Gospel Story Finder

Sydney Rigdon had been with the prophet when some of the most incredible revelations and visions in this dispensation were given such as the one in section 76 where the Father and Son appeared to them in the Kirtland Temple. He was arrested at the time Joseph was. He was imprisoned for only two months. When released he proclaimed that not even Jesus had endured the suffering that he had. The trials that might have purified him as they did Joseph seemed to weaken him. Sydney after that time would gradually decrease in his influence in the Church and eventually would be excommunicated. He died in New York outside the Church. Once a man who had said with the Prophet Joseph, "we saw Him even on the right hand of God," he had lost everything that means anything. His posterity would likewise miss all the great blessings of the Gospel.
President Joseph F. Smith said, "When I as a boy first started out in the ministry, I would frequently go out and ask the Lord to show me some marvelous thing, in order that I might receive a testimony. But the Lord withheld marvels from me, and showed me the truth, line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little, until he made me to know the truth from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and until doubt and fear had been absolutely purged from me. He did not have to send an angel from the heavens to do this, nor did he have to speak with the trump of an archangel. By the whisperings of the still small voice of the Spirit of the living God, he gave to me the testimony I possess. And by this principle and power he will give to all the children of men a knowledge of the truth that will stay with them, and it will make them to know the truth, as God knows it, and to do the will of the Father as Christ does it. And no amount of marvelous manifestations will ever accomplish this. It is obedience, humility, and submission to the requirements of heaven and to the order established in the kingdom of God upon the earth, that will establish men in the truth. Men may receive the visitation of angels; they may speak in tongues; they may heal the sick by the laying on of hands; they may have visions and dreams; but except they are faithful and pure in heart, they become an easy prey to the adversary of their souls, and he will lead them into darkness and unbelief more easily than others."
Even though Sydney had seen visions, he apparently lacked humility and failed to submit himself to the requirements of heaven and to the order established in the Kingdom of God upon the earth. In so doing, he became prey to the adversary. His sad account should be a lesson to us.

“Another good example my dad set for me was when he called me into his office and asked, ‘Do you know where the bishops’ storehouse is?’ When I nodded, he said, ‘OK, you go with the truck driver.’ We took five big barrels of chickens—about a thousand pounds of them—to the storehouse as a gift to the poor and needy from my father. I’ve never forgotten that day.
“Dad made donations like that to the storehouse several times. It was the old Pioneer Stake Storehouse, and it became the model storehouse for the Church general welfare program.”

I’ve had a few particularly powerful experiences as I’ve lived this practice. One came many years ago, while teaching a stake seminary class in Texas.

My mom is alive and well today, but back then, she was preparing to have a brain tumor the size of a golf ball removed. The tumor had been growing undetected for more than 20 years and was only discovered after my parents were in a terrible car accident.

To say I was grateful they found it and terrified for her to have this surgery is an understatement. I didn’t know if she would survive or if she would have long-lasting side effects. What if she woke up with a completely different personality? What if she lost her memory? I was consumed with worst-case scenarios; maybe you’ve felt that same spiraling anxiety.

One night before class, the Spirit reminded me I could ask for help. Like Esther [14], I could take courage. I could rely on the Savior's promise that He would not leave me comfortless [15], and as Alma said, others had been asked to help so that I didn't have to bear this burden alone [16]. The Spirit reminded me that we are on this journey through mortality together, just as the early Saints we were studying about in the Doctrine and Covenants that year. They had banded together to face trials side-by-side, and so could we.

So, as class began, I asked my students if they had anything on their hearts or minds they wanted the class to pray for. I got the usual blank teenage stare. The Spirit prompted me to go first. So, the week before her surgery, I opened up and asked for their faith and prayers; comfort for my family, health for my mom, and skills and ability for her medical team.

As I wrote my plea on the board, I asked again, “Is there anything on your heart or mind that you’d like included in our prayer?” It was still silent, but as I turned around, I saw hands peeking up in the air. In those few moments, we learned more about one another and the struggles we were facing individually and collectively than in the previous weeks and months we'd spent together. It was refining and humbling to watch these young people share their burdens and have faith that we would love them through their difficulties and celebrate their successes. We continued this practice once a week for the rest of the year.

Another blessing, the Memphis teens say, is good friends. Jonathan Stambaugh of Collierville High School says, “A couple of years ago I didn’t go to seminary and didn’t really like church. I only hung out with guys on the baseball team, and even though it was fun, it felt empty. Then I started hanging out with Church friends, and things were so much better. My Church friends help strengthen my testimony.”
Jonathan is putting his chances at major league baseball aside for a mission. He says, “I would rather be a good guy than a good baseball player, because, without the gospel, nothing has a point.”

“A very long time ago,” Mom began, “long before even Grandma and Grandpa were born, there was a young family. They lived on a farm. It wasn’t an easy life. They had to work very hard. One year their daddy had to go away and find work so they’d have money to buy food. He left his wife and three daughters all by themselves.”
“My great-grandma was one of the daughters, wasn’t she?” asked Robbin.
Mom nodded. “That’s right.”
Mom went on with the story. “Well, Thanksgiving came and there was hardly anything to eat. Your great-great-grandmother felt sorry for her sweet little girls. But she had an idea. She took—”
“Flour,” said Dad.
“And salt,” said Robbin.
“And shortening,” said Mom with a nod. “She made pie crust. Then she cut it into long strips. And then she took some cream from their cows and whipped it up. On Thanksgiving morning she and the girls used the pie crust and cream to make small log cabins.”
Dad came over and leaned on the counter. “And we make our log cabins every year to remind us of the many blessings Heavenly Father has given us.”
“And because it’s fun!” said Robbin.
Mom and Dad laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Dad checked the pie crust. The white strips he’d put in the oven had turned a beautiful golden color. “Done!” He slid the piecrust “logs” onto a rack to cool.
Robbin sniffed the freshly baked pie-crust logs. They smelled warm and delicious.
Later that day Robbin’s cousins came over. Mom brought out a large plate piled high with logs ready to use. She put the plate next to a bowl of whipped cream. All the children hurried to the table.
Know what’s fun? Starting a new family tradition! Like starting Thanksgiving in October with our friends in Canada!
“Wait!” said Mom. “Before you begin, who can remember the story of the log cabins?”
Robbin felt happy inside as one of her cousins started telling the story. They had a house and plenty of food. She was glad they had a special way to celebrate all the blessings Heavenly Father had given them.

How do three lovely young ladies who are profoundly deaf speak fluently with confidence, joy, and Irish accents?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 21, Julie-Ann, 16, and Heather, 13, are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 20, and Gail, 18, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her bubbling personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have bridged some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Cub Scouting programme, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hardearned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including badminton, squash, swimming, and football.
“When we held the dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care can dance like the rest.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every programme of the Church has to offer. “I will be serving as a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has witnessed the aspirations of her family and is determined to open doors for others less blessed with opportunity. She is taking a university course in British Sign Language and after three years will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially seminary. “It’s a great programme. I gain such a lot. Seeing things through the eyes of ancient people has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home, family, and Irish stew behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the rigorous academic requirements, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment (a bit like being chosen for Oxford or Cambridge), but for two from the same family to attend is something of a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Saviour and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t keep up with the speakers. I want to understand every word of their message. People are kind and write things down for me, but often talks go too fast to get the full story.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however, and are equipped with the latest hearing aids. So skilled are they becoming that they are even learning another language. Both are coping well with French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students who hear.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says JulieAnn, “and if the congregation doesn’t drown out the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, with wildly waving arms, acting like I’m stupid or something.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always get a question the first time, and if I ask ‘pardon?’ they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t much like tiny conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
“I get a similar sensation when I think of my sister Deborah on her mission. I think she’ll be homesick for a while, leaving Northern Ireland. It’s such a lovely country. I remember how I felt. But we’re all excited for her. I look forward to hearing how she gets on. My patriarchal blessing tells me I’ll also go on a mission when I’m 21.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.

Fredrick A., 17, says that when his friend Robert invited him to church, he felt the Spirit so strongly that he couldn’t deny it.
“When I got to church, the Spirit of God was sent upon me,” Fredrick says. “As I was given the Book of Mormon, I started reading it. If I don’t understand, I always ask my branch president and pray.”
Robert (left) and Fredrick have remained friends since Robert introduced him to the gospel.

I want to begin with a couple of stories.
When I was about nine or ten years old, my parents decided that I was going to take piano lessons. I had already tried to learn how to play the violin, and it was clear that I did not have a talent for it.
In fact, many years later, one of my grandmas told me that one of the happiest days of her life was when I quit taking violin lessons. I don’t have a great ear for music, so it can be hard for me to stay in tune, and since I don’t have any rhythm, I struggle to follow a beat. Naturally, I wasn’t thrilled about taking piano lessons.
Practicing the piano was drudgery. I wasn’t efficient when I practiced, and as I recall, I let most people know how unhappy I was that I had to play the piano.
At some point during the years that I took piano lessons, I read a biography about John Philip Sousa, the great American composer and band leader from the early twentieth century. This got me motivated to practice for a few weeks, but it didn’t last.
Finally, after two and a half years of misery, my piano teacher told my mom that she should let me quit, and so I did. That was another happy day, even more for me than for grandma.
Now contrast this with my second story. My first year of university studies I tried taking Mandarin Chinese. I wanted to learn Mandarin because I figured that knowing Mandarin would be very useful in whatever career I chose.
Unfortunately, even though I was giving it my best effort and wanted to learn Chinese, I really struggled in the class.
Eventually my professor sent me for some testing to see why it was so difficult for me. The testing revealed that I couldn’t hear certain tones or accents (I’ve since wondered if this had something to do with my lack of natural talent with music). This is a real problem for learning Mandarin Chinese since in Mandarin words have different tones that give them completely different meanings.
For example, the word ma, spelled m-a in its anglicized form, with a different tone or accent can mean “horse,” “to scold,” “numb,” “mom,” or it could indicate that one is asking a question.
With these results, the university allowed me to take the class on a pass/fail basis. Fortunately, the professor wouldn’t give anyone less than a fifty-percent grade on the final exam. With that fifty percent, I passed the class with the equivalent of a D minus. Thankfully, it showed on my transcript as a “pass.”
At the end of my first year of university studies, I sent in my papers to go on a mission. When I was asked in the missionary application what my interest level was in learning a language, I put “low.”
However, when I received my call, I had been assigned to Peru to preach the gospel in the Spanish language. I was a little worried about trying again to learn a language, but I chose to believe that since the Lord had called me, He would also help me learn Spanish.
Before I entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo, my stake president blessed me that I would be able to learn Spanish. I’d like to tell you that it was easy after that. It wasn’t. I was by far the worst Spanish student in my MTC district. But I tried hard. I even played Spanish tapes at night so that I could get used to hearing the language.
When I finally got to Peru, I think I could only say “¿Dónde está el baño?” and “Tengo hambre.” My Peruvian trainer actually learned a little bit of English just so that he could communicate with me.
Eventually, I did learn Spanish. It took a long time. The most effective thing that I did was read the Book of Mormon out loud in Spanish while following along in my English scriptures.
But today, I speak Spanish fairly well. I can express myself in nearly every situation and on most topics, and people understand me. In fact, once or twice a year, when on assignment, I do a broadcast to tens of thousands of Spanish-speaking members of the Church. What’s more, I can now largely hear accents.
In fact, several years ago, I was in France attending church. As I listened to a non-native speaker give his talk, I turned to the French woman who was translating for me and said, “He has a really heavy accent doesn’t he?”
She looked at me with a quizzical look on her face and said, “His accent is terrible. I can barely understand him. But it is unusual for a non-French speaker to be able to hear that.”

I would like to explain to you exactly what took place following the unexpected death of President Harold B. Lee on December 26, 1973. I was in Phoenix, Arizona, to spend Christmas with my daughter and her family when a call came to me from Arthur Haycock, secretary to President Lee. He said that President Lee was seriously ill, and he thought that I should plan to return home as soon as possible. A half-hour later he called and said: “The Lord has spoken. President Lee has been called home.”

President Romney, who in my absence was directing the affairs of the Church, was at the hospital with President Spencer W. Kimball of the Council of the Twelve. Immediately upon President Lee’s death President Romney turned to President Kimball and said, “You are in charge.” Not one minute passed between the time President Lee died and the Twelve took over to preside over the Church.

Following President Lee’s funeral, President Kimball called a meeting of the Apostles for Sunday, December 30, at 3 p.m. in the Salt Lake Temple council room. President Romney and I had taken our respective places of seniority in the Council, so there were fourteen of us present. Following a song, a prayer by President Romney, President Kimball, in deep humility, expressed his feelings to us. He said that he had spent Friday in the temple talking to the Lord, and had shed many tears as he prayed for guidance in assuming his new responsibilities and in choosing his counselors.

Dressed in our temple robes, we held a prayer circle; President Kimball asked me to conduct it and Elder Thomas S. Monson to offer the prayer. Following this, President Kimball explained the purpose of the meeting and called on each member of the Quorum in order of seniority, starting with Elder Ezra Taft Benson, to express his feelings as to whether the First Presidency should be organized that day or whether we should carry on as the Council of the Twelve. Each said, “We should organize now,” and many complimentary things were spoken about President Kimball and his work with the Twelve.

Then Elder Ezra Taft Benson nominated Spencer W. Kimball to be the President of the Church. This was seconded by Elder Mark E. Petersen and unanimously approved. President Kimball then nominated his counselors: N. Eldon Tanner as first counselor, and Marion G. Romney as second, each of whom expressed willingness to accept the position and devote his whole time and energy in serving in that capacity. They were unanimously approved. Then Elder Mark E. Petersen, second in seniority in the Twelve, nominated Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. This was unanimously approved.

At this point all the members present laid their hands upon the head of Spencer W. Kimball, and President Ezra Taft Benson was voice in blessing, ordaining, and setting apart Spencer W. Kimball as the twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, with President Kimball as voice, N. Eldon Tanner was set apart as first counselor and Marion G. Romney as second counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. Following the same procedure, he pronounced the blessing and setting apart of Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve.

During the first few months after my first child was born, I was exhausted from helping my wife care for our baby at night. I began to skip scripture study on some days. I felt my life was out of order and knew I needed to make a change. I decided to wake up an hour earlier each morning to study the Book of Mormon along with the institute manual. I found greater spiritual strength to bear my burdens. I felt more joy and peace through the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

Acts of selfless service are performed daily by countless members of the Church. There are many which are freely given, with no fanfare or boasting, but rather through quiet love and tender care. Let me share with you the example of one who made such a simple yet profound choice to serve.
A few years ago, Sister Monson and I were in the city of Toronto, where we once lived when I was the mission president. Olive Davies, the wife of the first stake president in Toronto, was gravely ill and preparing to pass from this life. Her illness required her to leave her cherished home and enter a hospital which could provide the care she needed. Her only child lived with her own family far away in the West.
I attempted to comfort Sister Davies, but she had present with her the comfort she longed to have. A stalwart grandson sat silently next to his grandmother. I learned he had spent most of the summer away from his university studies, that he might serve his grandmother’s needs. I said to him, “Shawn, you will never regret your decision. Your grandmother feels you are heaven-sent, an answer to her prayers.”
He replied, “I chose to come because I love her and know this is what my Heavenly Father would have me do.”
Tears were near the surface. Grandmother told us how she enjoyed being helped by her grandson and introducing him to each employee and every patient in the hospital. Hand in hand, they walked the halls, and during the night he was close by.
Olive Davies has passed on to her reward, there to meet her faithful husband and together continue an eternal journey. In a grandson’s heart there will ever remain those words, “Choose the right when a choice is placed before you. In the right the Holy Spirit guides.”

Fast forward three years and it was my last semester at BYUH. Our daughter who was four at the time and was attending Laie Elementary came home with a note from the teacher that she had bumped her head on the slide. Our family was planning to go to town that weekend to do some shopping. We woke up that morning to our daughter vomiting and she didn’t have her sense of balance and she didn’t look well. We decided to take our daughter to the ER at Kaiser in town along with the note that was given to us by the teacher. There they did a CT scan and then an MRI scan of her head. It was then we were told that fortunately she did not have any internal bleeding of any kind, but they had found a tumor. The tumor was located in the back area of her brain. The specific medical diagnosis was cerebellar astrocytoma. This news hit us hard, thoughts of cancer and losing our daughter were overwhelming. But we knew we had two other children to take care of and so my husband and I took turns going back and forth to the hospital to be with our daughter. I remember driving home one of the nights by myself asking Heavenly Father why—why our daughter. I remember pleading with Heavenly Father to please don’t take her. The night before our daughter’s scheduled surgery on January 10, 2000, I remember holding her and she could see the worry on my face. It was then this 4-year-old reminded me to keep the faith. She held my cheek and said, “Don’t worry mommy. Jesus is with me.” That night driving back to Laie I was reminded of the story of Abraham and his son Isaac and how he was asked to sacrifice his only son. I remember thinking is this how Abraham felt at that time and why was he willing to be obedient. Gabriella being my only daughter, memories of the past four years flooded my mind. My prayer changed that night from why and please don’t take her to a prayer of gratitude. I began to thank the Lord for allowing her to be with us for four years. I thanked the Lord for her sweet spirit and for the blessing she has been in our lives. I then thanked Him for the short moment we have had with her and that if He needed her back, then let His will be done. It was then that a strong feeling of peace came over me. I remember being able to finally sleep that night and waking up early to go back to the hospital for her surgery. I remember us praying as a family before she went in and the peace that we both felt as they strolled her away into the operating room. Those were the longest 8 hours of our lives. But, we felt the power of fasting and prayer and were blessed with the outcome of her surgery going well and that the tumor was benign. She didn’t need any chemo or radiation treatment. However, she needed to have physical therapy and speech therapy to regain mobility and had to learn how to walk and talk again. It was a long journey but we are grateful for the faith of all those who prayed and fasted for her. She is now 27 and still our only daughter and continues to bless our lives. I am grateful for this experience that set the tone of knowing faith can move mountains.

Thirteen years ago we discovered that our daughter Becky was expecting twins. The doctors determined through many tests that they were at high risk, developing in the same sac, with a mortality rate of 20 to 60 percent. Normally this condition requires automatic hospitalization at 24 weeks so the babies can constantly be monitored. With a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old already in her family we knew that this would be next to impossible. Immediately we all started praying for miracles, whatever that meant. The priesthood blessings she received from her husband gave her great comfort.
At about 16 weeks she saw the specialist for the first time. He reviewed the past tests and came back with the same grim results. Then he did yet another ultrasound. The doctor was stunned by what he found, so he called in other doctors to verify his findings. Finally he reported that they had actually seen the faintest membrane developing, meaning that the babies were indeed in two separate sacs. Our son-in-law, her husband, who is also a doctor, had seen all the previous test results and now this new one. He said it was nothing short of a medical miracle – a membrane was developing. Our Becky called me in tears and said, “People can explain it however they want, but I know it’s the miracle we’ve been praying for.”
After many other uncertainties and complications during the pregnancy coupled with amazing blessings, two miraculously perfect little 5 pound girls were born. I felt that angels were attending our daughter and I knew that the day of miracles has not ceased.

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” in two different languages—Malay and Chinese.
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t really feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“That should be fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. They gave her a small picture of Jesus to help her think about Him. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge. “Will you try to pray during the week?” they asked.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she’d practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She wanted to keep praying every day.

Take 24 youths, add 176 hours of energetic activity, combine with 21 gallons of paint, and you have one freshly painted house, seven tired adult leaders, and one happy homeowner.
The housepainting was one project developed and completed by the youth of the Mt. Pleasant (Utah) Second Ward. The recipient of the work was 80-year-old Hugh Barton, who had been born in the house in 1895.
The old home took on a new appearance last May when members of the Aaronic Priesthood scrubbed away loosened paint and applied the first coat of new paint. On the following Saturday they put a second coat of cream-colored paint on the transformed house. The Laurels provided refreshments, helped add the white trim to doors and windows, and cleaned the windows in addition.
After completion of the project, the workers posed in front of the two-story home with its grateful owner.

Two of our missionaries knocked on a door one day. It was opened by a man in his seventies. He said, “No, I don’t think I am interested, but let me ask my sister and my mother. They may want to talk to you.” He was in his seventies, his sister was in her eighties, and their mother was ninety-nine.

The missionaries taught them, and a baptismal date was set. Mother became so excited and happy that she ended up in the hospital. So another baptismal date was set. Now, this is the important thing. In the testimony meeting after Mother was baptized, she said, “I have been waiting eighty years for this. When I was twenty years old, the missionaries taught me, but they did not invite me to enter the waters of baptism. How happy I am for this day.” She had reached her one-hundredth birthday when she was baptized.

My mother, Mildred Bennion Eyring, grew up in the farming community of Granger, Utah, USA. One of her brothers, Roy, followed the family business of raising sheep. As a young man he spent many weeks away from home. Over time he became less interested in the Church. Eventually he moved to Idaho, USA, married, and had three children. He died at the age of 34 when his wife was 28 years old and their children were small.
Even though Roy’s little family was in Idaho and my mother had moved about 2,500 miles (4,025 km) to New Jersey, USA, she often wrote them letters of love and encouragement. My uncle’s family affectionately referred to my mother as “Aunt Mid.”
Years passed, and one day I received a phone call from one of my cousins. I was told that Roy’s widow had died. My cousin said, “Aunt Mid would want you to know.” Aunt Mid had long since passed away, but the family still felt her love and reached out to tell me.
I can still remember the love in the voice of my cousin who called and said, “Our mother has died, and Aunt Mid would want you to know.”
It is a blessing to live in the time when the promise of hearts turning is being fulfilled. Mildred Bennion Eyring felt that urge in her heart. She loved her brother’s family, and she reached out to them. They felt their hearts turn in love to Aunt Mid because they knew she loved them.

Of course, the U.S. government took full responsibility for the disaster and subsequent cleanup, which ultimately tallied $300 million. But the government representatives were surprised at how local citizens, Church leaders, and the representatives of the College retained their independence. Wood Miller, Ricks College Housing Director, later said this:

[G]overnment officials kept insisting that they would pay me for the housing of these flood victims, because off-campus or anywhere else they had to pay two hundred dollars a month for apartments. Each time they would offer to pay, we would say, “No, these are our people and this is on the house.” . . . I think that the college rose to the opportunity of giving service.

I joined the Church by myself in central California, USA, when I was a teenager, and in the 20-plus years since then, I’ve always been either the only Black person in my ward or one of a very, very few. I have had some difficult experiences, even at church, with regards to my race. Thankfully, I have a testimony that God loves me and that there is a place for all of us in His kingdom.
While Church leaders have called on “all people to abandon attitudes and actions of prejudice toward any group or individual,”1 there are some who still haven’t learned how to do it. I saw that as a young single adult when I was left to wonder if that was why none of the boys were interested in dating me and if I would ever have the opportunity to marry in the temple because of it. I see it now when someone at church makes an incorrect comment about race that makes me feel singled out, as if my worthiness is being evaluated in front of everyone. And if no one speaks up to correct this false doctrine, I am left to do it alone.
It’s uncomfortable to be stared at, to have people touch my hair without permission, or to be ignored. And when I try to talk about these things, it hurts deeply when I am told by people I love and trust that I’m just making things up, being too sensitive, or acting like a victim.
Why do I and others share these painful experiences? It’s because I want to be part of my ward family. It’s because I see how much I could contribute if given the opportunity. But I feel like I’m on the periphery of Church life—not fully sheltered in the refuge we all need. It’s because with greater mutual understanding, we can be so much better together.
I want to give people an opportunity to get to know me, so I try to be open and honest with and kind to everyone I meet. I try to initiate friendships by inviting people to lunch and starting conversations. I try to create safe spaces for honesty, vulnerability, and love, and make time for other people the way I hope they’ll make time for me. I try to be the friend I want to have—which includes trying to understand experiences others have had that I don’t share.
I’ve felt seen and included by simple acts of kindness and reaching out. I feel included when people make an effort to have a real conversation with me, make time for me, or invite me to spend time with them. It feels so good when people show that they want to be around you.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow probably understood this when he penned the poem “Christmas Bells” that would be set to music and become a favorite Christmas carol—the refrain of which I mentioned earlier.

Mr. Longfellow used church bells ringing on Christmas Day as the setting for a poem he wrote during the Civil War. The fighting had been fierce and touched the lives of the Longfellow family personally. Mr. Longfellow’s son Charles, who had enlisted in the Union Army at 17 years of age, had arrived home about two weeks prior to Christmas 1863 after being critically injured in a battle.6 While Charles eventually recovered from his wounds, his father was likely concerned about the long-term health of his son and of his country. In addition to these concerns, Mr. Longfellow continued to feel the grave loss of his beloved wife, Francis Appleton Longfellow, also known as Fanny. In 1861, the same year the Civil War broke out, Fanny died from injuries she sustained when her light summer dress ignited in their home. The light weight of the fabric and the hoops she wore allowed ample oxygen to feed the flames, and Mrs. Longfellow was quickly engulfed. Mr. Longfellow attempted to extinguish the fire and was himself burned in the process. With her death he was left to raise five children and manage the affairs of his home as a single parent.7 The death of his wife and his son’s critical injuries were not the only tragedies in Mr. Longfellow’s life. Fanny was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s second wife, and together they had a daughter also named Frances who died when she was 17 months old.8 His first wife, Mary Potter Longfellow, died just over a month after she miscarried during her sixth month of pregnancy.9 This was a man who had every reason to pity himself and feel cranky about his condition, and yet he declared in beautiful verse: