close association between clown fish and anemones has been a topic of some controversy among observers of the symbiotic (living together) relationship for several years. It has usually been agreed that nestled among the tentacles of the anemone the clown is protected from its enemies. But what does the anemone reap from the association?
At various times it has been suggested that the clowns purposely provided anemones with food or even lured other fish toward the anemones’ grasping tentacles with their nematocysts (poisonous stingers). This view has been challenged, however, by the observation that although clown fish have been observed to bring large chunks of food to an anemone partner, they do not let the anemone eat it. Instead, they often tear at it as soon as the anemone has grasped it, feeding themselves with small portions they break away from the large chunk. In the end, the anemone is left with nothing.
Which view is true? We decided to find out for ourselves—and find out we did.
Our first step was to provide a suitable food source. A quick trip to a nearby pond supplied us with plenty of freshwater minnows. We introduced three of them into the tank. Immediately the water churned with activity as the community of marine fish began to subdivide the minnows for their lunch. But then, as if from out of nowhere, the banded clown darted into the melee and returned just as rapidly with one of the minnows intact in her mouth. The clown fish’s rapid wriggling reminded us all of the joyous wagging of a puppy’s tail as the puppy returns to its master with a stick it has retrieved.
Upon reaching the large brown and purple anemone, the clown fish actually shoved the minnow down into its outstretched tentacles. Immediately they responded to the stimulus and began to close about the prey. Assured that the minnow was securely trapped, the clown turned back to the fracas at the end of the tank. Once again she somehow managed to secure another minnow, and once again she wigwagged her way back to the plump anemone. Plumper still with her second delivery, the anemone was soon to be truly gorged when the clown returned a third time with the last of the minnows.
On the following day, in the manner of true scientists, we proceeded to see if our observations were repeatable. And indeed they were. Not only did the clown fish again succeed in securing three minnows for the anemone, but she retrieved them when a sneaky Heniochus (pennant butterfly fish) stole them out of the anemone’s grip. And in no instance did the clown fish attempt to reclaim any of the minnows as her own.
It thus appears that the answer to our initial query about the banded clown and the displaced anemone is affirmative. An amphiprion bicinctus (clown fish) can indeed find happiness with an anemone from the Gulf of California, and the association is most certainly mutually beneficial. What else can you say about a friend who brings you a three-course meal each day?

At one time the Lord said that He was “well pleased” with Joseph Wakefield. He was stalwart and faithful and taught hundreds about the prophetic work of Joseph Smith. But from 1833 to 1834 he was influenced by some dissidents in Kirtland. He was once in the home of Joseph Smith. Joseph came out of the room where he had been translating the word of God and immediately began to play with some children. “This convinced [Brother Wakefield] that [Joseph] was not a man of God and that [therefore] the work was false.” In due course, Joseph Wakefield apostatized, was excommunicated, and became a persecutor of the Church and of the Saints.

Joseph and Emma Smith’s home in Harmony, Pennsylvania.
In April 1828, Emma and Joseph were living in a home along the Susquehanna River, not far from her parents’ house.22 Now well along in her pregnancy, Emma often acted as Joseph’s scribe after he began translating the record. One day, while he translated, Joseph suddenly grew pale. “Emma, did Jerusalem have a wall around it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, recalling descriptions of it in the Bible.
“Oh,” Joseph said with relief, “I was afraid I had been deceived.”23
Emma marveled that her husband’s lack of knowledge in history and scripture did not hinder the translation. Joseph could hardly write a coherent letter. Yet hour after hour she sat close beside him while he dictated the record without the aid of any book or manuscript. She knew only God could inspire him to translate as he did.24

One night I watched a scary movie and then went to bed. After I was asleep, I started having bad dreams. I got scared and woke up. It was the middle of the night. My bedroom was very dark. I got out of bed and knelt and prayed. It made me feel better, and I was able to go to sleep with no bad dreams. I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers and that He loves me.
Matthew Voelkel, age 8Lakeview, Oregon

To Martin Harris the Savior waxed even more explicit about the link between repentance and his atonement. Early in June 1829, Joseph and Martin asked Palmyra printer Egbert Grandin to publish the Book of Mormon. Grandin was reluctant, and agreed to the controversial project only after Martin returned with news that a Rochester printer would do the publishing if Grandin refused. They worked out an agreement in which Grandin would print and bind 5000 copies of the Book of Mormon for $3000, with Martin putting up more than 150 acres of land as collateral. Martin mortgaged the land on August 25. He had eighteen months to pay the debt, hopefully with proceeds from book sales, or else Grandin could sell the property. Once the paperwork was finished, Grandin's employees began printing.

In January 1830, Joseph and Martin agreed to share profits from the Book of Mormon until Martin's mortgage was paid. In March, as the first copies came from the press, Martin became alarmed. He met Joseph on the road from his Pennsylvania home to Palmyra to check on the printing. Arms full of books, a distraught Martin Harris told Joseph, "the books will not sell for nobody wants them."

"I think they will sell well," Joseph responded. "I want a commandment," Martin demanded, seeking a reassuring revelation. "Fulfill what you have got," replied Joseph, referring to the Lord's earlier instructions to Martin (see D&C sections 5 and 17). "I must have a commandment," Martin said, increasingly anxious.

Martin stayed that night with Joseph at the Smith home. Restless, he had an anxious dream that an enormous dog was pouncing on him. He rose in the morning, again demanded a revelation, and left for home. That afternoon Joseph received Doctrine and Covenants section 19 as Oliver Cowdery scribed.

Six times in that section the Savior commands Martin to repent in order to escape suffering that the Lord alone could fathom. "I . . . have suffered these things for all, [so] that they might not suffer if they would repent;" the Savior told Martin, "but if they would not repent they must suffer, even as I" (D&C 19:16-17).

I used to be very afraid of scary shadows that looked like monsters. I was afraid to stay by myself in my room or in the basement. I fasted and prayed many times. My dad gave me blessings to be courageous and faithful. I remembered the Primary song “Nephi’s Courage” that says: “I will go; I will do the thing the Lord commands.” So with my family’s help I decided to show my faith and face my fears. I went to the basement by myself. Then I went in my room by myself. I felt confident and faithful. My testimony is that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. He helped me to overcome my fears.Sebastian B., age 8, Alberta, Canada

I visited my grandpa and grandma who are not members of the LDS Church. On Sunday we went to the church where my grandpa preaches. A girl invited me to go to Sunday School with her. The teacher was teaching about “Mormonism.” I knew that what she was teaching was not the truth, and I felt angry. I excused myself from class. Once I was alone I said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father for courage to bear my testimony. When I got back to class, I raised my hand and said, “I am a Mormon.” Suddenly I felt the Spirit really strong and my fear went away completely.
The teacher asked me if I could tell the class why we are called Mormons. I said, “We are called Mormons because we believe in the Book of Mormon.” A girl said that she had started to read the Book of the Mormon but she laughed at it. She asked me how I could believe such a story. Her question hurt my feelings, but I said what was in my heart: “I know it is true because I prayed to Heavenly Father and He told me it was so.” Before this happened I did not think I could share my testimony with so many people who didn’t believe in our Church, but now I know that the Spirit will always give me courage.

In these days, visiting teachers do much good. Twelve years ago, Suzy was called to be Dora’s visiting teacher. A widow with no children, Dora had a difficult personality and was almost a recluse. When Suzy first began visiting Dora, she was met at the doorstep but never invited in. Several months later, Suzy took a treat to Dora, but Dora said she could not accept it. When Suzy asked why not, she answered, “Because you’ll want something in return.” Suzy assured her, “All I want is your friendship.” After that, visiting became easier. Gradually, Suzy found ways to do things for Dora and to listen when listening was needed. She would also tell her about the wonderful people in the ward, the lessons, and the conferences, thus making her feel a part of the ward. As Dora’s health began to deteriorate, Suzy’s visits were daily, and they became close friends. When Dora died, Suzy was able to eulogize the woman others called “unapproachable” as a “remarkable woman” and “a cherished friend.” She knew her as few others could because of her service as a visiting teacher.