Gospel Story Finder

Brent ran downstairs, his little sister, Lindsey, following close behind. “Mom!” Brent cried. “Lindsey won’t leave us alone!”
Brent’s best friend, Clint, had come over to play. The boys were playing with Brent’s fire truck and putting out the fires in the skyscrapers they had built out of blocks. “Lindsey always wants to do what we’re doing,” Brent said. “Why can’t she go away?”
“Brent, please be nice to your sister. She just wants to spend time with you,” Mom said.
“But, Mom, she always wants to tag along. Can’t she do something else for a while?”
“How about if we color together, Lindsey?” Mom asked. Lindsey nodded.
“Thanks, Mom,” Brent said as he started back up the stairs.
“Don’t forget, Brent,” Mom called after him. “You and Clint have practice for the Christmas program in less than an hour.”
“OK, Mom,” Brent replied.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Brent like me?” Lindsey asked, tears forming in her eyes.
“He does like you,” Mom said. “But sometimes he just wants to be with his friends. Brent loves you very much, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
A little while later, Mom took Brent and Clint to the church to practice for the Christmas program. Brent was excited. He was going to play Joseph this year. Before, he’d always been a sheep or a shepherd or a Wise Man. That was neat, but this year would be the best ever.
“OK, we’re going to practice the scene at the inns,” Brother Mitchell said. “Joseph and Mary, take your places. Innkeepers, it’s time.”
The Primary children hurried to their places onstage as Joseph and Mary approached the first inn.
“Please, do you have a room that we could stay in for the night?” Brent asked. “My wife is going to have a baby very soon, and she needs a place to rest.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room,” the innkeeper said.
“Come on, Mary. Let’s try another place,” Brent said. They walked to the next innkeeper. “Hello, sir. We’ve come a long way, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. Do you have a place where we can stay?”
“No, we’re all full. There’s no room.”
Brent went to the next innkeeper and knocked on the door, then the next, and then the next. The answer was always the same.
“There’s no room.”
“No room.”
“No room.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Brent said. “Let’s try this one last place.” He turned and knocked on the door. “Sir, please, we’re very far from home, we have no place to go, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. We’ve tried every inn in town. Do you have anywhere that we could stay?”
“I’m sorry. We’re all full.”
Joseph and Mary turned away slowly, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Mary,” Brent began. “I don’t know what—”
“Wait! Wait just a moment,” the innkeeper called after them. “Maybe I have a place after all. Come with me.” The innkeeper led them to the stable with cows, sheep, and other animals. “It’s not much, but you can stay here if you like.”
“This is wonderful,” Brent said gratefully. “Thank you very, very much.”
A few days later, Clint was at Brent’s house again. They were playing in a big box, pretending it was a fort that protected them from invaders. But Lindsey kept bothering them, asking if she could come inside too.
“Lindsey, why don’t you go do something else? Can’t you see that there’s no room for—” Brent stopped mid-sentence. He thought of the words that he’d heard just a few days before: “No room, no room, no room.” He thought of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, who meant so much to all of them. Then he looked at his little sister.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Of course there’s room for you. There’s always room for three.”

October, 1977. With the postlude organ music filling the Salt Lake Tabernacle on Temple Square, Elder Yoshihiko Kikuchi, newly sustained as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, stood near an entrance greeting acquaintances. One of them, a stake president from Japan, introduced a friend of his, R. Gordon Porter, a stake president in Salt Lake City.
“President Porter,” said Elder Kikuchi, “didn’t you serve a mission to Japan?”
“Well, yes, I did,” replied President Porter, wondering how Elder Kikuchi knew.
They were still shaking hands, Elder Kikuchi staring closely at President Porter. “You confirmed me a member of the Church.”
Incredulous, President Porter thought back to his time in Japan. “It had been almost twenty years,” he later said, “but as we shook hands I could suddenly remember that home in Hokkaido, and I could see that young gakusei [student] standing at the door as my senior companion, Delmont Law, talked with him.”
This meeting, across two decades and thousands of miles, is an apt symbol of how the gospel has affected the life of Yoshihiko Kikuchi, taking him from one unexpected transition to another. Through all those changes, he has remained both faithful and humble.
Elder Kikuchi’s background hardly made him a likely candidate for conversion to the Church. Born in 1941, he was raised in the rural “snow country” of Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island. Latter-day Saint missionaries had left Japan more than a decade before his birth, finding little success in a country steeped in tradition. During the 1930s, as Japan grew increasingly militaristic and anti-American, the last traces of Church organization virtually vanished.
Then, five months after Yoshihiko was born, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, was bombed. And shortly before the end of the war, Yoshihiko’s father—serving in the Japanese military—died in an American bombing raid over Japan. Not many would have expected a boy in Yoshihiko’s situation ever to join an “American” church.
“I was prejudiced toward Americans because of my father’s death,” says Elder Kikuchi. “When I answered the door that day (in 1958) and saw two Americans—all bundled up in their hats and overcoats—I naturally told them, ‘No, thank you.’”
Even meeting the elders when he did would not normally have been a possibility because Yoshihiko should have been in school. But he was recuperating from an illness. A hardworking boy, he had been going to school at night and rising at 4 A.M. to work so he could help his mother support the family. This rigorous schedule completely exhausted him, and he collapsed one day on the job. After his release from the hospital, he was staying with his uncle, and was home alone when Elder Law and Elder Porter knocked on the door.
Just as Yoshihiko would have normally been elsewhere that day—either in school or at work—the elders normally would have been taking the day off because it was their preparation day. But they had not found many investigators in recent weeks, and were out going door-to-door because Elder Law had felt inspired to do so.
Elder Law persisted when Yoshihiko declined to talk to them, saying he and Elder Porter had an important message that would only take a few minutes. “My health crisis had put me in a position of seeking God,” Elder Kikuchi reminisces, “and I decided to let them come in. They told me the Joseph Smith story. I was very impressed.”
“Yoshihiko struck me as an exceptional young man,” says Brother Law, who now lives in Mapleton, Utah. “I knew he was ready for the gospel.”
“I’m grateful the elders went the extra mile,” Elder Kikuchi comments. Today, his appreciation for the work of the missionaries is often expressed. “I want to tell American Saints how much I appreciate my testimony,” he says. “I especially want the older brothers and sisters to know that I deeply appreciate the legacy—and heritage—they have preserved. I have met members of the Church in Bend, Oregon; Salmon, Idaho; Tooele, Utah; and many other places. These wonderful people live ‘common’ lives, attending church each week faithfully. They may wonder if they are really contributing to the kingdom of God. I want to assure them that they are. They are faithful individuals who raise their righteous sons and daughters and send them on missions. I want them to know they are doing a marvelous, marvelous work for the Lord.”
After his own contact with the missionaries, Elder Kikuchi turned out to be a “golden investigator,” eagerly receiving lessons and even coming to the meetinghouse when he did not have an appointment. In the spring of 1958, just a few weeks after meeting the elders, he was baptized by Elder Law. The date was April 6—the anniversary of the organization of the Church.
Three years later Yoshihiko himself was a missionary. While serving on the Japanese island of Kyushu, he had an experience which proved to be pivotal in his life. Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, visited Japan and spoke at a missionary zone conference. Yoshihiko was the only Japanese elder present.
“We had a testimony meeting, and I was the last one to bear my testimony,” Elder Kikuchi relates. “I stood and began to speak in Japanese. Suddenly, a very warm spirit came over me and, without knowing what I was saying, I started speaking in English. I didn’t know what I said. But I remember the beautiful feeling I felt.”
After he went back to his seat, Elder Hinckley stood and pronounced a special blessing on Elder Kikuchi. From that time he took an active interest in learning English, believing it would be important in the future in his work in the kingdom. He carried a transistor radio with him often, imitating the voices he heard over the United States Armed Services radio network. “Without the help of the Lord, 1 couldn’t have learned it. I thank him for helping me,” he says.

Emily smelled something good coming from the kitchen. I know that smell, she thought. Mom’s making chicken soup. She watched her mom ladle soup from a big, steaming pot into a glass jar. “What are you doing with the soup?” she asked.
“Mrs. Jenkins isn’t feeling well,” Mom replied, putting the jar into a sturdy paper bag with a handle. “I was hoping that you would take it to her.”
“Sure. Your chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”
Mrs. Jenkins was their neighbor. She was old and lived alone.
That gave Emily an idea. She raced to her room and hunted for her favorite storybook, “The Three Little Pigs.”
“What’s the book for?” asked Mom.
Emily buckled her sandals. “I thought I’d read it to Mrs. Jenkins while she eats.”
Emily rang Mrs. Jenkins’ doorbell. There was no answer, so Emily rang the doorbell again.
Mrs. Jenkins’ door finally creaked open, and Mrs. Jenkins peeked around the door.
She’s as white as a marshmallow! Emily thought.
“Good afternoon, Emily.” Mrs. Jenkins’ voice was barely above a whisper.
“I brought you some chicken soup that my mother made.” Emily held up the bag. “We hope it makes you feel better.”
“Please come in.”
While Mrs. Jenkins got a bowl from the cupboard, Emily set the soup on the kitchen counter. “I brought a story to read to you while you eat.”
Mrs. Jenkins sipped some of the soup.
“Once upon a time, …” Emily began.
Mrs. Jenkins sipped another spoonful.
“Is the soup good?” Emily asked.
“It’s wonderful.” Mrs. Jenkins smiled. “Now, please read on.”
Emily read. She made huffing and puffing sounds every time the wolf tried to blow one of the pigs’ houses down.
Mrs. Jenkins laughed every time Emily huffed and puffed.
By the time Emily had finished the story, Mrs. Jenkins had finished her soup. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes sparkled. The chicken soup had sure worked fast!
“Maybe you should have another bowl,” Emily said.
“Only if you read the story again.”
So Mrs. Jenkins had another bowl of soup, and Emily huffed and puffed some more.
“I feel much better,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Thank you. And thank your mom for me, too.”
“Mom, your chicken soup is amazing!” Emily exclaimed when she went back home. “Mrs. Jenkins already feels better.”
Mom gave Emily a great big hug. “I don’t think it was just the soup.”
The hug felt warm and good. Emily thought about Mrs. Jenkins alone in her big house with no one to share hugs with. “May I read another story to Mrs. Jenkins tomorrow?”
Mom smiled. “I’m sure she’d like that.”
Maybe it isn’t just the chicken soup, Emily decided. Maybe visits and stories are good medicine, too.

That night Danny and I went over to Luke and Jeanette’s. I didn’t much feel like going, but I thought it might get my mind off my unanswered prayers.

Luke answered the door. “Howdy. C’mon in.”

I went upstairs to Jeanette’s room. Luke and Dan stayed in the front room watching TV.

“Hi, Mauri.”

“Hi.”

“Know what? Luke’s grounded again. He was out until four in the morning last night. Mom and dad were so mad. He does it all the time even though he keeps getting grounded. Do you know what’s even worse than that? Mom’s afraid he drinks and steals stuff.”

I knew Luke had stolen stuff because Dan had told me he did, but I didn’t tell Jeanette that. I wondered if Dan did. He hid it pretty well if he did. He’d been in by midnight the night before, so he wasn’t out with Luke.

Jeanette and I talked and listened to records. It was lousy being a freshman sometimes. You were too old to play outside, and too young to date—in our town and our church, anyhow—so we just talked and listened to records most of the time we were together. Sometimes we went with some other girls to the movies, and sometimes we rode horses. Jeanette’s family didn’t have any, so we rode ours. Anyway, we didn’t get bored too much.

Luke popped his head in the door and said, “You guys want to come to the drive-in with me and Danny?”

Jeanette said, “Luke, you can’t go. You’re grounded.”

Luke grinned. “Not till mom and dad get home.”

“I’ll tell them. Luke, you do this all the time.”

“C’mon, Jeanette, you and Mauri come with us. We’ll even buy you popcorn. Can’t beat that offer.”

“Well, okay. What’s playing?”

Luke said some movie that I knew was rated R. Dan and I weren’t supposed to go to R-rated movies. Some example Dan was.

“Do you want to, Mauri?”

“I’ll go if Dan goes.”

“He’s going,” said Luke.

I couldn’t believe it. I ran downstairs ahead of Luke and Jeanette.

“Dan,” I whispered, “are you really going?”

Dan looked away. “Yeah.”

“So am I.”

“Wait a minute. You are not.”

“I go if you go.”

“Mauri, no way. You’re not supposed to.”

“Neither are you.”

“Yeah, but you’re only 14.”

“That makes a heck of a lot of difference.”

“You bet it does. You’re not going.”

“Dan, you’re supposed to be going on a mission. Have you changed your mind? Missionaries don’t go to R shows.”

Dan looked away.

Luke had walked in the room just as I finished. He laughed. “What’s this I hear? Dan go on a mission? You’re kidding.”

“No,” I said, “he said he was going, but I guess he’s changed his mind.”

“Sure he has,” said Luke.

Dan looked at Luke. His brown eyes were hard like I’ve never seen them before.

“I’m going.”

“C’mon, Danny. Really?”

Dan just nodded.

“Well,” Luke said, “I don’t believe it, but I guess we’ll see. You have a year to change your mind, old buddy. I have a year to try and reform you.”

“C’mon, Luke,” Jeanette said, “you guys quit arguing. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Danny looked at me. “Let’s go.”

“Some example, Dan,” I whispered under my breath as we walked out the door.

After Luke dropped off Danny and me that night, we went inside and sat down at the kitchen table. Dad had probably been asleep for hours.

“Do you think Luke will get in trouble?” I asked.

“Maybe, I don’t know. He’s pretty used to it by now.” Danny had gotten a pitcher of milk from the fridge. He was drinking right out of the pitcher, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t care.

“I’m going to bed. G’night.” I started walking out the door into the hall and turned around. I said, “I wish I hadn’t gone.” Dan looked out the window into the night. “I wish you hadn’t gone either, Dan.”

I felt so guilty that night about going to that show that I didn’t even try to pray. Why would God answer me, now that I was a heathen? That night I dreamed about that stupid German story.

I’ve been praying for a miracle for months.
In September of 2019, I went in for sinus surgery, and there was an unexpected complication that made me lose function in one eye. I had emergency surgery to try to fix the damaged eye, and my surgeon felt confident that it would be completely healed within three months. I also received several priesthood blessings where, each time, I was promised a full recovery.
But those three months came and went, and nothing changed.
I’ve been promised healing. Multiple times. But I’ve had surgery dates fall through and other setbacks and disappointments, and my eye is still far from healed.
This experience has brought me months of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical struggle. But every time I get another blessing, I’m always promised that I’ll be healed.
This got me thinking. What do we do when we’re waiting for miracles that don’t seem to be coming and when heaven seems silent? How can we move forward when we’re stuck in one of those in-between zones that life throws at us sometimes?
I’ve been chewing on this question for a while now, trying to make sense of my situation. I’ve also been thinking about all the miracles I’ve read about in the scriptures.
I studied all the times Jesus performed a miracle or healed someone during His ministry. And, to be honest, I was upset at first, because every single time someone was brought to Christ, He healed them immediately.
The woman with an issue of blood touches His robes, and instantly she’s healed. (See Mark 5.)
The man born blind asks for healing, so Christ tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. And in the moment he does, he’s healed. (See John 9.)
The leper seeks to be healed, and—in an instant—he’s completely cleansed. (See Matthew 8.)
Jairus’s daughter who has died is told to rise from the dead by the Savior, and she does. Right away! (See Mark 5.)
The man who is possessed is immediately set free when Christ calls out to him. (See Luke 4.)
This didn’t make any sense to me. All these miracles were instantaneous, so how come I was still waiting on mine? It seemed so unfair.
But after some pondering, the truth hit me: even though all these miracles were immediate, those who were healed had dealt with their hardships and sufferings for a long time beforehand.
The woman with the issue of blood suffered for 12 years and had exhausted all her emotional and financial resources before her miracle came.
The blind man knew nothing but blindness for his entire life before he was blessed with sight.
The leper suffered the terrifying onset of the leprosy and the pain of the disease, living as an outcast for who knows how long before he was healed.
Jairus’s daughter had suffered to the point of death before her miracle came.
The possessed man had been bound by the unclean spirits for some time before there was an opportunity for freedom.
This showed me that sometimes miracles don’t come right when the suffering begins. Each person had a journey with their pain and struggles before they were healed. And while some journeys were longer than others, the miracles of healing always came.
I wish I knew how long my journey with this trial will last, but maybe not knowing is the point. Challenges bring opportunities. We can choose to let our struggles shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. We can use this time of waiting to draw closer to the God who made us. We can connect and empathize with others in their suffering.
We always have a chance for good, growth, and development when we’re waiting on a miracle.
I hold on to hope and faith that my miracle of healing will come and that one day the promises I’ve received will be fulfilled. But in the meantime, I can be present in my journey with this pain. I can use this waiting time to become better, wiser, stronger, kinder, more patient, and more humble. I can deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Whatever miracle or promise you might be waiting for right now, no matter how long you’ve been waiting, don’t lose hope. Whatever Heavenly Father has promised you will come. But miracles come in His time and not our own. Don’t lose hope in Him. Don’t think heaven is silent. He is preparing the way for you. Focus on the present and do what you can do to move forward today in your journey. One step at a time. Keep holding on tight to hope as you wait for your miracle.
It will come.

When I first began college, I wasn’t sure what career to pursue. All I knew was that I felt happiest when I helped people.
Through studying, pondering, and praying, I finally decided to go into a medical field. But this career choice meant taking some difficult classes. I did all right in my basic biology, math, and chemistry courses, but I wasn’t confident I could handle the required upper-level courses.
Soon I found myself in a cellular biology course that was daunting, to say the least. I felt if I could pass the first exam, I could complete the course and eventually fulfill my goal. In preparation for this test, I studied extra hard—reading each chapter from the textbook two or three times, reviewing my class notes until they were almost memorized, and making flash cards with key words and concepts to review.
Just before the exam, my institute teacher taught a lesson on inspiration. One scripture he shared especially struck me: “Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:15).
It dawned on me that the Lord might be willing to help in matters other than those strictly spiritual. I knew I had done my part in preparing for the test, but I also felt I could use His divine help.
The night before the exam, I went through my flash cards one last time, then knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father for assurance and clarity of mind during the test. I felt immediate peace and comfort, and I knew the Lord would be with me.
That night I dreamed I was taking the exam. In my dream I entered the classroom, sat at my desk, and went through the exam page by page, answering each question with ease. It was a good dream and gave me a feeling of confidence the next morning.
As I went to class, I knew everything would be OK. I sat at my desk and opened my exam. The questions were remarkably similar to those on the exam in my dream. “What’s going on?” I wondered. Then I remembered the verse my institute teacher had shared with us. I knew the Lord had enlightened my mind. I felt He had answered my prayer—not only helping me with the test but showing me He approved of my decision to pursue this course of study.
I breezed through the test, reviewed it once, and was the first student to hand it in. The following day, the teacher smiled as she handed me my exam with a bold “100% Great job!” written in one corner. It was the only perfect score in the class.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my heart in gratitude for Heavenly Father’s abundant blessings. I knew if I had not done my part and studied as never before, the Lord might not have given me the help I needed. But I had studied, and I had been blessed more than I could have imagined.

Just before my mom passed away, she asked me to take care of her younger sister, who was in a hospital in Korea. My family and I lived in California, USA, so unfortunately there seemed to be no way to fulfill my mom’s compassionate last wish. Then my job unexpectedly relocated me to South Korea, and I had to be separated from my family for a year. Although I was concerned about living far from my family, I also anticipated visiting my aunt and my dad, who was in a Korean hospital suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.
I asked Heavenly Father for divine help in living away from my family. As I thought about the time I would spend in Korea, I resolved to visit my dad, my aunt, and the temple weekly as well as to pray for my family daily.
Once I was in Korea, the bishop of my new ward called me to be the Young Men president and the Gospel Doctrine teacher. My ward and the hospitals where my dad and aunt stayed were far from each other, and I had a very demanding job; but Heavenly Father blessed me with strength and stamina to magnify my callings and to keep my resolutions.
Soon after I started visiting my aunt, I discovered she rarely had any visitors. I decided to pick her up and have her stay with me on the weekends at my hotel, which had an extra room. However, I had a problem: should I take her with me to church on Sunday? I thought she would neither be interested in nor understand the meetings, and she would have to wait for hours after church for me to be done with meetings and other duties. But for some reason I felt I should take her.
That Sunday I took her with me, and, as expected, she had to wait for me afterward. After my meetings, I took her back to the hotel to eat. I noticed that she held a bag. I asked her about it, and she said a sister had given her some snacks.
Whenever I had duties after church, this sister—who did not know my aunt—always offered my aunt snacks. One week during my Sunday School lesson, a familiar voice volunteered to read a scripture. I had never imagined my aunt would volunteer, but a kind sister sitting next to my aunt had prompted her to read for the class. Although my aunt was not good at socializing because of her time isolated in the hospital, all the members kindly greeted and chatted with her.
Every Sunday evening I would take her back to the hospital and promise to pick her up the next weekend, which always brought a happy smile to her face.
One day a friend of mine shared a concern that my aunt might have a hard time when my visits suddenly stopped when I left Korea. As my scheduled departure from Korea came closer, I felt mixed emotions—happy to be soon reunited with my family but distressed and sad about leaving my aunt alone.
Finally, I explained to my aunt that I would not be able to visit her as often. She paused a moment, obviously disappointed. Then she tried to compose herself and asked if I could visit her again in a year. I cried and desperately asked Heavenly Father to help this lady.
On my last Sunday in Korea, the bishop asked if ward members could pick up my aunt on Sundays to bring her to church. He said that a number of members were willing to visit her on a regular basis—so many that they would have to organize and take turns. I could not believe his offer! This was the unexpected answer to my desperate prayers.
Since the members lived far away from my aunt’s hospital, I offered to leave some money for them to cover the travel expenses, but the members refused to take my money. They told me they would take turns visiting once a month, but I found out later that they actually visited every week. One faithful sister picks up my aunt every Friday to attend institute and have lunch. She even took her to a beauty shop for a haircut. Another sister, a single mother of two teenage children, volunteered to pick her up every Sunday morning. She cooks for my aunt, takes her for a walk, and listens to music with her. Most importantly, she tries to be a friend, and my aunt has finally opened up and comfortably chats with her and other members. Every Sunday evening the bishop picks up my aunt from a member’s home after his long day of Church meetings and other duties to take her back to the hospital. Every Thursday he sends a kind email to me to report their heavenly service for my aunt.
I believe that my mom saw the actions of faithful Latter-day Saints serving her younger sister. And now I know, more clearly than ever, why we call our fellow Church members “brothers” and “sisters.”

The first lesson is that everyone makes mistakes. Not long ago I was with an eight-year-old girl on the day of her baptism. At the end of the day she said with all confidence, “I have been baptized for a whole day, and I haven’t sinned once!” But her perfect day did not last forever, and I am sure she is learning by now, like we all learn, that as hard as we try, we do not always avoid every bad situation, every wrong choice, or control ourselves as we should.

Just eight weeks ago I was holding a mission district conference on the island of Chiloe, an interior location in the south of Chile that gets few visitors. Imagine the responsibility I felt in addressing these beautiful people when it was pointed out to me that a very elderly man seated near the front of the chapel had set out on foot at five o’clock that morning, walking for four hours to be in his seat by nine o’clock, for a meeting that was not scheduled to begin until eleven o’clock. He said he wanted to get a good seat. I looked into his eyes, thought of times in my life when I had been either too casual or too late, and thought of Jesus’ phrase, “I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.”

I shuddered, remembering that first day I had asked my parents’ permission to be baptized. They knew I had been studying with the Mormons and going to their meetings, but I don’t think they had admitted to themselves how serious I really was. My father is a quiet man, and kind. He thought about it for a long time before he replied. But my mother reacted immediately. Her face went pale and her mouth hard and tight.

“Absolutely not, Michelle,” she said, and her voice sounded cold and deeply angry. “It is absolutely out of the question, so don’t mention it again.”

“But why?” I demanded. “Why?”

“Why?” she screamed back, her eyes blazing. “Because you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, Michelle. I know. You just have to trust me. I know.”

I wondered what awful things she knew or thought she knew about the Mormons. But no matter how persistently I questioned her, she wouldn’t talk. She just kept saying no in that hard, tight way. In the end, though, my father prevailed. He usually did because he was so reasonable and so patient. He kept reminding her that I was 20 years old. In a few months I would be able to decide for myself, without their approval. He reminded her of what a good girl I was: smart and hardworking, obedient and truthful. “She deserves to find her own way in life,” he told my mother gently.

So we made a bargain. I was to meet with the minister of my own church for classes in theology. I was to learn everything I could about the beliefs and doctrines of the church I had belonged to my whole life. In other words, I was to give their way one last, real chance, as much a chance as I had given the Mormons. Then, if I still wanted to leave—to reject their ways, to become a Latter-day Saint—they would give their consent.

Those visits with our minister, I reflected, had led to one of the most solemn, impressive experiences of my life. I remembered vividly how nervous, almost foolish, I had felt as I walked the path to the old stone church and pulled back the heavy door. My footsteps sounded loud and obtrusive as I crossed the hard, polished floor and knocked tentatively on the door of the pastor’s office. The office, itself, was enough to make me feel overwhelmed. It was large and thickly carpeted, and one entire wall was lined with shelves that supported hundreds of thick, old, impressive-looking volumes. Dr. Allred sat in a brown leather chair behind a massive desk, which separated us awkwardly as I perched on the edge of a chair across from him.

“So you think you want to be a Mormon?” he said suddenly, and his face never changed expression. I couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking. Before I could find an answer, he continued. “It’s your parents’ idea that you come here, isn’t it?”

I nodded, while he gazed at me, until finally a slight smile began to break up the corners of the thin, long line of his mouth. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, leaning forward across the desk.

We met together three different times, and I read the books and pamphlets he gave me. I answered his questions and he answered some of mine, but our discussions were always very polite and restrained. On our last evening together he sat behind his desk and looked across at me, and he left unopened the heavy book we were supposed to talk about together. Instead he lifted his eyebrow in a thoughtful manner and said, “I’ve done what your parents desired, Michelle. But there’s really nothing I can teach you; both you and I know that. What you do now must be your own decision, of course.”

He hesitated, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn by the expression on his face and something I felt in the tenor of his voice. He pushed his chair back suddenly and rose, walked quickly to the expanse of books and pulled down a small, slender volume. Returning to the desk he set it down firmly, then pushed it over until it rested mere inches from my own hand, which was gripping the smooth edge of the big desk. The lettering on the leather cover was close to me and easy to see. I gave a little gasp as I read the words: Book of Mormon.

“That’s right,” he said, “the Book of Mormon. I get some of the material for my sermons out of that book.” His voice was soft, but it penetrated deep inside me so that my heart began to beat wildly, and I felt a warm, tingling sensation across my skin.

“I would be a Mormon myself if it were possible.” He picked up the volume and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “I am a minister; it is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known. My father was a minister, and his father before him.” He paused and looked up, and his eyes held a sadness that was almost an intrusion to look upon. “But if I were you,” he continued in the same soft, firm voice, “I would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Dr. Allred rose and replaced the book. I rose from my chair. I knew there was nothing left to be said between us, but I was wrong. At the door he shook my hand warmly, holding me with his eyes. “What I said tonight I have said for you alone. If you repeat it, I will deny that it was ever spoken. And you know, of course, which of us would be believed.”

I nodded, trying to answer with my eyes and my smile, too overwhelmed to be able to do more, and walked home alone through the crisp, silent night.

The next week I was baptized. None of my family attended the baptism. This was something I wanted to do, and I had their permission. But permission and support are not the same thing. Even my kindly father could not offer support for something he could neither agree with nor understand.

There was Ted, for instance, who had been the great guilt-inflicter during those Halloween nights when we used to smash pumpkins just because we didn’t have anything better to do. “Sure, go ahead and destroy some kid’s pride and joy,” he’d object, as my braver friends and I left to tromp through the dark neighborhoods, hot on the trail of Mr. Jack-o’lantern. Ted’s unusual sensibility had always puzzled me. After all, I was nearly four months his senior, and I thought that kind of judgment belonged to older people who were married and had children of their own.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

Let me provide another example of disconnecting gradually and physically from things as they really are. Today a person can enter into a virtual world, such as Second Life, and assume a new identity. An individual can create an avatar, or a cyberspace persona, that conforms to his or her own appearance and behavior. Or a person can concoct a counterfeit identity that does not correlate in any way to things as they really are. However closely the assumed new identity approximates the individual, such behavior is the essence of things as they really are not. Earlier I defined the fidelity of a simulation or model. I now emphasize the importance of personal fidelity—the correspondence between an actual person and an assumed, cyberspace identity. Please note the lack of personal fidelity in the following episode as reported in the Wall Street Journal:

Ric Hoogestraat is “a burly [53-year-old] man with a long gray ponytail, thick sideburns and a salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache. … [Ric spends] six hours a night and often 14 hours at a stretch on weekends as Dutch Hoorenbeek, his six-foot-nine, muscular … cyber-self. The character looks like a younger, physically enhanced version of [Ric]. …

“… [He] sits at his computer with the blinds drawn. … While his wife, Sue, watches television in the living room, Mr. Hoogestraat chats online with what appears on the screen to be a tall, slim redhead.

“He’s never met the woman outside of the computer world of Second Life, a well-chronicled digital fantasyland. … He’s never so much as spoken to her on the telephone. But their relationship has taken on curiously real dimensions. They own two dogs, pay a mortgage together and spend hours [in their cyberspace world] shopping at the mall and taking long motorcycle rides. … Their bond is so strong that three months ago, Mr. Hoogestraat asked Janet Spielman, the 38-year-old Canadian woman who controls the redhead, to become his virtual wife.

“The woman he’s legally wed to is not amused. ‘It’s really devastating,’ says Sue Hoogestraat, … who has been married to Mr. Hoogestraat for seven months.”5

This story happened in the Netherlands.
Marie opened her jewelry box to look at her pretty stones. One by one, she held them in her hand. The red one, then the green one, then the clear white one.
Grandmother knocked on the bedroom door. “Ready to go?”
“Yes!” Marie carefully put the stones back in her box.
Grandmother was taking Marie to the library. But not just to look at books. There was a special stone display there! Marie was excited.
When their bus got to the library, Marie and Grandmother walked inside. They saw tables and tables of beautiful stones. Some were shiny and smooth. Others were interesting shapes.
“Look at this one!” Grandmother pointed to a large crystal. It had little blue spikes sticking out all over it.
Another table had lots of tiny, round stones. Marie looked at all the colors. At the very end was a purple stone, small and shiny and smooth.
I don’t have a purple stone yet, Marie thought. It would be perfect for her collection.
Marie glanced around. Grandmother was at another table. No one else was nearby. And no one would miss this tiny stone, right?
Marie picked up the stone and put it in her pocket.
That night, with the purple stone safely in her jewelry box, Marie got into bed.
“Ready for story time?” Dad sat on the bed and opened the Friend magazine.
Marie snuggled into her blankets and listened. The story was about a boy who repented after he made a wrong choice.
As Dad read, Marie felt like her stomach was twisting into knots. She rolled onto her side, then flipped over her pillow. But she did not feel right. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the purple stone.
Dad finished the story. “Are you OK?”
Marie didn’t know what to do. If she told Dad, he might get mad.
But maybe he would know how to help.
Slowly, Marie crawled out of bed and took the purple stone out of her box. “I took this from the library today.” Tears spilled out of Marie’s eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
Dad gave her a hug. “It’s always OK to tell me the truth. I’m proud of you for having the courage to be honest.”
Marie’s stomach began to feel better. Dad wasn’t mad!
“And because of Jesus, we can repent. Just like in the story,” he said. “Why don’t we take the stone back to the library?”
Marie squeezed her eyes shut. “No! They’ll be angry.”
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “They might be a little angry. But I think they’ll be glad that you gave it back. And it will make you feel a lot better too.”
Marie took a deep breath and nodded. “OK.”
Marie got out a piece of paper and started to write a letter. “I’m sorry for taking this,” she wrote. “I wish I hadn’t done it. I want to make it right.”
She slid the letter into an envelope. Then she put the tiny purple stone inside too.
“We’ll take this back tomorrow,” Dad said. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” said Marie. “There’s just one more thing I need to do.”
Marie knelt by her bed and prayed. “I’m sorry I took the stone,” she said. “I’ll never steal again. Thank Thee for helping me be brave and honest.”
As she got back in bed, Marie felt peace. Tomorrow she would make things right. And she knew Heavenly Father and Jesus would help her. Because of Them, everything would be OK.
Illustrations by Katie Rewse

Three years ago I met a young man who had been severely injured in an accident. The medical forecast was grim. If he survived, he could spend the rest of his life completely paralyzed. Recently I met him again. Through the priesthood, he had been blessed to gain the mobility needed to do all the Lord intended he do in life. He moved his electric cart near, shook my hand, sat upright, and broke into a broad grin. The room was charged with his invincible spirit. His faith—and incredibly hard, painful effort, sustained and magnified by the blessing of the Lord—has begun a miracle. With periodic help from loving friends, he is succeeding in a university and striving to progress to qualify to be a missionary. I know his continued effort will yield far greater improvement.

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.
One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.
Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).
In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.

“I had a friend who began to encourage me to disregard my standards, and for a while I listened. I finally decided that enough was enough and I wasn’t going to let her influence me anymore. I prayed for strength and guidance, and because I was again living the way I know I should, I received the guidance I asked for. I eventually stopped hanging out with her, and in the months that have passed, my testimony has grown so much. Who you are friends with definitely makes a difference in your ability to live the way the gospel teaches.”

Margaret K., 17, Utah, USA

Then their bishop was inspired with an idea that would help the Tuckers—as well as many others in the Three Forks Ward, Bozeman Montana Stake—achieve the dream of an eternal family. A few years ago Bishop Aaron Baczuk was in a meeting for bishops and new converts in the stake. The Area Seventy who was presiding asked a new member, “Have you been to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead?” He had.
Bishop Baczuk had never considered taking unendowed adults to the temple. The following week he made an appointment with the Billings Montana Temple for adults in his ward to perform baptisms for the dead. The visit to the temple was a success, and in the months that followed, elders and high priests in the ward accompanied more unendowed adults to the temple. “It proved to be a very spiritual experience for them, compounding their desire and commitment to receive their endowments,” says Bishop Baczuk.
To prepare, adult members work with the bishop to become worthy to attend the temple. Then they take the temple-preparation class. Their interest in the class really peaks after they perform baptisms for the dead. They find that talking about the temple in class is one thing, but actually feeling the Lord’s Spirit in the temple is another.
“Having the option to take someone to the temple who may not be prepared for additional covenants but can still have an experience participating in ordinances is huge,” says Bishop Baczuk. “I think it fits with the sentiment the Church is trying to convey in its temple-preparation booklet: ‘Come to the temple!’”1

It felt just like any other Sunday morning in Primary. Brother Barrow and Brother Jensen sat at the front of the class.
“Good morning,” said Brother Barrow. “Did everyone have a good week?”
Miles popped up in his seat next to me. “Yeah! I had fun this weekend!” he said. He told about a park he went to.
After everyone had taken a turn to talk, Brother Jensen began marking the roll. “Hmm,” he said, looking up at us. “Samantha isn’t here again. Does anyone know who she is? I’ve never met her before.”
I raised my hand. “I know who she is,” I said. “I’ve seen her at school.”
“Thank you, Grace. Could you tell us more about her?”
I thought about Samantha. It seemed like she always played by herself. “She’s pretty shy,” I said. “I don’t think she has very many friends.”
“I think we should do something special to invite her to Primary,” said Brother Jensen. “How would everyone feel about coming to my house this week to make brownies and a card for her?”
“That’s a great idea!” said Miles.
“I want to come too!” said Haylee.
“Sounds good,” said Brother Jensen. “I’ll call your parents so we can find a time to get together.”
Finally the day came. We met at Brother Jensen’s house, and we were ready to bake!
“Who wants to mix the cocoa and baking soda?” Brother Barrow asked.
“I do!” said Mason.
Soon we all had jobs to do. Before we knew it, the brownies were in the oven.
“OK, everyone, while we wait for the brownies to bake, let’s make the card,” said Brother Jensen.
Our card was actually a big poster. We got out crayons and markers and wrote things like “We miss you!” and “Come to Primary!” By the time we were done writing and drawing pictures, the brownies were done.
We put the brownies on a plate and went together to Samantha’s house. Brother Jensen knocked on the door, and Samantha’s mom answered.
“SURPRISE!” we shouted.
“We just want to invite your daughter to Primary,” said Brother Barrow.
“That is so thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you all so much.” She called to Samantha, and she came to the door. “Look, Samantha. See what they brought you!”
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
I waved to her from the back of the group. “Hi, Samantha! I’m Grace, from school.”
“We hope you can come to our Primary class this week!” said John.
At recess the next day, I was sitting with my friends and saw Samantha. “Hi!” I said. “Do you want to play with us?”
“No,” she said, looking down. “But thanks anyway.”
I smiled at her. Samantha smiled back a little bit. “OK,” I said. “Some other time.”
Later Samantha and her mom started coming to church! Just shows the power of friendship … and brownies!
Samantha didn’t come to Primary that Sunday. I was kind of sad, but I was still glad we invited her. It felt like what Heavenly Father wanted us to do. Samantha wasn’t ready to come to Church, and that was OK. We could ask again another time. And we could definitely keep trying to get to know her. Who knows? Maybe we could all be friends!

I was raised on a small farm in northern Utah. We were blessed to have enough land—not enough to make a living, but enough to make work for a young boy. My parents were good, hardworking, industrious people. In order to make ends meet, my father took outside employment. Each morning before he left for work, he would make a list of chores he wanted me to accomplish before he came home that evening.
I remember on one occasion one of the items on the list was to take a small broken part from our hay rake to the blacksmith shop to have it repaired. I was uncomfortable about going. My father hadn’t left any money, and I wondered what I should do. I put off going as long as I could. When all my other chores were finished, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Father expected the broken part to be repaired when he came home, and it was my responsibility to see that it was done.
I can still remember walking the mile or so to the blacksmith shop. I even remember how uncomfortable I was as I watched him weld the part. As he finished, I nervously told him that I had no money, but that my father would pay him later. I’m sure he sensed my anxiety. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry, your father’s word is as good as his bond.” I remember running all the way home, relieved that the part had been repaired and grateful that my father was known as a man whose word was as good as his bond.
As a boy I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I knew it was good and something to be desired. It was years later that I recognized that a person whose word is as good as his bond is a person of honesty and integrity, a person to be trusted. In today’s world, there are some who think nothing of breaking their word, their promises, their covenants with man and with God. What a blessing it is to deal with those whom we can trust.

Recently a stake president told of his visit, with others, to a Junior Sunday School class. When the visitors entered they were made welcome, and the teacher, seeking to impress the significance of the experience for the youngsters, said to a little child on the front row, “How many important people are here today?” The child rose and began counting out loud, reaching a total of seventeen, including every person in the room. There were seventeen very important persons there that day, children and visitors!