Gospel Story Finder

One day Lincoln’s friends told him that they had pretended to put money into the school’s pencil machine. They told the secretary that they didn’t get a pencil, and she gave them one. Lincoln decided to give it a try.
At recess Lincoln sat on a bench and looked at his free pencil. He felt very sad inside. He wanted to do what was right. He told the secretary what he had done and gave her the pencil. Lincoln felt better.

Cody Petterson met Trevor Olvera in the school hallway in sixth grade in Nyssa, Oregon, and after that, they were almost inseparable. Soon Cody’s cousin, Justin Kesler, joined the mix.
The three of them did everything together: sports, bowling, homework. Later on they even worked on Cody’s family’s farm. And since they shared everything, Cody and Justin couldn’t help sharing the gospel with Trevor. Soon Cody and Justin began inviting Trevor to Mutual and stake dances. As Trevor got to know the other youth in Cody and Justin’s ward, it made it easier to invite him to church and seminary and then to hear the missionary lessons.
Trevor said, “Cody and Justin weren’t perfect, but they were trying to be like the Savior. They talked about reading scriptures and saying their prayers, and I wanted to have that as well.”
Though Cody and Justin admitted they had to overcome some fears, mostly they said sharing the gospel was easy. Justin puts it this way: “We were just examples at first. And then we asked him questions about what he believed. He already knew what we believed because we acted on what we believed, so it was easy to talk to him about the Church.”
One night after Mutual, Trevor remembers telling Cody and Justin that he wanted to get baptized. “When I told them that I wanted to be baptized, they were so happy for me. I knew that I had made the right decision.” Even though some others he knew teased him, Cody and Justin were by his side, literally so—at his baptism Cody was in the font, baptizing Trevor, and Justin was on the stand, giving a talk.
Trevor described his own baptism this way: “I was in the font, and I knew that I could have my sins washed away. And to have my best friends with me was beautiful. I knew I was making the right decision, and they had helped me to make it.”
Cody said that it was a powerful experience to use the priesthood to help someone he cared about. He said, “When I pronounced the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ,’ I felt the power of God fall upon me. I felt like my heart would burst. I was baptizing my best friend. He was receiving an ordinance of salvation, and I was the Lord’s instrument to carry it out.”

“Two or three nights a week I would wake up, frightened, unable to go back to sleep. Eventually, I began to fear sleep itself,” says Jan Sara of South Jordan, Utah. “Well-meaning friends offered suggestions, but nothing helped. Every night I asked Heavenly Father to help me have a good night’s sleep, but every night I would awaken in fear. I began to wonder what was wrong with me.
“One night as I knelt to pray, instead of asking Heavenly Father to help me sleep, I asked him what I could do to get rid of my terrible dreams. A strong feeling came to me to read the scriptures before I went to sleep. I got out my Book of Mormon and turned to Alma 37:37: ‘Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings … ; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep.’ Since that night, I have changed my scripture reading time from morning to just before I go to bed. The peaceful feelings that come to me as I ponder the Book of Mormon help me to sleep, and the nightmares have ended.”

For years I had asked Heavenly Father, “How do you see me?” I had struggled with being bullied, going to church, and losing my sick father. It wasn’t until I went to be sealed to my family in the temple that I finally got an answer.
Afterward, I was pondering my question when I was suddenly filled with warmth. I looked up into a large mirror and saw one of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen. Her eyes shone, and tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. Her countenance simply glowed. She wore a perfectly white dress.
I was filled with comfort as I felt the Spirit, and I spoke quietly to myself what I now know to be true: “I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father, who loves me. I was created for a divine purpose. I am virtuous and benevolent. I am, and have always been, loved and beautiful.”
If you have felt unloved, unwanted, or forgotten, know that you will never be alone. No matter how far we have fallen, no matter what sin we have committed, our Father and Jesus Christ are always there. They love us all individually, and They want us to return to Them. If it weren’t for Jesus Christ and His Atonement, loving family and friends, and the temple, I wouldn’t have learned these precious truths.
Renee C., Utah, USA

After recovering from serious health challenges, Elder Robert D. Hales shared the following in general conference: “On a few occasions, I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. … I … learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.”

The work moved forward. The paramount blessing needed was the privilege of our worthy members to receive their endowments and their sealings.
We explored every possibility. A trip once in a lifetime to the temple in Switzerland? Not approved by the government. Perhaps mother and father could come to Switzerland, leaving the children behind. Not right. How do you seal children to parents when they cannot kneel at an altar? It was a tragic situation. Then, through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God.
The day of dedication was an historic occasion. President Gordon B. Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer. Heaven was close that day.
For its size, this temple is one of the busiest temples in the Church. It is the only temple where one makes an appointment to participate in an endowment session. It is the only temple I know of where stake presidents say, “What can we do? Our home teaching is somewhat down because everyone is in the temple!” When I heard that comment, I thought, “Not bad—not bad at all!”

Kent and Colleen Ockey were definitely different from other families I had met while selling photography. Not only were they genuinely friendly to me, but they showed great love to each other as well. I remember how happy they seemed, how comfortable and at peace I felt in their home even though I couldn’t find an ashtray. These people seemed completely out of step with others I had encountered in my work.
On a side table in their living room, I noticed a large copy of the Book of Mormon. I had read a few chapters of it earlier in my life, and now it attracted my attention again. The Ockey’s answered my questions freely, and invited me back. They introduced me to the missionaries. I began studying, praying, and searching. Twenty-three days later, I was baptized. I finally felt that I was in step, and I’ve tried to keep in step with the Lord and the guidance from his appointed leaders ever since.

My sister has Down syndrome. I try to help her and love her. One thing that helps me spend even more quality time with her is reading the New Era with her. We have lots of fun reading the articles, and she points out her favorite pictures. She sees things in them that I had never seen before. I love my sister, and I love the New Era. Thank you for the time and effort that is put into every wonderful issue.Kalia Robinson, Aurora Ward, Springfield Missouri Stake

Every day Papa put a bucket down the well, hoping to bring up water, but the best he could get was damp sand on the bottom of the bucket.
“Don’t try the well till I get there,” Ed called down from the loft to Papa, when he heard the door shut after milking.
“Me, too,” I yelled and scrambled down the ladder.
One day the bucket made a splash when it went down. “There’s water,” Papa announced and pulled quickly on the rope to bring up a dripping pailful.
“Water!” Ed shouted.
“Water!” I echoed.
It was a race to the house to tell Mama, and she was so excited she said, “Let’s celebrate. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”
“Hurry then,” Papa said. “We have to get the pipe and sucker rods in.”
“What are sucker rods?” Ed wanted to know.
“They’re wooden poles to suck the water out of the ground.”
“Where do you put them?” I asked.
“First, we put a big pipe down to the bottom of the well. Then we put the sucker rods, one at a time, inside the pipe and push them as far as they’ll go into the sand.”
“What if they aren’t long enough?” Ed asked.
“We’ll fasten another one onto the first. They’re made so they can be screwed together.”
“Then will the water come up?”
“Yes, as soon as we build a windmill to run the pump.”
“What if it pumps water all over and makes a mud hole?”
“It won’t. We’ll have it fixed so we can turn if off.”
“What if the wind doesn’t blow when we want water?”
“We’ll have a storage tank. The pump will fill it up when the wind’s blowing, and we’ll use the water when we need it. I saw a galvanized tank in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I’d better send off for one right away.”
“Pancakes are ready,” Mama announced, and we sat up to the table to eat them.

Darrell Bevell had a decision to make. It wasn’t an easy one.
Growing up as the son of a football coach, Darrell had always enjoyed sports, whether it was basketball, baseball, or football. If his parents wanted to keep him happy, they put a ball in his hand. Consequently, whatever sport was in season Darrell was playing it. Big ball in the winter, small ball in the spring, oval ball in the fall. He was a good basketball and baseball player, but it was football where he really excelled. And as a quarterback it had always been Darrell’s goal to earn a football scholarship to a major college.
“I had been recruited by Arizona State, Washington, New Mexico, BYU, Utah, and Wyoming. Most of the big schools in the West were interested in me,” says Darrell. “I had a really good junior year and played well in the first two games of my senior season when I broke a finger on my throwing hand. I missed the rest of the season, and most of the teams that were recruiting me backed off because of the injury.”
Darrell eventually signed to play football at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. It wasn’t exactly a big-time college football program as had been his plan, but school would be paid for and he was going to play college football.
“When I signed for that scholarship to play football, that was my dream. That’s what I always wanted to do. Right then I said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’ I didn’t stop and really think about it because I got caught up in the excitement and everything.” That was the spring of 1988.
After signing with Northern Arizona, Darrell headed north from his home in Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix, to Flagstaff for two-a-day football practices in August. All he had on his mind was football. The mission thing had been decided, he thought.
“During those summer practices, I had been playing pretty well,” Darrell recalls. “But for some odd reason, right before the season started, it popped into my head, ‘Go on a mission.’ I knew I was about ready to turn 19, and I was still going to church every Sunday. But I again said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’”
And that’s when an amazing turn of events took place. Almost immediately after deciding for the second time he wouldn’t go on a mission, Darrell began struggling on the field. “It was really amazing. A guy would go out for a short pattern and I’d throw the ball at his feet,” Darrell says. “So I called my dad and told him how this dang mission kept popping into my head and that I was starting to play terrible.”
Darrell’s father, Jim, told him to think about a mission and then pray about what he should do. “I did that, but I told the Lord in my prayer that I couldn’t quit the team because the season had already begun. I did promise the Lord that as soon as the season was over I’d begin thinking about a mission,” he recalls.
There was only one problem with that plan. When the season ended, Darrell didn’t think about a mission again. He had redshirted during his freshman season, so even though he was a sophomore in school, he was still only a freshman in football eligibility. And when the Lumberjacks’s starting quarterback the previous two years went down with an injury in spring practice, Darrell emerged as the number one quarterback. His dream had finally come true. He was going to be the starting quarterback for Northern Arizona University.
“After everything had been decided and I had talked to the coaches about being the starter, boom, going on a mission popped right back into my head,” says Darrell. “It had been a long time since I’d even thought about going on a mission, so I started praying about it. I kept praying and praying until I finally knew a mission is what I needed to do. I already knew the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I just decided I should go on a mission too.”
Now he had a problem of a different sort. For two years, Darrell had been concentrating on football and telling everybody he wasn’t going on a mission. Now that he had decided to serve the Lord, he had to tell his coach he wouldn’t be his quarterback. Driving to Flagstaff with his father to break the news to the coaching staff, Darrell had a good case of butterflies in his stomach. “When I got to his office, I was really nervous,” he says.
After the quarterback and the coach shook hands, Darrell said, “Coach, I’m going to go on a mission for my church. I’m not going to come back next season.”
Obviously, finding out your starting quarterback is leaving the team for two years isn’t the kind of news that helps a coach sleep well at night. After hearing Darrell’s decision, he began trying to dissuade him. Darrell listened as his coach told him how football players who go on missions lose their drive to play after they return home, and how he was throwing away a chance at stardom. “I was believing a lot of what he was saying. But I’ve always been the kind of person who makes a decision then sticks to it. That’s something I’ve always tried to do. Since I’d already made my decision to go, it wasn’t that hard, regardless of what the coach was saying.”
So long, Flagstaff, Arizona. Hello, Cleveland Ohio Mission.
“I had a great experience, and I loved my mission. The work was really going well there, and we had a lot of good missionaries,” Darrell says. “Of course, I wanted to play football after my mission, but I figured the Lord would take care of that. I had always wanted to play football, and somehow I knew it was going to work out.”
When Darrell’s mission was almost complete, he began thinking more and more about football. He knew the coaching staff at Northern Arizona had been fired, so he was an unknown commodity to the new coaching staff there. The great mystery in Darrell Bevell’s life was where he was going to go to college. Would he ever get to stand on the field and throw balls to open receivers? Would anybody offer him a scholarship?
One of his assistant coaches at Northern Arizona had taken a job as an assistant at the University of Wisconsin, and he remembered Darrell. In need of another quarterback in the program, the assistant got in contact with Darrell’s dad and asked if he thought his son would be interested in playing football in Wisconsin. Considering Wisconsin competes in one of the country’s top football conferences, and that it plays its home games in a 75,000-seat stadium, Darrell’s dad figured he might be able to persuade his son to check out the school.
After he finished his mission in October of 1991, Darrell made his recruiting trip to the University of Wisconsin and became convinced that was the place for him. “I basically decided then that I wanted to go there,” he says. He sat out the entire 1991 season and got ready for 1992.
During his freshman season of 1992, Darrell broke into the starting lineup in Wisconsin’s second game against Bowling Green State, and helped engineer a win over then number-12 ranked Ohio State in the Badgers’s fourth game. What made that victory all the better is that it was televised nationally by ESPN. Needless to say, a lot of people in Scottsdale, as well as those who knew him as Elder Bevell in Ohio, were crowded around their television sets. A shoulder injury hampered his play the remainder of the season, but he still completed 51 percent of his passes and threw for eight touchdowns. The future is extremely bright for Darrell as he prepares for his sophomore season. And the missionary work continues.
“It seems like every time an article is written about me, the first thing it says is my name and that I’m a member of the Church or that I’m a returned missionary,” he adds. “If I were at BYU, nobody would have cared. It would have been the same old story. But here at Wisconsin, not that many people know about the Church so it’s a bigger deal.”
A big deal just like Wisconsin’s victory over Ohio State. However, Darrell still knows that was just one game, and winning football games isn’t the most important thing in his life. “Beating Ohio State on national television was nice, but how long does that last?” he asks. “Seeing someone going into the waters of baptism is so great. I remember I was able to baptize a woman the day before I went home from my mission. I know that ordinance is something that is going to last forever. It’s something I’ll always remember. I don’t think that when we get into the afterlife someone’s going to say, ‘How about that one drive against Ohio State when you were five for five and you were able to pull it out on national television?’ But I might see that woman I baptized and have her come up to me and give me a big hug and say thank you very much.”
Maybe it’s a little strange to Wisconsin football fans that while most 23-year-olds have already graduated from college, Darrell Bevell is only a sophomore. Maybe Darrell’s teammates can’t understand why he would take two years off from football, not make a cent on his mission, and not be able to go to movies, watch TV, or date while he was a missionary. Maybe they never will understand. But Darrell does. In his life, he’s glad his job on the football field didn’t interfere with his call to the mission field.

Basketball season for the Academia Juarez varsity girls began just like any other season: a winning season was their goal. The Church-owned school in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico, is unique in that the majority of the sports programs require the players to travel internationally to play their games. Another interesting fact is that the entire 2010–11 varsity girls’ team, the Lobas, are all active Latter-day Saint young women. They stand out because they are just as united off the court as they are on the court.
And they did have a successful season, winning the majority of their games and taking first place in two tournaments. To end their season, they decided to go to the temple together as a team and do baptisms for the dead. Their coach, Bishop Russell Robinson, made the arrangements. He says, “Never have I seen a group of girls who love each other and love the Lord like these girls do.”
As Colonia Juárez Chihuahua Mexico Temple president Robert Whetten met them at the doors of the temple, he said, “I don’t know of anywhere in the world where a competitive sports team makes coming to the temple a priority to cap off their season. This truly is a great group of young women.”

May I offer counsel of a general nature, first with comments about General Authorities. We recognize them as instruments in the hand of the Lord, yet realize that they are ordinary human beings. They require haircuts, laundry services, and occasional reminders just like anyone else. President Benson once shared with us a story to illustrate. He said:
“Orson F. Whitney … was a great man to concentrate. One day when he was traveling by train, he was so preoccupied that he did not notice the train pass the station where he was to get off. So he had to [be driven] back to where he should have been. Meanwhile the stake president waited and waited. … Finally when he decided that something had more than likely happened to Brother Whitney and he was not going to make it, they commenced the meeting. As Elder Whitney approached, he was greeted by the opening hymn, which was ‘Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.’”
We honor such a man because of his extraordinary calling. His official acts are valid on earth and in heaven. Well do I remember the first time I met one of the General Authorities. It was a feeling beyond description. Though I was but a boy, immediately—almost instinctively—I rose to my feet. Even now I feel that same way when one of the Brethren enters the room. A General Authority is an oracle of God.

Some years ago President David O. McKay (1873–1970) told of the experience of some of those in the Martin handcart company. Many of these early converts had emigrated from Europe and were too poor to buy oxen or horses and a wagon. They were forced by their poverty to pull handcarts containing all of their belongings across the plains by their own brute strength. President McKay related an occurrence which took place some years after the heroic exodus:
“A teacher, conducting a class, said it was unwise ever to attempt, even to permit them [the Martin handcart company] to come across the plains under such conditions.”
Then President McKay quoted an observer who was present in that class: “Some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded.
“An old man in the corner … sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it, then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
“In substance [he] said, ‘I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there, too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? …
“‘I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.’”
He continues: “‘I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“‘Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.’”

As a young husband and father, David Haight attended Church meetings regularly, served in callings as requested, and enjoyed them. But there came a moment, during World War II, that was a critical turning point in his life as far as serving in the Church was concerned.
One chilly evening he left his wife and three small children standing on a landing dock off Treasure Island, in San Francisco Bay, as he flew out in a seaplane bound for Hawaii. Lieutenant Commander Haight spent a sleepless night over the dark Pacific in the noisy, vibrating airplane, thinking about what was important in his life. He realized that all that was of real value to him he had left back on the dock, and he wanted his family to be with him for eternity.
He felt his commitment to Church service had not been all that it could have been. He promised the Lord that if his life was spared through the war, he would accept whatever call came to him and do whatever it required. It represented, says his son Bruce, a new look at his life’s goals—the closing of one door, in a way, and the opening of another.

I have been involved in many adoptions over the years so I will tell you a true to life adoption story. One day a bishop referred a young college student to me for birthparent services. She was a bright student on a full scholarship and she had a delightful personality. She had made a mistake and found herself pregnant with no possibility of marriage. She and her parents consulted their church leaders and LDS Family Services to find out her options.

Her parents were financially strong and could have easily supported one more child in the family. But after much prayer, this young woman and her parents decided to follow the counsel of the First Presidency and place the child for adoption with a temple sealed couple. Emotionally, it was not an easy thing to do but their great faith carried them through.

The birthmother selected a humble, righteous couple and corresponded with them throughout the pregnancy. A gorgeous little boy was born and the adoptive couple excitedly flew to Hawaii at the time of the birth. The placement took place in a peaceful, beautiful home where the Spirit of the Lord was indeed present and very strong. When the birthmother and her parents met the adoptive couple, there was instant love as though they had known each other before. There were hugs and tears.

After talking together for quite some time, the birthmother played a lovely piece on the piano, Canon in D, for the adoptive couple. The adoptive mother was a talented violinist. She and the birthmother then played two songs together with the piano and violin. One of the songs was "I Am a Child of God." "I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, Help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do To live with him someday." This was the wish of the birthmother that her child would have such a life.

The birthmother then went to the other room to get the baby and she walked out confidently and placed the child into the arms of the adoptive parents. There were great expressions of how cute he was. Many tears fell. We all felt the Spirit that day and there was such deep love manifested.

This birthmother has since served the Lord in many ways and is now sealed to a faithful husband and has her own family. The special, beautiful baby was sealed in the temple to his parents and is loved and cherished by a large, righteous extended family. The birthmother listened and obeyed the counsel of the Brethren and she, the child and the adoptive parents have been blessed immensely.

I grew up in a Protestant home and so I knew that the Sabbath was a holy day but I had not been taught—nor did I ever enquire—what the term ‘holy’ really meant. I never went to public entertainment or took part in public activities on the Sabbath, perhaps mainly because I went to a Christian boarding school for seven years and had grown up in South Africa, where at that time, all shops and public forms of entertainment were closed on the Sabbath. So, I didn’t have to make a choice about those things.
Later in my life, the missionaries came and shared the plan of salvation with me. I received a testimony of the truth and was so thrilled at what I was learning that from that day forward I had no problem in my conviction to keep the Sabbath day holy—but the practice of doing so was not always easy.
I was married at the time I began meeting with the missionaries and my husband did not share my enthusiasm for the Church—yet he was a good man with high principles and a Lutheran background. But I was challenged on how to stay true to my Sabbath day convictions without causing grief and discord within my family. During this “wilderness” time for me I received important advice that my family was most important and that I should do whatever I could to keep us together.
Baptism was withheld from me and so I did not have the constant companion of the Holy Spirit to guide me. But I loved my family and so I embarked on a course to stay true to honouring the Sabbath whenever possible and where I could, yet allowing myself to join in my husband’s social activities if he planned these on the Sabbath—without complaint. These activities were mostly contained within our circle of friends and sometimes they involved business or public functions.
Even after South Africa no longer adhered to keeping the Sabbath day holy, I chose never to fill my car with fuel or purchase household or personal goods on the Sabbath, something that was encouraged by my husband. An activity that my husband did enjoy was watching Formula One motor racing on TV on a Sunday afternoon and he wanted me to share his interest, which I did. Our home was generally peaceful on the Sabbath and we both liked to listen to good classical music and which I intermingled with sacred music. I also found, when it was appropriate to my conditions, to keep my Sunday dress on. This helped me mentally choose fitting activities and behaviour while staying in harmony with my family circumstances.
I had challenges at first in going to church and chose to attend only sacrament meeting and Sunday School—so as not to be away from home for too long. On Saturdays I always pre-­prepared a good Sunday meal and any animosity from my husband at my Sunday absence from home was soon forgotten. This was the pattern of my life for 22 years and there was in the end a greater harmony and acceptance of my limited Sabbath day values, but fully integrated in our lifestyle. Eventually, heartened by my husband’s changing attitude, my journey in the Church culminated in my baptism. Now I could have the companion of the Spirit to help guide me in the future.
I now felt freer to follow my feelings for keeping the Sabbath holy—this time with the Holy Spirit’s promptings. I also started attending full Sunday church activity without problems. I allowed myself to indulge in the driving urgency to search out my family ancestors and in so doing stimulated my husband’s interest by asking his mother to record memories and pictures she had of her family. She produced, as a legacy, a beautiful handwritten book with photos. This became a motivating activity on Sundays in which my husband showed interest. (The digital age was not so advanced as it is today, so it was a very time-­consuming activity.) This led to writing many letters to family members and institutions in other countries searching for information—and the Sabbath day allowed me time to do this, although I had to temper my enthusiasm so that it did not dominate my entire Sunday to the exclusion of family time.
Sometimes Sabbath observance was difficult as my husband in his work did a lot of travelling outside the country and liked to have me with him. If there was a church in any of the towns we visited, and nothing was planned, he was always agreeable to my attending sacrament meeting, but at the same time I never curtailed his plans for a social get-­together if he chose to do so. Overall, the Sabbath became a firm family unity day for us.
Now, I am widowed, but sealed in the temple to my husband, and I still find the Sabbath a delight. Not only do I enjoy full Sunday church activity, but I relish the thought of doing family history research in this new digital age and preparing names for temple ordinances. I am fascinated in getting to know my ancestors by researching and writing their stories and sharing copies with extended family members. I love the couple of quiet hours of morning scripture study uninterrupted by any other demands. I relish an hour or so of rest, listening to a mix of gentle light classical and sacred music. And, on some Sabbath days I connect with long-­distant family members by phone, email, or digitally.
It has been a journey, but I have learned that, truly, the Sabbath can be a delight.

Ellie bit her thumbnail nervously. Miss Fitz was going down the rows of desks and asking each student a question, one by one.
“Who is your hero?” Miss Fitz asked Jeremy.
Jeremy didn’t waste a moment answering. “My dad!” he said proudly.
Miss Fitz smiled. “And yours, Sarah?”
Her answer came just as quickly. “Abraham Lincoln.”
Ellie felt her heart thumping as Miss Fitz continued down the row of students. They had been talking about heroes all day, and now everyone was supposed to say who their hero was—in front of the entire class!
Amber and Justin said their moms were their heroes. Walter said his was his grandfather. A few other students said theirs were presidents or other famous leaders.
Only a few students were left before Miss Fitz would reach Ellie. She had to think of a hero—and fast.
Ellie looked down at her shoes, embarrassed. Coming up with a hero wasn’t the real problem. She already knew who her hero was. It was Jesus Christ. He had healed the sick, raised the dead, and paid the price for everyone’s sins. He was the greatest hero who ever lived! She was just too afraid to say it.
Ellie bit her thumbnail again at the thought of telling the whole class that Jesus Christ was her hero. What if Jeremy laughed at her? What if Sarah and Amber whispered about her at recess?
Of course she knew Jesus Christ was her hero. But that didn’t mean everyone else had to know too.
Miss Fitz stopped right in front of Ellie’s desk and smiled. “And who is your hero, Ellie?”
Ellie glanced from the row of students beside her up to Miss Fitz. “Abraham Lincoln,” she whispered.
Miss Fitz beamed. “Good!” she said as she walked to the next student in the row.
As soon as she was gone, Ellie’s shoulders dropped in relief. Thank goodness that was over. The last thing she needed was for everyone in class to know that her hero was—
“Jesus Christ,” a voice said.
Ellie’s eyes widened as she slowly looked over. There—only a little farther down the row—sat a small boy. He was skinny and shy, and he always sat at the back of the classroom. Ellie didn’t even know his name. She couldn’t remember him ever saying a single word—until now.
A few students turned to stare at the boy, but he didn’t notice them. He just looked up at Miss Fitz and spoke again. “My hero is Jesus Christ.”
Miss Fitz smiled brightly and continued down the row. But Ellie looked at the boy in amazement. She had been afraid to tell everyone about her hero, but he hadn’t. He didn’t even go to her church! But he knew how important it was to stand as an example of Jesus Christ, even when it was hard.
Ellie smiled at the boy. She wouldn’t be afraid to say who her hero was anymore. After all, she had two of them now.

When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, the member of the bishopric who advised the deacons quorum came into our quorum meeting the Sunday before Thanksgiving and said, “I hope we won’t have one family of this quorum who won’t kneel down in family prayer and have a blessing on the food this Thanksgiving.” It was 1943, and our country was engaged in World War II. We discussed our need for a divine blessing for those who were in military service and for all the other difficulties we as a nation were facing. We also talked about the blessings we each enjoyed. Then we were again encouraged to have family prayer.
A heavy cloud settled on my heart. I didn’t know how my family could have family prayer. My father had a drinking problem, and my mother was not a member of the Church at that time. We had never had a prayer in our home, not even a blessing on the food. After quorum meeting I continued to consider the challenge, and finally concluded we would not be able to have prayer.
That evening at sacrament meeting the bishop stood up at the close of the meeting and said, “Brothers and sisters, Thursday is Thanksgiving. I hope we will not have one family in the ward that will not kneel in family prayer. We ought to express our gratitude for the great goodness of our Heavenly Father to us.” And then he enumerated some of our many blessings.
Again it seemed as if my soul were filled with an enormous gloom. I tried to figure out a way our family could have prayer. I thought about it Monday, and again on Tuesday, and on Wednesday. On Wednesday evening my father did not return home from work at the normal hour, and I knew from experience that, because it was payday, he was satisfying his thirst for alcohol. When he finally came at two in the morning quite an argument ensued. I lay in bed wondering how we could ever have prayer with that kind of contention in our home.
On Thanksgiving morning, we did not eat breakfast so we could eat more dinner. My four brothers and I went out to play with some neighbor boys. We decided to dig a hole and make a trench to it and cover it over as a clubhouse. We dug a deep hole, and with every shovelful of dirt I threw out of the hole I thought about family prayer for Thanksgiving. I wondered if I would have enough courage to suggest to my parents that we have a prayer, but I was afraid I would not. I wondered if my older brother, who has always been an ideal in my life, would suggest it, since he had been in the same sacrament meeting and had heard the bishop’s suggestion.
Finally, at about two-thirty in the afternoon, Mother told us to come get cleaned up for dinner. Then we sat down at the big round oak table. Dad sat down with us silently—he and Mother were not speaking to each other. As she brought in the platter with the beautiful golden brown turkey, my young heart was about to burst. I thought, Now please, won’t someone suggest we have a family prayer? I thought the words over and over, but they wouldn’t come out. I turned and looked at my older brother, praying desperately that he would suggest prayer. The bowls of delicious food were being passed around the table; plates were being filled; and time and opportunity were passing. I knew that if someone did not act immediately, it would be too late. Then suddenly, as always, everyone just started eating.
My heart sank, and despair filled my soul. Although I had worked up a great appetite, and Mother was a marvelous cook, I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to pray.
I resolved that day that no son or daughter of mine would ever want to pray and not be able to do it because of shyness or lack of courage. In our family we have family prayers, personal prayers, and blessings on every meal. As one who has known the contrast between families that do not pray and those that do, I know the value of prayer in the home and in the life of every child and youth in the Church. What a blessing it is for us to know that our private, individual prayers are heard and answered by a kind, wise, loving Heavenly Father, and that we can take our problems—no matter how simplistic they may be—to him in prayer!

When my Great-Grandma Edwards died, my sister, Mia, and I were sad. Even though my parents told us we would see our great-grandma again someday and be a family forever, we were worried.
My dad told us that we could pray to have our questions about Grandma Edwards answered at general conference. I prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was happy. Mia prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter, who had already died.
During the Sunday morning session of conference, we listened, and we heard the prophet answer our questions! President Monson said that when people die, it’s as if they go into a room filled with all the family members they love who died before them. So Mia knew that Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter. Then President Monson read a part from the Book of Mormon that says the spirits of the righteous go to a state of happiness (see Alma 40:11–12).* Grandma Edwards had always tried to choose the right, so I knew she was happy.
Mia and I were so happy to know that the prophet speaks for God and that God answers our prayers. We aren’t worried about Grandma Edwards anymore. We know that if we follow her example of choosing the right, someday we will see her again.

To illustrate my point, I would like to go back in thought to my native Holland where six generations of my father’s ancestors lived in the little village of Scheveningen at the seashore. They were fishermen or had other related vocations, like fishing-boat builders, sailmakers, or fishing-net repairmen. Many of them were also involved in the voluntary but hazardous task of lifesaving. They were stouthearted, experienced men who always were ready to man the rowing lifeboats to go on a rescue mission. With every westerly gale that blew, some fishing boats ran into difficulties, and many times the sailors had to cling to the rigging of their stricken ships in a desperate fight to escape inevitable drowning. Year after year the sea claimed its victims.

On one occasion during a severe storm, a ship was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.

The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.

So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!”