Gospel Story Finder

When I was a full-time student in England from 1948–1950 at the University of Nottingham, I did not have the good fortune to be a Latter-day Saint. I did not have the understanding of my purpose in life, and of the pattern of progress and effort required to fulfill my purpose. Academically, athletically, and socially, I did reasonably well. Spiritually, I was somewhat lacking, for I had a form of religion without real substance. I had been active in my church all my life, but could not have answered basic doctrinal questions if challenged to do so.
My real progress commenced when I was almost twenty-four years old. I had just graduated with honors in economics and law, and had started my career in industry as a management trainee with a large textiles, chemicals, and plastics company.
Within weeks, Mormon missionaries were led—and I repeat were led—to our door. As a matter of fact, the Lord sent three missionaries to our door. (He knew it might be tough.) Furthermore, my wife informed me they all had the same first name—Elder.
Everyone who has seen the excellent filmstrip in which President Kimball shows us how to be member missionaries knows there are certain circumstances which make friendshipping easier. We were an excellent example of changed circumstances making us more receptive to the gospel message. Not only had I just commenced my first civilian employment, but we had moved into a new home and, to top it all, our second baby had just arrived.
Yes, many of our circumstances in life had changed; but through the missionaries, our whole outlook on life subsequently changed. We were taught the plan of salvation, God’s plan for our eternal progression—God’s plan to help us reach full development, which is true maturity.
Our values changed, and therefore our standards of measurement changed, as we realized the truthfulness of the message the missionaries taught. Our lives started to become fuller and more purposeful, to ripen and mature. That message I declare to you in all solemnity and power. Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, is our personal Savior and Redeemer. He has restored his church and gospel as was prophesied and has once again spoken through holy prophets, beginning with the Prophet Joseph Smith.

Beckham loved to fish with Grandpa. He even caught a little fish!
But when Beckham told Mom about it later, he might have told a little lie.
Beckham won a jumping contest with his friends.
But when he told Dad about it, he might have told a little lie.
The next day, Beckham’s family went to the zoo. He even got to feed a monkey!
But when he told Grandpa about it, he might have told a little lie.
Wow! Did you really feed a dragon?
Well, no … it was just a monkey. But people won’t think I’m cool if I tell them what really happened.
You don’t need to make up stories for people to like you. Telling the truth is the best choice. And just being you is enough! Heavenly Father thinks so too.
Besides, feeding a monkey is pretty cool.
This story took place in the USA.

“Tara has chicken pox?” Barney and I gasped when Sister Cluff told us the bad news.
“That’s right. She broke out yesterday afternoon.”
“You mean she wasn’t at the circus last night?” Barney asked.
Tara’s mom shook her head.
I looked at Barney, and he looked at me. I felt sick just thinking of Tara missing the only circus that had ever come to Maryvale.
“You boys had better run along now,” Sister Cluff told us. “I’ll tell Tara you came by.”
We started home, but as soon as Sister Cluff closed the front door, we crept around to Tara’s room at the back of the house. We peeked in through the open window and saw Tara lying on her bed, looking at the wall.
“Hey, Tara,” I whispered, “how do you feel?”
Tara rolled over and looked at us. “Terrible,” she moaned. The way her voice quivered, I could tell that she’d either been crying or was about to start.
“Is it that bad to have the chicken pox?” I asked.
“The chicken pox aren’t bad at all,” she sobbed. “It’s missing the circus that’s so terrible.”
“Maybe another one will come to town,” Barney said, trying to cheer her.
“No it won’t. That’s the very first one that ever came to Maryvale. If another one ever comes, I’ll probably be an old lady and won’t care about going to it.”
“We could tell you about it,” I offered.
“No!” Tara cried, grabbing her pillow and covering her ears.
“We’ll have to think of some other way to cheer Tara up,” I told Barney as we left.
Barney kicked at a clump of grass and muttered, “I wish we had our very own circus. Then we could —”
“That’s it!” I practically screamed at him. “We’ll bring her our circus.”
Barney scratched his head. “But, Bryan, we don’t have a circus.”
“Maybe we don’t now, but by this afternoon we’re going to have the Bryan and Barney Circus.”
All morning Barney and I rushed around the neighborhood, putting our circus together. Everybody wanted to be in it, and it wasn’t long before we had more circus people and animals than we knew what to do with.
Tara’s mom was going visiting teaching with my mom at 2:00 P.M., so that’s when we told everyone to meet in Tara’s backyard.
Barney and I were the first ones to reach Tara’s house. Since I was the ringmaster, I wore black pants, a white shirt, and a stovepipe hat that Mom had helped me make out of an oatmeal box and newspaper. Barney was a clown. He wore his dad’s bib overalls with the pant legs rolled up; he’d stuffed old rags down the front to make a round belly, and he had on his uncle’s tennis shoes. They were so big that they wobbled and flopped when he walked. His face was painted white, and he had drawn huge red lips around his mouth and taped a red balloon to his nose.
I rushed around to Tara’s window. “Hey, Tara,” I called out excitedly, “guess what!”
Tara didn’t even look up from the book that she was reading.
“You’re going to see a circus!” Barney burst out beside me.
“The circus left this morning,” Tara whimpered.
“Yeah, but a better one showed up,” I told her.
“And,” Barney got out between giggles, “there’s going to be just one performance—in your backyard!”
“You’re fibbing,” Tara said, putting her book down. Looking at us for the first time, she gasped, “Barney, what happened to your face?”
He grinned. “I’m part of the circus.”
“And,” I said, “you’re going to have to pull a chair up next to the window if you want a front-row seat.”
Just then Kyle began to blow his trumpet—a paper towel tube—while Annie and Jackie marched across the backyard in their swimsuits, twirling batons and carrying a big sign that read, “The Bryan and Barney Circus.”
I grinned at Tara, who was hurriedly scooting a chair over to the window.
I marched back a few steps, bowed, and shouted in a deep voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the greatest show on earth, the one and only Bryan and Barney Circus! For our first incredible act, Jesse Jim, a daring young man, is going to swing on the high trapeze!” I pointed to Jim, who was standing on a stepladder by the Cluff’s maple tree. He had tied a rope to one of the branches and was getting ready to jump. “This tree,” I went on, “is five hundred feet tall. Jesse Jim’s going to be the first man to swing from it without a net.”
Just as I finished speaking, Jim came swinging over the lawn. Before I could move out of the way, he banged into me, knocking me down, then crashed into the patio furniture.
“Why didn’t you wait till I was out of the way?” I squawked, jumping up.
Jim was lying on his back. “I slipped,” was all that he had breath to say.
I shoved my stovepipe hat back on and continued, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, Terrific Tyson, the lion and tiger tamer, is going to go into a den of the most ferocious, deadly man-eating tigers and lions in the whole world!” I looked toward Tara’s window, and she was actually smiling!
Tyson marched out with a rope whip in one hand. He made a big bow, then shouted, “Send out the lions and tigers!”
Tony, Kyle’s big St. Bernard, came bounding out with a big black wig tied on his head. He was supposed to be a ferocious lion, but when he reached Tyson, he sat down and began tearing at the raggy old wig on his head. “Down!” Tyson shouted at him, waving the whip over his head. But Tony was already down, and the only thing that he cared about was getting rid of the wig.
Then Pop and Pete, Joe’s two bassett hounds, ran out. They had tiger stripes painted all over them. When Tyson saw them coming, he waved his whip and shouted, “Down!” But the dogs didn’t pay any attention to him. One went running between Tyson’s legs, almost knocking him over, and the other grabbed one end of the rope whip and began playing tug-of-war.
I shook my head disgustedly, then looked around desperately for Barney. “Are you ready?” I whispered loudly. When he nodded, I warned, “Don’t blow it like the others.” Then I announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, now we will show you the most terrible monster ever to be found in a circus. Baritone Barney has captured and trained a man-eating, two-horned unicorn. He will—”
Even before I could finish, Barney’s pet goat, Harriet, came galloping around the corner of the house, pulling a red wagon. Barney, flopping around in his clown suit, chased after her, waving his arms and shouting, “Harriet, slow down! I have to get into the wagon.” But Harriet didn’t slow down until she’d reached the other side of the lawn and started eating Sister Cluff’s petunias.
I shook my head. So far, this was the worst circus in the whole world. I swallowed and began to shout again. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our next act, we have the world’s strangest animal, a two-headed cat!”
As I spoke, Annie came out carrying her two cats wrapped together in an Ace bandage with both their heads sticking out. The cats squirmed and twisted until they broke free of the bandage. As they jumped out of Annie’s arms and dashed for the tree, Tony spotted them. He ran after the cats, with Pete and Pop following him, barking and howling.
When Barney’s goat, Harriet, heard the racket, she bleated and started charging around the yard, pulling the red wagon behind her. Barney lunged after the goat but tripped on his floppy shoes and fell flat on his face. His balloon nose popped, and half his belly stuffing came out.
When the dogs realized that they weren’t going to get the cats, they charged after Harriet. Harriet went crazy. She ran in circles, still dragging the wagon behind her. She knocked over the lawn chairs, then raced up and down Sister Cluff’s petunia bed.
I knew that we had to stop Harriet before she tore up every flower in the Cluff’s yard, so I lunged for her and grabbed her around the neck. She just shook her head, kicked her legs in the air, and sent me crashing into the flower bed!
As I started to get up, I heard a terrible scream. The Bryan and Barney Circus came to a sudden halt. All of us—the animals, too—turned around and saw Sister Cluff staring in shock at the terrible mess in her yard. “What’s going on here?” she yelled. “Look at my … Oh, my!”
None of us answered. I felt sick inside. I didn’t know how to explain to Sister Cluff what had happened. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground.
Then I heard someone laugh. At first it was just a little giggle, but soon it exploded into side-splitting laughter. I lifted my head a tiny bit and looked toward the house. There was Tara at the window, laughing so hard that big happy tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“It’s the Bryan and Barney Circus,” she explained to her mom between laughs. “And it’s the best circus that’s ever come to Maryvale.”
“A circus?”
Tara nodded, still giggling.
“But who’s going to clean up this mess?” Sister Cluff asked. She didn’t sound angry anymore, though.
“Oh, we’ll clean up the mess,” Barney spoke up, beaming and grinning. “The Bryan and Barney Circus is a lot more than a regular, ordinary circus. We clean up messes too.”
Sister Cluff looked at me. I nodded and smiled. Sister Cluff smiled back, and before she could say another word, the Bryan and Barney Circus started cleaning up the yard.
When we were finished, I turned to Tara, who was still at the window, and said, “I wish that you could have seen Annie’s snake act, Justin’s frog race, and—”
“Maybe I can see that another day,” she cut in merrily. “And as soon as I get over the chicken pox, I want to join the Bryan and Barney Circus.”

About a month after I joined the Church, I met my wife, Magareth, and one year later we got married. While we were dating, I told her that because I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, I desired to build our family upon the words and teachings of the prophets. For example, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was the prophet at that time, and he counseled Church members to stay out of debt. In close to 29 years of marriage, my wife and I have never paid one penny of interest. Never.

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the Web site and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our Web site he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church.21 Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

It was fire drill day at a Logan, Utah, elementary school, and fire drill captain Joe Cook, a stalwart sixth-grade student leader, was determined to post a good time. He was pleased when, at the ringing of the alarm, students began to evacuate the building rapidly. “This will be record-setting time,” young Joe thought. “We’re going to go down in history.” Then just as fame seemed within his grasp, Joe heard the announcement: “Someone is still in the building. The building is not clear.”
As record-breaking time ebbed away, Joe Cook finally saw one lone first-grader emerge from the building. It was his little brother, Quentin! Joe had been denied his rightful place in Cache Valley history by his own flesh and blood!
Fuming, Joe barked, “What on earth were you doing?”
Quentin held up a pair of large, worn boots and said, “Joe, you know that [and he mentioned a friend’s name] sometimes has to wear hand-me-down shoes that are too big for him. When the fire drill rang, he took off running and ran right out of these. He didn’t want to ruin the drill, so he left them and ran outside barefoot. I went back to get his boots for him because I didn’t want his feet to be cold in the snow.”

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a non-member whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginalIv active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to use our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

Our youngest daughter, Jen, had to have surgery at age four. She listened as we explained why the surgery was needed. She knew she would have to spend several days in a hospital. We told her Heavenly Father would bless her. We prayed with Jen, and she prayed too.
When the day came, we took her to the hospital. A doctor came and offered his hand to lead her to the operating room. With the simple faith of a child, she took his hand and walked ahead, unafraid and never looking back.
The operation was a success, and Jen surprised us two days later by singing happily in her hospital bed.

It happened on December 16, 1991—our eighth wedding anniversary. On that day our first son died as the result of a babysitter’s actions. He was only two and a half months old.
The following months and years were clouded by sadness, anger, disappointment, and hopelessness. The personal turmoil that overcame me is indescribable. Nothing anyone said or did eased my pain.
I read many books and scriptures, but none of them satisfied my cry for answers.
I had the rare opportunity to counsel with Elder James E. Faust (1920–2007), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, because of his friendship with my parents. (He met my mother, Flavia, and her family while serving his mission in Brazil.) I was certain Elder Faust would be able to comfort me.
I asked many questions while he patiently listened. Elder Faust acknowledged that what I had experienced was certainly painful and extremely difficult. He shared several scriptures and talked about the need to work through my grief and find total submission to the Lord’s will in order to be reunited with my son again. He said, “Sylvia, this is about you now. I realize you are worried about your son, but in reality, you should be worried about yourself and how to rebuild your life. It won’t be easy, but you can mend your heart through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
He then gave me a blessing that I would be able to understand the vital role Jesus Christ plays in our existence and allow Him to be the source of strength I needed.
I left our meeting still discouraged; his counsel seemed so simple and yet so unattainable. My mother felt hopeless as well since nothing she said to me seemed to help. I recall her saying, “Please have faith and hope in our Savior, and allow time to heal your wounds.”
In my personal journey to attain joy once again, I decided to take to heart the advice I had been given and find out what it truly meant to put my faith in the Savior. Things didn’t change immediately. But day by day and year by year, with the help of prayer and a growing testimony, I came to know without a doubt that the Savior can heal our wounds.
I realize that not everyone can have the opportunity to meet with an Apostle, as I did. But everyone can—and does—have the opportunity to know the Savior and to cast his or her burdens on Him. And yes, the presence of Jesus Christ in our lives can ease any pain.
I know that having the Lord in our lives can bring joy to our existence. He is our friend, our teacher, and an example of enduring to the end. He truly endured all things, and He knows what we are suffering (see Alma 7:11–12). His Atonement has brought about the miracle of putting broken pieces back together in this life in preparation for the next.
I will always be grateful for Elder Faust’s and my mother’s words. They helped me realize that whatever my hardship may be, Jesus Christ is the one constant source of support and hope I have.

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”

One of Michael’s scenes is in a schoolroom with other boys his age. These boys are extras, called in to dress in costume and fill up the rest of the desks in the background. Erika Anderson, 18, is working as extras’ coordinator for the film, and it is her job to see that the boys are where they should be when they should be. Erika is rather young to have such an important position, but she’s been working in films for several years. Her father, David, is a film distributor and producer, and Erika has had a chance to work in different ways on films since she was 10.

“The first thing I ever did,” says Erika, “was be an extra. Then I worked on a commercial shoot in New York. I was a production assistant. My dad was in charge, and I helped run errands and time the shots.” Erika was recommended for the BYU film job, and Peter Johnson, the producer of the film and director of the Motion Picture Studio has been pleased with her work. “She shows such integrity in her work. She’s always there, always on time. We give her instructions, and she does what we ask. We never have to follow up with her.”

Erika has learned a lot about the importance of doing a good job. “What I’ve known all along is whenever a job is given to me, I have to get it done because someone is expecting me to do it. If you don’t hold your end up, everything can fall apart. I learned that at 13, so I’ve been practicing for a while.”

As extras’ coordinator, Erika describes her job this way, “When there are kids, I’m in charge of the kids. When there are adults, I’m in charge of telling them where to go and getting them all there and getting them committed to do it. It’s really hard, but it’s rewarding to see it all come together.”

Erika’s first thoughts after being told that they needed 250 extras for the scene in the marketplace outside the temple at Bountiful was, “Where am I going to find 250 extras on a Tuesday?”

Erika and her supervisor, Kathy Bessinger, casting director, did find them. They sent the call out to wards in Salt Lake and Orem areas. Then buses were arranged, lunch and dinner ordered for the crowd, and makeup and wardrobe people alerted. On this Tuesday, they had the crowd of extras they needed to shoot the scene.

I was recently told of a woman in Idaho Falls, a widow. Over a period of 15 years she acted as proxy in giving the temple endowment to 20,000 individuals in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. She completed her 20,000th endowment on a Friday and returned on Saturday to do five more. She passed away the following week.
Just think of what this one little woman did. She performed these vicarious endowments for as many people as are assembled in this Conference Center this morning. Think of the reception she must have received on the other side.

Marie: It’s surprising how easily others will be influenced by a positive example. At my high school graduation some of my friends were trying to talk me into going to a party where there would be a lot of drinking. I told them, “No, I’ve made a commitment in my life,” and explained to them why I wouldn’t go. Afterwards, their response surprised me. They said, “You know, you’re right; let’s do something else instead.”
Through this experience I learned that it is important that we don’t give the impression to others that we think we are better than they are, but that we convey to them instead, “We accept you as you are, even though we don’t agree with everything you do. We love and respect you and would like you to love and respect us also.”

July 1990: I had come home. I was back in Prague, in my native country of Czechoslovakia—a country I had left twenty-two years before. I left because I couldn’t tolerate the political climate of the time. Now, within a few months, an overwhelming change had been wrought in the country, and I was free to return.
I suppose I expected to feel the same as I had so many years before. But I felt like a tourist. Everything seemed smaller and shabbier, and I felt as though I had lost my family and childhood roots.
But a few days after I had arrived, as I was walking along a crowded street, I suddenly felt a kinship with the people around me. I was among my own people. A great feeling of love and belonging came over me, and I felt the joy of the freedoms that they had gained after forty-five years of strict control.
It was exciting to meet with family and friends to tell them what I had been doing since I left home and to introduce them to the gospel. At a meeting I had with former school friends, I explained that I was a member of the Church and shared my testimony with them. I gave each one of them a copy of the Book of Mormon, along with any other Church literature available in Czech, and I referred them to the missionaries. I told them that now they had the freedom to choose, and that the best thing they could do for themselves and their families was to choose to accept the gospel. “If you are going to build a new home,” I told them, “start with a good, solid foundation.”
Eagerly I attended church in Prague, where the members met in a rented room. They were very happy to be able to gather together publicly and to openly discuss the gospel with relatives and friends.
My oldest son, David, had the opportunity to pass the sacrament, and later, at a testimony meeting back home, he said the experience made him realize the responsibilities and blessings that came with the priesthood.
A special experience for me was meeting with my sisters. One of them, Ilona Kebrt, and her daughter, Olga, went with me to church. Olga was very impressed with the appearance and behavior of the full-time missionaries. “I have never seen boys my age act and look like this,” she said. “They look as though they came from a different world.”
We had the opportunity to meet President and Sister Richard W. Winder. He is the first mission president in Czechoslovakia since before World War II. My sister was very curious about President and Sister Winder, the life they had left behind in Salt Lake City to fulfill their mission assignment, their unpretentious way of living in Czechoslovakia, and the love they showed for the people. She felt of their spirit, and cried.
Five days before I was due to leave Czechoslovakia for home, President Winder informed me that President Gordon B. Hinckley of the First Presidency would be visiting Czechoslovakia and holding a meeting in Brno, 160 kilometers from Prague. President Winder asked if I would attend the meeting and act as an interpreter for President Hinckley. I accepted, and with Ilona, I drove to Brno.
That meeting was a highlight of my visit. With President was Sister Hinckley, and President Hans B. Ringger, president of the Europe Area, with Sister Ringger, President and Sister Winder, and my brothers and sisters in the gospel. President Hinckley understood how nervous I was, acting as his interpreter and translating Church terminology into Czech, and he was very considerate. It was a very spiritual experience for us all. My sister didn’t take her eyes off of him, and her face shone at me from the congregation.
Since my visit, I have learned that the gospel seeds I planted have started to bear fruit. My niece, Olga, has been baptized, and she is now living with a family in London, England. She wrote to me: “When you visited with us, I heard you share your testimony of the gospel, and although I didn’t completely understand what you meant, I wanted to know more. Now, as a member of the Church, I know. I feel as though I have grown in wisdom beyond my years. Life makes sense to me, and for the first time I know what to do.”
In returning to Czechoslovakia, I found my family and friends—roots that I thought were lost. And I have come to realize that the basic desire for truth is never dead. I am sure that the gospel will spread in Czechoslovakia and that the Czech and the Slovak Saints will take their rightful place in the worldwide family of the Church.

I have a cross-stitched picture of two pinto ponies that I worked on for about a year. It was almost completed when I discovered I’d made a mistake in the color of one of the ponies. Since it was a possible color for a horse’s hide, I didn’t realize my mistake until I saw that the color of the pony clashed with the adjacent colors on the canvas.
I was devastated. I had spent all that time working on the picture, and the thought of taking out all the stitches of the wrong color was almost overwhelming. With tears in my eyes, I opened the trash can and threw the picture in.
I sat down at the table where I kept my sewing supplies to mourn the loss of my pretty pony picture and move on to other projects. But I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t just let go of the project I had worked so hard on. I opened the trash and retrieved the cloth. I found a knot on the back of the offending color and snipped it carefully. Turning the picture over, I began removing the thread.
Sometimes the removal went quickly. Other times I found it wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t sure how to undo what I had done. Sometimes I had to cut the thread one stitch at a time. My son remarked that he was impressed that I would go to all that work to make it right. It was only a cross-stitched picture, after all.
As I removed the stitches, I began to think of repentance and how hard it has been to correct some of the errors I have made. True repentance requires intense desire, labor, and suffering, but it is worth the effort.
As I restitched the horse, I was reminded that repentance allows Jesus’s Atonement to remove the stain of sin from my life and help me begin anew. My “repentance ponies” hang in my home, a gentle but vivid reminder to do what is right, never give up when I fall short, and remember that through repentance, the Atonement will make up the difference.

After they interviewed and baptised six people at the first branch, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin headed to Saetsiwi, an isolated area tucked high in the mountains. They had no way to contact the Saetsiwi Branch president but knew he was expecting them at some point, so the missionaries drove their truck as far as they could then continue on foot for the remaining 3-hour trek. When they finally arrived, the branch president was nowhere to be found. The elders had hiked all that way in vain.
Then the big rain fell. Everyone in Saetsiwi knows that when it starts to rain hard, getting off the mountain is treacherous. Elder Toa and Elder Nalin rushed back to their truck, knowing every second counted before the local rivers swelled and became impassable. They made it to the truck in time to drive through the first and second rivers, but they knew the third river would be a challenge.
Sure enough, their truck got stuck partway. They tried to push it—no luck. They called the district president, and soon help arrived, but the truck still wouldn’t move. The river rose and flowed so swiftly that the helpers had to get out and move to safety. Then, Elder Nalin spotted something else that worried him. He saw that the waters in next river over—which converged with this river—had become torrential and threatened to break through.
In his mind, it seemed to Elder Nalin that an invisible force was holding that third river back, as though buying time for them—but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The torrent was racing.
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin are examples of the finest possible young men from Vanuatu—responsible and excellent in every way. To them, a truck is of almost incomprehensible expense, especially in a country where families can barely afford to educate their children, much less buy a vehicle. The elders were determined to preserve the Church’s truck at all costs, but now the water was up to its door handles. They called their mission president and asked, “What should we do?”
President Messick’s response was: “Thank you for calling. Now get out of the truck and save yourselves. I don’t care about the truck; I care about you.”
As they rushed out of the truck, Elder Toa climbed into the back seat to grab their scriptures and the 114 interview papers they needed for the baptisms. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Then a voice yelled, “The water is coming! Get out of the truck!” and Elder Toa slipped out of the back door just as the truck was swept downstream.
As soon as the elders realised that their scriptures and the 114 interview papers were still in the truck—which was now well out of sight—they used the power of the priesthood and commanded the truck to protect their precious documents. “That’s what you can do with the priesthood,” the young men said later, with absolute confidence. “You can command.”
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin managed to pull themselves out to safety, and there by the side of the river, they knelt and prayed. As they prayed that the truck would be safe and that their scriptures and interview papers would stay dry, the missionaries felt a peaceful assurance that all would be fine. Then they walked the rest of the way off the mountain.
The next day, the elders received a call from the district president. Saetsiwi’s branch president had found their truck, 250 meters downstream. When the Elders arrived to retrieve it, they discovered not a dent or a scratch on the body of the vehicle, despite its journey in the river, past trees, rocks, and debris.
The inside of the truck wasn’t so fortunate. It was drenched. The engine suffered electrical damage, and everything in the cab—pamphlets, manuals, books—was soaked beyond repair, except for the Elders’ scriptures and the 114 interview papers. These sat in plain sight above everything else, completely dry.
While the truck was being repaired, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin resumed their tour on foot. At their next stop, they interviewed and baptised 48 candidates before continuing right across Tanna Island. “When you get tired of walking,” one of them told a fellow missionary, “You walk with your heart.”
Their hearts and a priesthood miracle helped these faithful elders reach and bring all 114 candidates safely into the Church of Jesus Christ.

My dear brethren and sisters, since our last general conference, my sweetheart—my beloved wife for 59 years—passed away. While I was at home on a rare Saturday with no assignment, we had worked together. She had washed our clothing. I had helped to carry it, fold it, and put it in place. Then while we were sitting on the sofa, holding hands, enjoying a program on television, my precious Dantzel slipped peacefully into eternity. Her passing came suddenly and unexpectedly. Just four days earlier, our doctor’s report at a routine checkup indicated that her laboratory tests were good. After my efforts to revive her proved fruitless, feelings of shock and sorrow overwhelmed me. My closest friend, angel mother of our 10 children, grandmother of our 56 grandchildren, had been taken from us.
Dantzel was not only a loved and loving companion. She was a teacher: by her noble example, she taught faith, virtue, obedience, and mercy. She taught me how to listen and to love. Because of her, I know all the blessings that can come to a husband, father, and grandfather.
With deep gratitude I acknowledge the tremendous outpouring of love from dear friends across the world. Countless letters, calls, cards, and other messages have been sent. All tributes expressed loving admiration for her and sympathy for us whom she left behind. Those messages came in such large numbers that we, regretfully, were unable to respond to all of them individually. May I thank each and all for your great kindness toward us. Thank you so very, very much. Your expressions have brought much comfort through this time of heartache for our family. We really love dear Dantzel! We miss her!

It was an early morning in 2008 when my mother woke me up to go to school. I was really happy that morning, but I didn’t know that it would turn into the worst day of my life or the last time I would be with her. I didn’t finish all my classes that day because a friend of our family picked me up and told me that my mom had killed herself. I was only 12 years old.
I thought, “How can I live without my mother?” She was my best friend.
I cried for months. I didn’t like going to school because the other children treated me differently and felt sorry for me. I had no clue what I was supposed to do; I only knew I had to be strong for everyone else.
One day, five or six months after my mom’s death, I was alone in my room by the window, crying, trying to understand what I was here for. Suddenly I heard a voice in my head: “You are my daughter; I won’t let you suffer.” I knew it was God. But it surprised me because I didn’t believe in Him anymore, especially since I felt that it was God who had taken my mother from me. Even though I didn’t know what He meant, I felt safe.
Three years later I went to Rome, Italy, to visit my uncle. He kept telling me about this church he went to. One Sunday, he took me with him. I will always remember walking toward the church’s doors for the first time and feeling the love of Heavenly Father when I went in. It felt like home.
I started going to church every single Sunday and to every activity during the week. I loved being with the youth of the Church. They made me happier. They thought and believed in the same things that I did. Then, after three months, my summer holiday finished and I had to go back to Albania.
When I returned home, I told my dad about the feelings I’d had and how happy I’d felt during those three months going to Church activities. He didn’t like it. He told me he wouldn’t allow me to continue to go to church. So I would have to be patient for the next three years until I turned 18 years old. Then I could decide for myself and be baptized.
During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She’d been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.
Even though we’d never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.
Finally, after years of being patient, I was baptized just two days after my 18th birthday. And soon I will share with my mother the happiness I felt that day, because I will be baptized for her. I know she will be proud of the life I have chosen.
I feel blessed by Heavenly Father because He was with me during my entire journey in so many ways. I just had to wait and be patient because He had a plan for me. He’s the one who gave me strength to go through all the challenges I faced. He was always there, helping me be happier.

Melinda Moody, 17, of Tempe, Arizona, won the 1972 Piano Concerto Contest sponsored by the Phoenix Symphony Guild and was honored by performing the Prokofiev Piano Concerto #1 with the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra.
As a winner, she was eligible to compete in another guild contest in which she won a full scholarship for the summer to the Music Academy of the West in Santa Barbara, California. There she studied piano with Jerome Lowenthal, noted concert artist. Melinda hopes to be a concert pianist herself.

I was born on a little dry farm in northern Utah in 1934. By the time the doctor drove the thirteen miles from Logan to our house, I had already arrived.
I was born blue because I wasn’t breathing right. The connection between my heart and lungs was not very good, and doctors told my parents that I would have serious health problems. My family prayed hard that I would be healthy, and none of the things the doctors predicted happened. In fact, I was six feet tall by the time I was thirteen! I know that this was a blessing from Heavenly Father.