Gospel Story Finder

I met Megan when my family moved into our new house. She lived down the street, and we were both in Sister Crawford’s Primary class. We became friends and played together a lot. I watched Megan closely, trying to remember how she told a joke or how she fixed her hair or how she talked to other kids so easily. I thought Megan was perfect. I was shy. I wanted to be like Megan.
One day I called Megan to see if she wanted to play. She didn’t say anything at first.
“Caitlin is already over here,” she finally said.
Caitlin was in our Primary class too. I waited for Megan to invite me over, but she didn’t. Her end of the line was quiet.
“Oh. OK,” I stammered. Megan hung up without saying anything else.
That Sunday in Primary, Sister Crawford asked us, “What does it mean to be a good friend?”
I smiled at Megan, but she didn’t see me. She turned the other way and whispered to Caitlin. Suddenly Caitlin laughed out loud.
“Please quiet down, girls,” Sister Crawford said. They stopped whispering, but their shoulders trembled with giggles. Sister Crawford turned to me. “Angie, what do you think makes a good friend?”
“Well, someone who is nice and likes to play with you and—”
Megan and Caitlin giggled louder. My face got hot, and I looked at the floor. Were they laughing at me?
Sister Crawford frowned at them, then smiled at me. “That’s right, Angie,” she said. She looked around at the class. “How can you be a good friend?”
Adam raised his hand. “We can help people,” he said.
Sister Crawford nodded. “A good friend wants to help and serve others. Jesus Christ taught that when He lived on the earth. He also taught us that we should be kind to everyone.”
I looked at Megan and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. I felt an empty spot in my chest. Didn’t Megan like me anymore?
At the end of the lesson, Sister Crawford held up a small basket. “I have something for you,” she said. She reached into the basket and showed us colorful strings that had been tied in small circles. “These are friendship bracelets. You wear it on your wrist, and whenever you look at it you can remember to be a good friend.”
Maybe friendship bracelets would help! Maybe Megan and I could get matching bracelets. As the basket went around the class, I leaned toward Megan. “What color are you going to get?” I asked her.
Megan shrugged. “Maybe a yellow one.”
“Me too,” I said.
Caitlin chose a blue bracelet. Then she passed the basket to Megan. Megan fingered a few bracelets, then pulled out a blue one too. I stared at her. Blue? She quickly handed me the basket. I stared into it, not knowing what to do. There were only yellow bracelets left. I slowly pulled one out.
Megan and Caitlin giggled and held out their arms side by side, admiring their matching blue bracelets. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying. I was not going to cry in front of them.* * * *
I threw myself into Mom’s arms as soon as we got home from church. “What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asked as I started to cry. Through my tears I told her what had happened. She sat next to me on my bed and held me close. “I’m sorry, Angie,” she said.
“Doesn’t Megan want to be my friend anymore?” I asked.
Mom stroked my hair. “Sometimes we don’t know why people do certain things,” she said. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Sister Crawford said today that we should try to be kind to everyone, like Jesus was. But I don’t want to be kind to Megan.”
“I understand,” Mom said. “But I also agree with Sister Crawford. It might be hard, but we should try to be kind even if someone hurts our feelings. Jesus taught us to forgive others.”
“How can I do that?” I asked. I thought of the way Megan and Caitlin had laughed, and I felt that empty feeling again.
Mom pointed to a figurine of a girl kneeling in prayer that I kept on my nightstand. “Whenever someone hurts my feelings, I ask Heavenly Father to help me forgive that person. I ask Him to soften my heart and the other person’s heart.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
Mom smiled and kissed the top of my head. “I always feel better when I’ve talked to Heavenly Father,” she said.
When I said my prayers that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the friendship I had with Megan. Then I asked Him to help me forgive her. I scrunched up my eyes and thought hard. “Please help Megan and me be friends again,” I said.
I prayed for those things for the next few days. On Saturday I was swinging on our swing set when Megan came up our walk. I stopped swinging. We looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Finally Megan reached out and put something in my hand.
“This is for you,” she said. I opened my hand and saw a blue friendship bracelet.
“Do you want to play?” Megan asked. “Caitlin is coming over to my house. We’re going to pretend we’re princesses, and Noodle is going to be the queen.”
Noodle was Megan’s gray-striped cat. I giggled, picturing Noodle wearing a crown. I felt the empty spot inside shrinking. “Yes, I’d like to come over,” I said. “Thanks.”
I smiled at her, and this time Megan smiled back.

A few days ago there came to my office a man from Las Vegas, Nevada. His wife and married daughter were with him. When we had accomplished the purpose of his visit, the younger woman asked if I would accept something from her thirteen-year-old daughter. She unwrapped a painting of two butterflies around a flowering shrub.
The mother explained that her daughter had been struck by a car in a terrible accident when she was four years of age. Her body was badly broken. She was left paralyzed from the shoulders down, a quadriplegic—without the use of arms or legs. She had painted this picture holding a brush between her teeth and moving her head.
As I listened to that story, the painting grew in beauty and value before my eyes. It became more than a portrayal of butterflies. It represented remarkable courage in the face of blinding adversity; tenacious practice in holding and moving the brush; pleading prayers for help; faith—the faith of a child, nurtured by loving parents, that she could create beauty notwithstanding her handicap.
Some might say that this is not a masterpiece. Without knowledge of its origin, that could be the judgment. But what is the test of art? Is it not the inspiration which comes from looking at it?
I will hang this small painting in my study so that during occasional hours of struggle there will come into my mind the picture of a beautiful little girl, robbed of the use of her feet and hands, gripping the handle of a paintbrush in her teeth to create a thing of beauty. Thank you, Krystal, for what you have done for me. I hope the telling of your story will bring a new measure of strength to others who, facing discouragement, have felt they could not go on. I hope that your example will be as a polar star to lead them in the darkness through which they stumble.
It may not be easy. It may be fraught with disappointment and challenge. It will require courage and patience. I remind you of the faith and determination of the thirteen-year-old girl who, holding a paintbrush in her teeth, created the painting I showed you earlier. Love can make the difference—love generously given in childhood and reaching through the awkward years of youth. It will do what money lavished on children will never do.

I never used to feel the Spirit in meetings, and I imagined there was something wrong with me. Then I had the opportunity to accompany one of the full-time missionaries serving in our branch. For me, the conditions were far from ideal. After my regular work in a bank, I bicycled in extreme heat to the investigator’s home.

On our first visit, I only listened as the missionary presented the lesson. But on the second visit, I became involved in the message, and I felt the Spirit as I had never felt it before. It was such a wonderful feeling that I had tears in my eyes.

When I got home, I began to analyze why I had felt the Spirit so strongly. I came to the conclusion that it was because I was interested in the lesson and the message taught. I now make the effort to become interested in what speakers have to say in church meetings. When I become involved in their message and concentrate on what they are saying, I have felt the Spirit with me.

Janilson Teixeira de Oliveira, 21Rondonopólis Aurora Branch, Brazil Brasília Mission

One day at recess, Isabella saw a girl who was crying because someone had said something mean to her. Isabella felt bad for the girl and walked over to comfort her. “Would you like to play with me?” she asked the girl.
That day Isabella served with her heart. She followed the example of Jesus Christ and showed love to someone in need. We can show our love for Heavenly Father by serving others with our heart, our might, our mind, and our strength. We can serve with our whole selves!

Seeing the glass cup flooded my mind with pleasant memories. Glass sacrament cups were being used at the time I reached my 12th birthday, a very significant milestone in my life. My 12th birthday happened to fall on Sunday. For years I had watched the deacons pass the sacrament, anticipating the day that I would be blessed to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and have that privilege.
When that day finally arrived, I was asked to come to church early and meet with Brother Ambrose Call, second counselor in our ward bishopric. Brother Call invited me into a classroom and asked me to offer a prayer. He then opened the scriptures and read section 13 of the Doctrine and Covenants to me:
“Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of Levi do offer again an offering unto the Lord in righteousness.”
Brother Call then asked me to comment on this section. My explanation was surely not complete enough, so Brother Call took some time to explain to me what it meant to be a bearer of the holy priesthood. Being worthy to hold the priesthood entitled me to use the power God delegates to man. One who worthily holds the priesthood can legitimately perform the ordinances God has prescribed for the salvation of the human family. This authority comes directly from the Savior Himself through a continuing line of priesthood holders.
My interview with Brother Call must have been somewhat satisfactory, for I was taken into the deacons quorum meeting. There, the members of the bishopric laid their hands upon my head, and the bishop, who happened at the time to be my father, conferred upon me the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I was also sustained by the other deacons to become a member with them in a quorum of the priesthood.
In sacrament meeting that evening, I had my first opportunity to exercise the priesthood by passing the sacrament to the membership of our ward. The sacrament took on new meaning to me that day. As I watched the tray go up and down the rows of the members of the Church, I noticed that not everyone approached the sacrament with the same attitude. There were those who seemed to partake of the sacrament just as a matter of routine, but there were many, many who accepted the sacrament with great reverence.
Over the years, I have participated, as all of us have, in many sacrament meetings, and to me they really are more than just another meeting. Partaking of the sacrament provides us with a sacred moment in a holy place. We do it in accordance with the commandment the Lord gave us in section 59 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day” (v. 9).
From the very beginning, before the world was organized, God laid out a plan whereby He would offer blessings to His children based on their obedience to His commandments. He understood, however, that we would be distracted at times by the things of the world and would need to be reminded regularly of our covenants and His promises.
One of the first commandments given to Adam was that he should worship the Lord and offer the firstlings of his flocks as an offering to Him. This ordinance was given to remind the people that Jesus Christ would come into the world and would ultimately offer Himself as a sacrifice.
“And Adam was obedient unto the commandments of the Lord.
“And after many days an angel of the Lord appeared unto Adam, saying: Why dost thou offer sacrifices unto the Lord? And Adam said unto him: I know not, save the Lord commanded me.
“And then the angel spake, saying: This thing is a similitude of the sacrifice of the Only Begotten of the Father, which is full of grace and truth” (Moses 5:5–7).
From that day down until the time of our Savior, Heavenly Father’s children were commanded to offer sacrifices. It was discontinued with the Savior’s atoning sacrifice. Then, the night before He completed that sacrifice, the Savior instituted the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to help us remember Him and the Atonement He made for all mankind. Thus, in the ancient law of sacrifice and in the sacrament, the Lord has helped us be certain that we do not forget His promises and the requirement that we follow Him and obey His will.
In the New Testament we have an account of the Lord administering the sacrament to His disciples. This is found in Matthew, the 26th chapter:
“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.
“And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it;
“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins” (vv. 26–28).
The Book of Mormon, in 3 Nephi, chapter 18, gives us a detailed account of the Savior’s administration of the sacrament to the Nephites:
“And it came to pass that Jesus commanded his disciples that they should bring forth some bread and wine unto him.
“And while they were gone for bread and wine, he commanded the multitude that they should sit themselves down upon the earth.
“And when the disciples had come with bread and wine, he took of the bread and brake and blessed it; and he gave unto the disciples and commanded that they should eat.
“And when they had eaten and were filled, he commanded that they should give unto the multitude.
“And when the multitude had eaten and were filled, he said unto the disciples: Behold there shall one be ordained among you, and to him will I give power that he shall break bread and bless it and give it unto the people of my church, unto all those who shall believe and be baptized in my name.
“And this shall ye always observe to do, even as I have done, even as I have broken bread and blessed it and given it unto you.
“And this shall ye do in remembrance of my body, which I have shown unto you. And it shall be a testimony unto the Father that ye do always remember me. And if ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you.
“And it came to pass that when he said these words, he commanded his disciples that they should take of the wine of the cup and drink of it, and that they should also give unto the multitude that they might drink of it.
“And it came to pass that they did so, and did drink of it and were filled; and they gave unto the multitude, and they did drink, and they were filled.
“And when the disciples had done this, Jesus said unto them: Blessed are ye for this thing which ye have done, for this is fulfilling my commandments, and this doth witness unto the Father that ye are willing to do that which I have commanded you” (vv. 1–10).
His instructions are very clear that we should be willing to do what He has commanded us to do. It would surely be expected that in our day we would again be commanded to partake of the sacrament. As the Doctrine and Covenants tells us:
“It is expedient that the church meet together often to partake of bread and wine in the remembrance of the Lord Jesus” (D&C 20:75).
The purpose of partaking of the sacrament is, of course, to renew the covenants we have made with the Lord.
Elder Delbert L. Stapley instructed us in this when he said about covenants:
“The gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is a covenant between God and his people. … When baptized by an authorized servant of God, we covenant to do God’s will and to obey his commandments. … By partaking of the Sacrament we renew all covenants entered into with the Lord and pledge ourselves to take upon us the name of his Son, to always remember him and keep his commandments” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1965, 14).
The sacrament is one of the most sacred ordinances in the Church. Partaking of the sacrament worthily gives us an opportunity for spiritual growth.
I remember that when I was a child, beautiful music was played during the passing of the sacrament. The Brethren soon asked us to stop that practice because our minds were centered on the music rather than on the atoning sacrifice of our Lord and Savior. During the administration of the sacrament, we set aside the world. It is a period of spiritual renewal as we recognize the deep spiritual significance of the ordinance offered to each of us personally. If we were to become casual in partaking of the sacrament, we would lose the opportunity for spiritual growth.
Elder Melvin J. Ballard once said:
“I am a witness that there is a spirit attending the administration of the sacrament that warms the soul from head to foot; you feel the wounds of the spirit being healed, and the load is lifted. Comfort and happiness come to the soul that is worthy and truly desirous of partaking of this spiritual food” (“The Sacramental Covenant,” Improvement Era, Oct. 1919, 1027).
When we partake of the sacrament worthily, we remember the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior, that He gave up His life and took upon Himself the sins of the world that we may have the blessing of immortality. We take upon ourselves the name of our Savior and promise to always remember Him and to keep His commandments—that is, to “live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God” (D&C 84:44).
Parents, you have the responsibility of teaching your families the importance of attending sacrament meeting weekly. It should be a regular family practice. Every family needs that time of renewing and committing to live the gospel in accordance with the teachings of the Savior. Families, properly prepared, will attend sacrament meeting with a spirit of reverence and with gratitude for the opportunity of partaking of the sacred emblems.
I remember an experience our family had while on vacation at a resort area. Because the period of our stay included a Sunday, we made arrangements to attend a sacrament meeting at a nearby chapel. So did hundreds of others staying at the resort. The chapel was filled to overflowing. Before the meeting started, the bishop invited any attending deacons who were worthy and properly dressed to participate in the passing of the sacrament. An adequate number, dressed in white shirts and ties, came forward to receive instructions on how to handle such a large congregation. The ordinance was administered reverently and efficiently. As I observed the congregation, I saw that many were deeply moved by the spirit of the meeting.
After we returned to the resort, there was an obvious difference in the Sabbath-day activities compared to that of the weekdays. Boats remained tied at the dock; the lake was almost free of swimmers; and the dress for the Sabbath day was very appropriate. Those families saw the fulfillment of the Lord’s promise: by going to the house of prayer on His holy day and renewing their covenants to obey the commandments, they were able to keep themselves more fully unspotted from the world (see D&C 59:9).
May there be instilled in each of us an increased reverence for the Sabbath. May we more fully realize the special blessing of being able to partake of the sacrament and its significance in our lives. May we always remember Him and keep His commandments, which He has given us to fulfill the purpose of life and the hope of the eternities that are to come. This is the Lord’s work in which we are engaged. God lives. Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world. We’re permitted to be part of this great gospel plan, of which the sacrament is such a vital part. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was one of those rare Sunday mornings when, for a very special reason, I happened to be at home in my own ward. We sat on the last row, and our only son, a tall, fine young man, walked up the aisle at the invitation of the bishop and stood by the pulpit. The bishop spoke about my son and presented him to the congregation for their sustaining vote to his advancement in the Aaronic Priesthood. We all voted, and I later had the great privilege, at the invitation of the bishop, to ordain my son.
Later that day, during lunch, he told his sisters about the events of that morning. He said it was kind of scary walking up the aisle and standing up before the congregation with the bishop. But he said, “When they voted, I looked down and saw Dad’s hand higher than all the rest, and I felt all right.” And he was right. I had lifted my hand just as high as I could get it. He is my son, and that is how I feel about him. The relationship between fathers and sons is a very special one.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Larissa yelled to her classmate Eric. She jumped off her bike and raced for the door. Bursting inside, she threw her arms around Mom and blurted, “Eric says I’m not really yours. He says that all of you are white and I’m black, and that we aren’t a real family because we don’t match.” She shoved her arm next to Mom’s to compare. “See!”
Mom hugged Larissa tight. “Maybe Eric doesn’t understand what makes a real family.”
Just then Dad walked in. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt your arm?”
Larissa sobbed. “No! I don’t match you guys, so Eric says we aren’t a real family.”
“Hmm.” Dad held his arm next to Larissa’s. “I guess Eric doesn’t know what makes a real family.”
“That’s what Mom said.” Larissa jerked her arm away. “But maybe he does know. He looks like his family. He says families are supposed to match.”
Allie squeezed through the door, trying to keep the wind and dry leaves outside. “What’s supposed to match?” she asked.
“We are,” Larissa said. “Eric says so, and he should know because his whole family matches.”
“Well, he doesn’t know what makes a real family then,” Allie said.
The door flew open and the wind blew leaves and the twins in together. “Why is Larissa crying?” they asked.
Larissa wailed. “See! Jeremy and Zack match. They look alike, they dress alike, and they even say the same thing at the same time. I don’t match any of you!”
“What?” Jeremy and Zack asked.
“It seems that Eric thinks Larissa doesn’t belong with us because she doesn’t look like any of us,” Dad said.
“Well,” Zack began, “Eric must not know what makes a—”
“It’s true,” Allie interrupted. “We don’t look alike, but there are lots more important qualities for a family to share. We love each other and we help each other. Each of us is special to the other. Isn’t that more important than looking alike?”
“That gives me an idea,” Mom said. “Come to the computer.”
Opening the family history album, Mom pointed to a name on a pedigree chart. “My grandmother, Eleanor Edmonds,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.” She quickly entered the name “Eleanor Edmonds,” the word “Ohio,” and the year “1882” into the computer.
“Larissa,” Mom said, “please click on ‘search.’”
The computer clicked and whirred and finally, after a few seconds, a box appeared on the screen that read, “NO MATCH FOUND.”
“That’s not right!” Allie said. “Eleanor is your grandmother. How can the computer say there’s no match?”
“What would the computer use to match families together?” Mom asked.
“Names!” the twins said.
“Dates and places,” Dad added.
“Then why did it say no match found?” Allie asked.
“The computer has to have all the right information to match her to us. I entered Ohio as Eleanor’s birthplace. Actually, she was born in Nebraska. Because the computer had the wrong information, it couldn’t make a match. But no matter what the computer says, I have all the information I need to know that Eleanor is my grandmother.”
“Oh, I get it,” Larissa said slowly. “Eric doesn’t think I belong in this family because he doesn’t have the right information.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “He does not know that Heavenly Father wanted you to be with us and made sure we could adopt you and be sealed as a family in the temple.”
“We match because of more important things than our hair and our eyes and our skin,” Dad said. “We are a family because we followed God’s plan for us.” He held up the family history album and pointed to a photo. “This is Eleanor Edmonds, Mom’s grandmother.”
“Wow!” the twins said.
“She doesn’t look anything like you, Mom,” Larissa said. “Your hair is straight, your skin is dark, and your eyes are brown. Her hair is curly, her skin is fair, and her eyes are light.”
“That’s right, honey. When I was growing up she lived next door. I learned that she and I are a lot alike in ways that are far more important than looking alike.”
“Poor Eric,” Larissa said. “He doesn’t know that looking alike doesn’t even matter.”
“And the best part is that we can be a family forever, no matter what we look like,” Dad said.
“Cool!” the twins shouted.
Larissa smiled. “We’re a perfect match!”

In 1938, during the middle of the Great Depression in the United States, my mother had just turned nineteen years old. She was the oldest of six children, with her youngest sibling having recently turned five. Her father, Leslie, was a sheepherder in the deserts of eastern Utah. The weather was hot and dry. One summer day in June, while Leslie was out tending the sheep, he became dehydrated and suffered from heat stroke. At age 41, he died suddenly, leaving his wife and six children with no husband and father and very little financial means. My mother did not understand why God would take her father when she felt the family needed him so desperately. She prayed and asked God why her father would die at that particular time.
My mother sought to learn from God why her father died when he was young and had a family that needed him so much during a time of great economic difficulty. The answer she received did not come quickly, but it did come. After studying the scriptures and praying for many days, her answer came in a dream. The answer was clear and brought peace and understanding to her soul.
I witness that Jesus Christ lives. He is the all-powerful Son of God. He knows us personally. He can guide and comfort us during times of uncertainty, pain, or fear if we listen to His words and seek to hearken and to heed what He tells us to do. I also witness that Jesus Christ directs His ordained servants and speaks through them. I have personally felt His clear direction in preparing messages for general conference.
As we listen to the messages during general conference—and seek to hearken and heed the words of Jesus Christ—He will speak to our hearts. He can and will help us to deal with temptation, struggles, and weakness. We can experience miracles in our marriages, family relationships, and daily work. Jesus Christ seeks to help us feel increased joy even if turbulence surrounds us. May we turn to Him and hearken and heed His words.

“Wait, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” Mom said. Mom pushed the small plates of vegetables closer to Juhyuk.
Juhyuk looked at his breakfast. He was running late! Normally his older brother went to church with him. But his brother was out of town, so Juhyuk had to go on his own today. Mom didn’t go to church with them.
“OK, Mom,” Juhyuk said. He hurried to finish eating. Then he hugged Mom and headed for the door.
Mom stopped him. “Do you have your phone?”
Juhyuk held it up. “Yes. I can text my Primary teacher if I have a problem.”
“And a sweater under your coat? It’s cold.”
Juhyuk showed Mom his sweater. She nodded. Juhyuk hurried out to the street.
All the city sounds made him smile. It was fun to live in one of the biggest cities in South Korea!
But Juhyuk still wished his brother were with him. It always made the trip to church more fun.
“I know the way,” he told himself. And sure enough, before long he was at the first bus stop.
But no one else was there. That was strange. He checked his watch. He must have just missed the bus! Now he would have to wait for the next one.
After several minutes, other people started gathering. Finally, a bright blue bus rolled up. Juhyuk climbed the steps, paid the driver, and sat down.
Ta-tink! Juhyuk checked his phone after the text alert. It was from his Primary teacher. Are you on the bus? Remember, if you get lost, we can come find you!
He grinned and texted back. Yes. I’m on it now.
This was only the short bus ride, though. He would have to ride the second bus for more than an hour.
Juhyuk looked at the time and frowned. He didn’t want to miss church. He loved the part in the sacrament prayers that said, “always remember Him.” That meant always remembering Jesus. And Juhyuk wanted to do that.
When his aunt and uncle had invited his brother and him to church a few months ago, he met the missionaries. Elder Kim and Elder Moon taught them both about Jesus. The more Juhyuk learned about Jesus, the more he loved thinking about Him.
Ta-tink! A new text came in. Have you switched buses yet?
Not yet, he texted back.
The bus pulled up to the busy street where Juhyuk needed to get off to switch buses. He asked the driver if his second bus had come.
“You just missed it,” the driver said. “The next one arrives in 15 minutes.”
“Oh, OK,” Juhyuk said. “Thank you!”
Finally, after the second bus ride, Juhyuk hurried inside the meetinghouse. His aunt and uncle had saved him a seat. He had made it!
Juhyuk thought about everything he had done to get to church. He thought of all of the people who had helped him along the way. He felt that Heavenly Father was glad he was there.
Juhyuk said a silent prayer. “Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, that I can come to church today.”

Near the end of my senior year of high school, I knew it would be time to move to Relief Society. I loved Young Women, and the thought of spending Sunday mornings with a group of older ladies just didn’t sound appealing. Relief Society was for mothers and grandmothers, I thought.
The day came. The Relief Society sisters were halfway through the opening hymn when I slipped in the back of the room. At the time, my mother was serving in the Primary, and my married sister had just been called to the Young Women presidency. My grandma was ward librarian, so she would be a little late. I was all alone. After the opening prayer, a counselor in the presidency stood to give the announcements, but I only half-listened as she read off what I considered useless information about cannery dates and ward temple night. My mind wandered during the lesson about a topic that surely didn’t pertain to me.
I went to Relief Society faithfully each week but with the same not-for-me attitude. The sisters in my ward were nice people, but they were so much older and led such totally different lives. I was excited when the summer ended, and I could go away to college and attend Church meetings with people my own age.
As we settled in the chapel that first Sunday, I was surprised when the bishop of my student ward announced that after sacrament meeting and Sunday School we would separate for priesthood and Relief Society. Relief Society? I thought I had left that back home.
I was even more surprised to discover that the form wasn’t all that different from what I had observed in my home ward. Instead of my friend’s grandma leading the music, it was a sophomore who lived in the apartment across the street. My roommate, rather than my old Primary teacher, offered the opening prayer, and I recognized the sister who gave the lesson from my biology class.
Once again I attended Relief Society every Sunday. However, it wasn’t until the second semester that I truly began to appreciate what Relief Society had to offer. I decided to get more involved. I began to really pay attention to the lessons and was amazed when I got so much out of them. My companion and I set a goal for 100-percent visiting teaching, and we accomplished it, forming lasting friendships along the way. As the year progressed, I could feel us drawing closer as ward members and friends but more importantly as sisters in the Lord’s Church.
When the school year ended, I was a little reluctant to return home for the summer. I had grown to love Relief Society at college, and I was hesitant to return to my home Relief Society where I felt I didn’t fit in. But I was surprised to feel the Spirit—the same familiar, comfortable feeling I had felt so many times in Relief Society in my student ward—engulf me as I walked in the door. I took a look around. Instead of seeing distant mothers and grandmothers, I saw fellow sisters. At college, I had learned to love and appreciate sisters of all different personalities, backgrounds, and circumstances. I realized the sisters in my home ward were no different; they were just at different stages in their lives—stages that I, too, would eventually experience. I know Relief Society was divinely organized for all women, young and old, married and single. We may lead different lives, but we are united in the gospel. We are all sisters in Zion.

Sometimes making a difference is as easy as saying one sentence. A couple of years ago, before the start of the girls’ basketball season, Sue said, “Let’s say a prayer.” They followed her suggestion before that first game, and it became a habit. “I always said the prayer before every game. Sometimes I would say, ‘Doesn’t someone else want to say it today?’ And a couple of times someone else would say it. Most of the time, the team would all be standing around waiting for me, yelling, ‘Sue, hurry up and pray.’” During her campaign for student-body president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the activities throughout the year, and the silliness died down. The principal of Mt. Si, Scott Menard, said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to undermine it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her good-naturedness and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would put the theme down. She kept it through every assembly. She didn’t allow the focus to wander, and it became the accepted motto for the students that year.” One of the projects that the students at Mt. Si really had to stretch to complete was the painting of the school halls. It was a huge job. Sue and other student-body officers decided to try for it, but it was a scary undertaking. They needed more than 200 students to show up to help with each step of the project. What if they didn’t come?
Elaine Clifford, assistant principal, said, “I walked into the first meeting, and I knew right then that they were going to make it because Sue had a notebook ready to go. In it she had inspirational sayings and a time line about what needed to be accomplished. She had a calendar. She had a list of jobs that needed to be done. And she had invited all the right people. She had invited some students that she saw as leaders. She had invited someone from the maintenance staff. She got me there. She understands organizational skills.”
The big painting project was successful, but not before Sue sweated out some last-minute crises. The first day of the four-day project dawned bright and sunny. In the normal wet weather of northwestern Washington, a sunny spring day is a rarity. “Suddenly I panicked,” said Sue. “Who would want to come paint the school on a day like that? What are we trying to do?”
But people did show up—in time for the second crisis. After the walls were sanded and taped, it was time to apply the deglosser. Just as more than a hundred students were really getting into the swing of things, the custodian rushed up to Sue and showed her the label on one of the cans. The flammable deglosser was supposed to be used only in well ventilated areas. They opened every window and door, turned off the electricity to avoid sparks, and covered all the electrical outlets. In the meantime, Sue had retreated to ask for some additional help. “I whipped into the bathroom, my favorite bathroom for praying, and was down on my knees.” Everything went smoothly. The danger was avoided. And the group had a great time. It was hard work but really a lot of fun too.
After giving the school halls a new coat of pale gray paint with maroon trim, the students under Sue’s leadership took new pride in their school. Now, if anyone even thinks about marring the walls, they are warned by their peers, “Don’t try it. I painted this wall, and nobody is going to write on it.”
Then there was the talent show where, for the first time, the students who could play the piano, sing, dance, or act were highlighted. “The neatest thing,” said Sue, “was that we have these super talented people and they never get recognized like the athletes do. That was our point. People you never hear about came out and were excited to be in the show. We held a school performance and an evening performance.”
And there were other times when a sophomore boy broke up with his first girlfriend or a star athlete got kicked off the softball team for drinking. Principal Menard said Sue was there to help. “I’ve seen her take people of all grade levels, both sexes, with her arm around them when she knows they are down, just walking down the halls with them, talking to them and cheering them up. To have the student-body president come up and do that for you is a very meaningful experience to a lot of kids. I think she works so well with people on an individual basis.”
But what holds Sue together? Where does she get the strength and resolve to keep standing up and making a difference in other people’s lives? “My mom is one of my best friends,” said Sue. “After the hardest days, I can dump out everything. She has the answers. She’ll tell me things to do about school problems or boy problems. I do it, and it works. If I didn’t have her and my dad’s support, I don’t know what I would do.” Sue also gets good advice and support from her older brother and sister and younger brother.
The Church is one of Sue’s greatest sources of guidance and comfort. At youth conference, the bishop challenged all the youth to pray for confirmation that the Church was true even if they already had a testimony.
Sue accepted the challenge although she had some reservations. “I felt I didn’t need to ask because I know the Church is true. But I wanted to tell my friends about my testimony before I graduated. They sometimes tease me about being a Mormon.”
Sue did pray, but the answer didn’t seem to come in a big way. Then she and some friends had to drive to the next town to have their pictures taken for graduation. Suddenly, she was in the middle of an intense conversation about the Church with a receptive friend. The friend asked, “How do you know that it is true, Sue?”
“All of a sudden it dawned on me that Heavenly Father was giving me an opportunity to say that I do know the Church is true. Here I was bearing my testimony, telling her this is the truth. It didn’t hit me until that night that it was the answer to my prayers.
The friend then asked if she could go to church with the Keller family. Soon she was attending seminary with Sue and receiving the discussions from the missionaries. “That’s been the greatest,” Sue said. “I’ve never done that with a friend before.”
Sue Keller is just one girl, but she is one who has made a difference. Her dad, Ward Keller, tried to pin it down. “She’s extra special, and I don’t really know how she got that way.” But he really did know. In describing his daughter, he hit upon the quality that has helped her make a difference. “She’s been an example to her peers. She has held her standards and beliefs high and has lived them.”

This sister who helped us—we call her our “Sister Miracle” now—invited us to her home, wanting to know more of our family’s story. Our two families enjoyed talking over waffles about missions, temple work, family history, and all our blessings from Heavenly Father.

As the evening ended, Sister Miracle asked for a priesthood blessing of comfort as she had just been diagnosed with aggressive cancer and was preparing for chemotherapy, surgery and radiation.

Together with her husband, I pronounced a blessing that her life would not be cut short, that she would see her children serve missions, and enjoy watching her grandchildren grow up.

Later, Sister Miracle shared with me about our visit:
“It was a tender mercy from the Lord, knowing that He was aware of me and my new trial with cancer. My faith was strengthened in Jesus Christ. I am blessed to have had this experience with my new friends from New Caledonia.”

She continued to share what she is learning:
“We all experience different trials and challenges in our lives. I am choosing to center my life on Jesus Christ and keep my covenants with Him. I have confidence that He will bless me in His perfect way. I often use the phrase ‘but if not’ in my prayers. I ask for healing and strength, but if I am not cured from cancer, I trust that He will bless me in His perfect way. I have confidence that He will provide miracles as well as little tender mercies along the way; to help me know He is aware of me.
“This message from Elder Soares explains how I feel: ‘I know that when the Lord sees even a spark of desire or a flicker of righteous effort in our willingness to center our lives on Him and on the ordinances and covenants, we make in His house, He will bless us, in His perfect way, with the miracles and tender mercies we need.’”

From the day of our first visit, we prayed for Sister Miracle. Treatments became more complicated, and her white blood cell count was often too low to continue chemotherapy at the same pace. Even with these complications, I had faith and trusted the Lord for her recovery.

Seven months later, Sister Miracle and her husband called me on my way to work. Through video chat, they explained the post-surgery results, after the cancer growth had been removed. Miraculously, the doctors found no cancer cells in that tissue. Words could not describe my joy and tears over this new miracle!

While such a miraculous response is not always the outcome in life’s challenges, Heavenly Father is aware of our needs and has provided strength through covenants with Him.

Indeed, for Sister Miracle, the sustaining help and love she felt from Heavenly Father was the real miracle in her life. As President Russell M. Nelson has said: “All those who have made a covenant with God have access to a special kind of love and mercy.”

It was a gray, rainy day—very unusual for sunny southern California. My husband and I had just finished a full-to-overflowing endowment session as part of our stake temple day. My husband braved the driving rain to get the car while I waited inside the temple’s door.
As I quietly chatted with a member of my ward, a sister I did not recognize approached us. She was dripping wet, and it appeared she had been crying. She explained that she had inadvertently left her vehicle’s headlights on and was now unable to start the car. She recognized us from the temple session—she was the only patron in that session not from our stake—and wondered if we had battery jumper cables she could borrow.
As we talked she began looking intently at me and finally asked, “Aren’t you Cathy West?” (Names have been changed.)
Surprised, I exclaimed, “That was my maiden name!”
“I’m Diane Cody Hart,” she replied, “Anne Cody’s little sister.”
I embraced Diane and expressed my appreciation for her sister’s friendship and example. When my husband arrived with the car, he reported that we had no jumper cables but insisted that Diane accompany us to a nearby mall to buy a set.
Diane and I waited in the car while my husband went inside to search for jumper cables. I asked Diane about her family, and she replied that they had all attended simultaneous temple sessions that evening—Anne in Chicago, Diane in San Diego, and their parents in Reno—while sacred temple ordinances were performed by proxy for her younger brother, who had died the previous year. Diane had come to the temple alone to participate in the special session while her husband took care of their three children.
I squeezed Diane’s hand and asked how her brother had died. She began to weep and whispered that her brother—to whom she had been very close—had taken his own life. Through her tears Diane related how alone she had felt, even in the crowded endowment session, as she thought of the circumstances of her brother’s death.
I could see the Lord’s hand in bringing the two of us together that evening. To the gentle patter of the rain on the roof of the car, I told her about my sister’s suicide many years earlier and my family’s struggle to understand and cope. I held her hand and expressed my understanding and empathy until my husband arrived a short time later with jumper cables.
We returned to the temple, and my husband started Diane’s car. Before she drove away, Diane and I embraced as the rain fell softly upon us. “I don’t feel alone anymore,” she whispered.
As Diane disappeared into the rain, I marveled at Heavenly Father’s goodness. He had brought me together with one of His daughters who needed comfort I was uniquely prepared to provide. And He had granted me a priceless opportunity to repay in some small way the special service a dear friend had given me 30 years before.

I had a lovely exchange at the Saturday Review with, I guess, a sweet lady. I had rejected some of her poems. I have to reject a lot of them. I get about 500 a week, and I can only accept two. But she took my rejection personally, as many people do, and wrote me a hot letter. I had not remembered the poem, but she said, “I suppose you rejected my poem because it was about God.”
I had to reply. “Dear Madam: No, I did not reject your poem because it was about God. I rejected it because I could not conquer a feeling that you were not equal to your subject.”

In 1830 Samuel also sold a copy of the Book of Mormon to Brigham Young’s brother: Phinehas (or Phineas) Young, a Methodist preacher. When he first met Samuel, Phinehas was returning home on horseback from his preaching circuit. He had stopped at a farm for dinner. As he and the family were visiting, a young man, dressed in rough clothes, entered the room. Book in hand, the young man said to Phinehas, “There’s a book, sir, I wish you to read.”

“Pray, sir, what book have you?” Phinehas asked.

“The Book of Mormon, or, as it is called by some, the Golden Bible.”

“Ah, so then it purports to be a revelation?” Phinehas asked.

The young man opened the book to the testimonies of the Three and Eight Witnesses and said, “Here is the testimony of the witnesses to the truth of the book.”

Phinehas read their testimonies. When Phinehas looked up from his reading, the young man said, “If you will read this book with a prayerful heart and ask God to give you a witness, you will know the truth of the work.”

Phinehas promised to read the book. Then he asked the young man’s name.

“My name is Samuel H. Smith.”

Phinehas had seen that name! “Then you are one of the witnesses.”

“Yes,” Samuel said. “I know the book is a revelation from God, translated by the power of the Holy Ghost, and that my brother, Joseph Smith, Jr., is a Prophet, Seer, and Revelator.”

After arriving home Phinehas told his wife, “I have got a book here called the Book of Mormon, and it is said to be a revelation, and I wish to read it and make myself acquainted with its errors, so I can expose them to the world.”

True to his promise, he read the Book of Mormon—twice in two weeks. Rather than finding any errors, he became convinced the book was true. On Sunday, when his congregation asked for his opinion of the book, “he defended it for ten minutes, when suddenly the Spirit of God came on him with such force that in a marvelous manner he spoke at great length on the importance of it. … He closed by telling the people that he believed the book.”5

That summer, the Young family, including Brigham, and their friends the Kimballs read the Book of Mormon and believed it.

Representing The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Dr. Kalilimoku Hunt, American Samoa’s Church communication director, presented digital copies of family history records to Governor Lemanu Peleti Mauga on 5 April.
The governor received with gratitude the records on behalf of the people of American Samoa. He also thanked the Church for helping the territory in many ways?in emergency situations, service projects, and donations to institutions such as LBJ Medical Center, Fatu-o-aiga, ASDOE schools, and emergency preparedness.
Also at the meeting was Mr. James Himphill, an esteemed American Samoan archivist and territorial historian who described the significance of preserving these invaluable records.
“These records date from 1900–1974 and were copied to microfilm many years ago,” he said. “The films were damaged and could only be saved by digitization to a computer format. They could have been permanently lost were it not for this work by the Church.”
Michael Higgins, the area manager for the Church’s FamilySearch program in the Pacific, led the team that did the record digitization. “We see these digital images as being much more than data. We see them as a crucial part of American Samoa’s history and culture. For this reason, we are especially grateful for the opportunity to be of service in this way,” he said.

Recently the Miller family participated in a ward program that helps new converts learn more about the gospel by attending group family home evenings. Angela and her father, Dan, taught a lesson about putting on the whole armor of God, based on Doctrine and Covenants 27:15–18. As her father taught that each part of the armor represents a quality that will help guard against temptation—such as the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit—Angela added that piece to her costume. Everyone’s favorite part of the lesson was when Brother Miller taught about the fiery darts of the adversary, and the missionaries got to throw “fiery darts” made out of yellow paper and popcorn kernels at Angela’s “armor.”

I could hardly keep my voice steady as I said good night to Ben. Tears were already streaming down my face as I shut the door and flopped down on the living room floor.
I was glad everyone had gone to bed; that way I wouldn’t have to tell them about the prom or why I was crying.
I should have known it would be horrible, since I hadn’t even been my date’s first choice. He had wanted to take Amy, my best friend, but she was already going with Chad. So Ben had done the next best thing—he’d asked me and suggested we double.
It was an awkward situation from the moment we all climbed into Ben’s old station wagon. I don’t think he said anything to me as we drove to the restaurant; he was too busy staring at Amy in the rearview mirror. She didn’t notice. She was too entranced by Chad—star basketball player, student body vice-president, and the most popular guy in school—to notice anything. It was driving Ben crazy.
That’s why he forgot to help me with my chair at the restaurant. He tried to pull out Amy’s chair and bumped into Chad. In the confusion, he must have forgotten about me because he just turned and sat down.
All through dinner Ben played “Name That Tune” with the background music, and I tried to hide my anger. I knew he was feeling as miserable as I was, but why did he have to take it out on me? I didn’t want him to fall in love with me; I just wanted him to treat me like a human being.
I don’t know how we made it through the rest of the evening. At the school neither of us was very anxious to dance, so we had our pictures taken first. Even that didn’t go smoothly. Ben was too tall to stand next to the wicker chair where I was to sit, so we had to trade places. I think we both wanted to die.
Since neither of us wanted to dance the slow dances, we used his height and my shortness as an excuse to sit them out. “Just one more hour,” I thought as I watched his eyes follow Amy around the room. For the first time in my life I was grateful for my curfew.
An hour later, I walked into my living room and dropped onto the floor. All I could think, over and over, was, “What’s wrong with me?” I hardly ever dated and when I did, it always seemed to go like this.
Suddenly the living room light blinked on and I sat up. I must have looked pretty pathetic, lying there in my taffeta dress with mascara smeared all over my face. Dad suppressed a smile.
“So it wasn’t the best date you’ve ever been on, huh?” he said.
“Not even close. But some things never change,” I mumbled, straightening my dress.
He kind of chuckled as he sat down beside me. I couldn’t stand it any more—I had to ask.
“What’s wrong with me, anyway?”
He looked up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, why?”
“Then what’s wrong with the guys?”
He shook his head. “Heck, I’m a guy and I don’t even know.”
I had expected something a little more profound. Why doesn’t he at least say, “Sorry you’re such a social misfit,” and get it over with? I thought. But he just sat there. I gave up.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said weakly as I stood up and headed towards my bedroom. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He couldn’t possibly understand how I felt.
“Christie,” he called after me, “don’t make yourself miserable over something you can’t control. You know, sometimes you just have to be patient and things get better.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. More than anything, I wanted to believe that if I said the right thing or looked a certain way, the guys would beg for a date with me. I just had to figure out what I was doing wrong.
Then one night I read a scripture that reminded me of my dad’s words: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Eccl. 3:1). It said there was a time to cry, a time to laugh—and even a time to love.
Maybe I’ve been rushing things a little, I thought. One thing was certain: more than I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted to be happy and feel good about myself again.
I only had two dates the rest of the year, and one of them was a girls’ choice. But when I started to feel depressed, I reminded myself that it wouldn’t last forever. I filled up my time with school, Church, and my family and tried to be patient.
Nothing changed—until after graduation. I don’t know how it happened—maybe it was because I met hundreds of new people at college. All I know is that I had dates. Not tons, but enough. I dated regularly for three years, served a mission—and then I met Sam.
On my wedding day, as I knelt at the altar and looked into Sam’s eyes, I knew that everything was right—the right person, the right time, and the right place.
Like my dad had said, there was never anything “wrong” with me in the first place. I didn’t need to change; what I really needed was time.

I would like to tell a story about my Grandfather Nelson. They called him A.C. When he was just 27 years old, his father died. A few months later, his deceased father came to visit him in a vision. He was in bed when his father came and sat on the side of the bed.
“What have you been doing since you died, Father?” Grandfather asked.
“I’ve been very busy preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ,” his father answered. “You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world that have not yet received the gospel.”
He said many spirits were learning about the gospel and were looking forward to the time when their friends would do their temple work for them.
Grandfather had another question.
“Father, can you see us at all times, and do you know what we’re doing?”
His father said, “No, I am usually busy doing my work there. But today I am allowed to visit for a little while.”
Grandfather had a third question.
“Father, is it natural to die?”
His father said it was as natural as being born. It was like walking through a door from one room into another room.
Grandfather had one last question.
“Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency that was hanging on the wall.
“Just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true,” he said. He testified that the gospel can save everyone who obeys it, and that it’s the only way to be saved in the kingdom of God. “Always cling to the gospel.”
My grandfather’s father told him to be humble, prayerful, true, and faithful.
“Never do anything that would displease God,” he said. “My son, be a good boy.”
Grandfather wrote this special experience in his journal. I took his journal entry and made a copy for every member of my family. And now I want to share the story with you, my Church family.

Donna was excited. She and her cousin Judy were on their way to Aunt Pat’s house. Donna and Judy always had fun playing together.
It was dark outside, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Donna and Judy walked along the country road, laughing and joking with each other. Suddenly, they realized they were in front of Mr. Cook’s apple orchard.
The apples on Mr. Cook’s trees were big and red, and they looked delicious. Donna looked at Judy and realized they both had the same idea.
“Mr. Cook wouldn’t miss a couple of apples,” Donna said. But as she looked at the sharp pieces of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the orchard, it seemed they were prodding her already. A thought came to her: “He is your neighbor, Donna. Are you going to steal from him?”
Donna pushed the feeling aside. It would be fun. And besides, Mr. Cook had hundreds of apples.
She carefully climbed between the wires of the fence and helped Judy through. They crept into the orchard and picked a few of the shiny apples.
“OK, let’s go,” Judy said, motioning for Donna to follow her.
Suddenly, Mr. Cook’s dogs began barking. Someone turned on the porch light, and the girls heard quick footsteps.
“Run!” Donna hissed, clutching the apples in her arms.
When they reached the fence, Judy slipped through easily. But Donna was still holding the fruit and couldn’t get through the tight wires.
As she looked behind her and saw Mr. Cook’s dogs, Donna dropped the apples and squeezed through the fence. She heard a loud ripping noise and felt a sharp pain in her leg. Donna heard Judy gasp as she reached to pull her out of the wires. Donna had ripped her pants, and blood was running from a deep gash in her leg.
As Donna looked at the wound, she felt ashamed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to steal Mr. Cook’s apples. She also knew she would have to tell Mom what had happened, as well as Mr. Cook.
When Donna got home she told Mom the whole story. Mom was silent as she washed Donna’s leg and put on a bandage.
“Donna, you know it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours,” Mom finally said. “It would have been wrong even if you hadn’t gotten caught stealing.”
Donna nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to go apologize to Mr. Cook.”
Mom gave Donna a hug. Donna thought about the feelings she had before she and Judy went into the orchard. “That was the Holy Ghost,” she realized.
As Donna said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father that she had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“Next time,” she thought, “I’ll listen.”