Gospel Story Finder

After some time, my family moved from Maryland to Utah, where we lived on a farm in North Logan. We had some horses, some cows, some pigs, some chickens, two dogs, a few cats, and we even had a pet pig. Though it became necessary to sell the cows, my father kept one milk cow.
Each morning before school, I helped my older brother, Lou, milk the family cow. One morning, my brother was sick and I had to milk the cow alone. I was just eight years old. This was the first time I had ever had to milk the cow by myself. I set up my stool and bucket and started to milk. She kicked the bucket and walked away.
I picked up the bucket and stool, walked over to her, and again started to milk. Again, she kicked the bucket and walked away. I had to milk the cow before I went to school, so I picked up my stool and bucket and walked over to her and started to milk. A third time, she kicked the bucket and walked away.
I needed help! I knelt down in the morning sunlight and began to pray. I explained to Heavenly Father, “I can’t do this by myself. Please, please help me!” Without any hesitation, I picked up the bucket and my stool and walked over to the cow and began to milk. She did not move. She stood still until I finished milking. I quickly carried the bucket to the house, gave it to my mother, and was able to run to school and arrive on time, knowing that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I had ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”

Cecilia Celeste Merrell of the Globe Second Ward, Globe Arizona Stake, had no intention of liking the astronomy course she had to take. But when she entered class on the first day and saw the teacher dressed as a wizard, she began to get other ideas.
Now she can’t stop winning awards for her astronomy projects. She’s won just about everything you can at science and engineering fairs and at local, national, and international competitions. She’s worked hard on her projects and now knows a lot about reaching for the stars.
She also reaches for the keys—piano and organ keys—which she plays at church. She sings, writes poetry, dances, and cooks—in addition to stargazing.

Wangu, of the Kibuyu tribe, liked the hot dust of the road squeezing up between his brown toes. The African plain around him was spotted with many colored flowers, showing against the yellow grasses waving in the gentle breeze. Nandi flame trees flashed in the glaring sunshine. Wangu felt happy. He was sure something good was going to happen to him. Already he had found his bwana’s (white-man boss’s) lost cow and now he could see the tops of the huts in his shamba (village).
Wangu turned to pull on the lead rope to make the cow walk faster, and then he saw the bicycle. It was in the ditch beside the road and almost covered with thorn bushes. Wangu jumped into the ditch and with his panga (machete-like knife) he chopped the thorn bushes away. Then he dragged the bicycle up to the road.
It was a very old bicycle. Both its wheels were dented and it had many broken spokes. Its chain was stiff with rust. Some bwana threw it away a long time ago, he thought, but it was a bicycle and to own a bicycle was something Wangu had dreamed about.
Wangu had trouble leading the cow and carrying the bicycle, but he struggled on. A little farther along the road he stepped off into the grass, walking toward his shamba. He heard the neighing of an unseen zebra and the roar of simba (lion) a long distance away. The sounds did not disturb Wangu because he was thinking deeply about his four sons. They were a year or two apart in age, starting at age nine. He thought how much each boy would like a bicycle.
When Wangu entered the village his oldest son was the first to greet him. “What will you do with the broken bicycle, Father?” he asked.
His other three sons quickly gathered around him as he answered. “I will make it whole again so that it will be useful.”
“It is a beautiful bicycle,” his nine-year-old son said wistfully.
“I will make it even more beautiful,” Wangu promised, putting the broken bicycle in his thingira, a special hut where his wife could not enter. Then he took the cow to its place among his employer’s cattle.
Wangu began work on the bicycle by taking it apart. For help in understanding how to do it and to borrow tools, he went to the nearby mission.
Each month Wangu took part of the shillingi (English money) his bwana paid him for the work he did, and walked the seven miles to the ducca (general store) and bought new parts for the bicycle.
Repairing the bicycle was slow work, but for Wangu it was a work of joy. As he worked, his thoughts kept wandering to the worth of his four sons. He thought of how proud he was of them and of how fine and helpful they were to him.
Just before he finished working on the bicycle, he decided that his sons deserved to have it. But he couldn’t give it to all of them. Wangu knew that if he did that, the bicycle would cause many quarrels. He must give it to just one boy. He wondered how he could do that without hurting the feelings of the others.
Wangu painted the bicycle red and yellow; and while he waited for the paint to dry, he tried hard to think of a way to give it to just one of his sons. The answer came to him the night before he would take the bicycle out of his thingira and show it to all the people in the village.
The next morning Wangu wheeled the sparkling, newly painted bicycle out onto the hard-packed dirt in the center of the circle of beehive-shaped huts made out of wattle and mud. The people came running from all directions, shouting words of praise for the bicycle. Wangu waited for quiet and until his sons stood in front of him. As he looked at them he thought of how well they cared for his sheep and goats.
“It is my wish to give this bicycle to one of my sons, and I have found a way to do it fairly,” Wangu announced. “The people at the mission have taught us to write our names and some of the white man’s words.” Then he spoke directly to his sons. “Go and get a calabash (clay bowl shaped like a gourd), four pieces of paper, and a pencil.”
The boys left in an excited rush. Wangu waited, beaming under the admiration of the people. He waited until he became impatient. It seemed that his sons were taking much too long. When they finally arrived on the run he frowned at them.
“You will each write your name on a piece of paper, fold it so the name cannot be seen, and drop it into the calabash,” he told them. “Then I will lift out a name and whoever owns the name owns the bicycle.”
When this was done Wangu took the calabash and shook it. He pulled a paper from it. Wangu was the name written on the paper.
“This is the wrong name,” he said gruffly.
With his fingers in the calabash he stirred the papers around. Then he quickly took another one and unfolded it slowly. Wangu was also written on that paper. In a fast movement he grabbed the remaining two papers in the calabash and on each one was written the name Wangu.
All his sons had wanted him to have the bicycle. Tears filled Wangu’s eyes and his heart seemed almost to burst with the great love he felt for his sons.

As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.

Let me share with you some examples of taking responsibility.
Many of us have a special hero. His name is Chuck Anderson. Brother Anderson died fourteen months ago. He had an extremely rare disease, epidermalosis belosa. When he was young, whenever his skin was touched, it would hemorrhage. After a time the injury would scab over. Cotton would partially protect his hands, feet, and other areas of his body, but not well enough to avoid the pain and scabbing. His skin became a form of inflexible tissue. He could not touch his scalp, so combing his hair was very difficult. He lived to be twenty-six years old, but never during those 312 months did he have a day free of pain, scabs, and bandages, or a day that he could run and play as others.
But he decided to be positive and as productive as he could be. He had a wonderful sense of humor. His example of courage and being as self-sustaining as possible blessed everyone who knew him. Of course, his wonderful parents, friends, Church leaders, and teachers did all they could, but Chucky Anderson determined he would be as self-reliant as possible.
He desperately wanted to serve a mission but could not in the typical sense. So what did he do? He served a mission by helping all who knew him to know that he was a Mormon boy and loved the Lord. He made the decision to forget himself and do all he could do to be courageous and helpful and to build others.
Another example: Just last spring a group of high school students sat in a seminary class looking at their watches, hoping the class would soon end. They were not paying attention to what was going on. They were laughing and teasing and passing notes.
President Benson’s face appeared on the video they should have been watching. He was talking about the Book of Mormon. The noise continued. Suddenly, a young woman stood up, stepped to the front of the class, pushed the pause button, and said in a frightened voice, “He is our prophet. He talks with Heavenly Father. He is telling us about the Book of Mormon, and we should listen.”
Suddenly, every eye was focused on the front of the room as that lovely young lady turned the television set back on and quietly returned to her seat.
As I spoke with the seminary teacher a week or two later, he said, “In all the years that I have taught, I have never seen a class more reverent, more focused upon the things that matter, as the day when that young lady went to the front of the class and said, ‘You listen to our prophet.’” She did it on her own. She did not wait for another.
Several months ago, after boarding an airplane scheduled to fly to Phoenix, Arizona, the passengers found themselves retained on the ground because of foggy weather. While we were waiting, the door of the airplane opened several times and others joined us, even though it was half an hour or more after the plane should have departed.
A young teenager took the vacant seat beside me. After a short time, he looked toward me and said, “Hey, mister, are you a Mormon?”
I said “Yes” and inquired why he asked.
He reported, “I joined the Church several months ago, but I don’t know whether I believe it anymore.”
We talked about the gospel. I bore my testimony. We discussed many things relating to the Church and to life. Meanwhile, the plane had left Salt Lake and was winging its way south.
This fine young man who wanted to have his testimony reaffirmed and strengthened was willing to do something about it. Cody and I are pen pals now. When I think of him, I recall a wonderful young man, searching for truth, needing a little reassurance, and seeking it on his own. He took responsibility.
In every ward and branch throughout the world are those who ask, “Is it true?” or inquire, “How can I change my life for the better?” We must assist, but the task is theirs alone to walk the path that will strengthen testimonies and straighten lives.
I would like to talk to you about how this takes place. What are the steps? What must I do to have my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthened and my life modified for the better?
First, you must want to change with all your heart. You must take responsibility upon yourself to do whatever is necessary to be different.
Second, do as our prophet has directed and read the scriptures. Concentrate upon the words of the Master as reflected through the writings of Nephi, Moses, Paul, Luke, Joseph Smith, and other prophets. Often, when the days are dark and times are difficult, turning to the scriptures will provide a strength and confirmation that generally can come in no other way. To have a testimony and personality become stronger, one must go it alone.
Third, live the commandments. We generally struggle with a weakening testimony and with a diminished knowledge of the truthfulness of Heavenly Father’s plan when we do not live the way He has asked us to live. Another cannot repent for us. This is a task we must do alone.
Of course, everyone makes mistakes. But let me tell you about a lovely young lady who visited in my office. She was discouraged, almost depressed. She enjoyed her profession of teaching yet felt that her life was not going anywhere. To complicate the problem she was feeling, her testimony had waned, and she was lacking the spark that all who had known her acknowledged was part of her vibrant personality.
“I am going to ask you a question,” I said, “but I do not want details. Are you living the commandments?”
She whispered, “No.”
We talked about her going to her bishop. We also talked about testimony and about how when one lives the commandments, that individual is endowed with blessings of the Spirit that can come in no other way.
She left, seemingly as discouraged as she had entered my office. But in a while, perhaps a month later, my telephone rang. She reported that all was well.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I went to my bishop. I am living the commandments now, and, yes, I know the gospel is true. I did it on my own,” she reported.
“No one else could have done it for you,” I replied.
Think of the days, weeks, even months and years wasted by people waiting for someone else to assume responsibility for their needs. It simply cannot be. God, in his heaven, will not do for us what we can and should do for ourselves.
Fourth, we all have the task to help others when they really need burdens lifted. This is the heart of Christian service. But remember, doing for others tasks they should be doing on their own leads to their detriment and atrophy.
These four steps will help us develop a oneness with the Savior. Do we fully realize that Jesus is to be the center of our lives? Only the Savior can be our Savior, and that relationship is always personal. We go to him alone. He accepts us that way only.
There is no other way.
Our Church magazines, lesson manuals, and videotapes will never supply everything that a person needs to solve a problem, prepare a lesson, or find a new direction in life. These resources will remain helpful, but all of them together will never be as complete or as powerful as the scriptures. And incidentally, let us not rely too heavily upon what others tell us the Lord is saying in the standard works. Let us find out by going directly to those sacred pages ourselves.
We love our church buildings where we worship on Sunday, play volleyball on Wednesday, and meet on other days as our assignments dictate. They are well designed and almost always beautifully maintained, but they do not substitute for our homes and never will. Even where chapels are not or cannot be found, places always will be available where good people can meet together, partake of the sacrament, and worship our Heavenly Father.
Evidence shows that less is often more and often better. Homemade lesson enrichment materials, parent-and-child-designed family home evening discussions and activities, and examples that conform to the scriptures, to the words of the Brethren, and to one’s unique culture are often more beneficial than materials we might purchase.
Do not outlaw common sense or forget the inspiration that you can receive to provide examples for your family worship, Gospel Doctrine lesson, or other Church assignments.
How often a child will say, “No, let me do it,” when a well-meaning adult provides a little too much assistance.
Remember when you made a whistle out of a willow branch, and it sounded better than a store-bought one?
How much is lost when we limit ourselves to a rented video, a television program, or some other form of packaged entertainment. We can miss the growth and enjoyment that come from playing catch with a child, walking with a neighbor, making a simple drawing, singing with a friend, or seeking pure truth from a well-worn copy of the Book of Mormon.
What is happening to us? Why do we rely upon others for our opinions, our directions, our activities, and even our vocabulary?
It is time to say, “Whoa, stop. I want to take personal responsibility for my actions.” Now is the time to stop blaming others, the government, the Church, or our circumstances for what might disturb us.
It is time to take responsibility for ourselves.
To these things I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior, amen.

About 11 years ago, soon after our marriage, my husband for some reasons best known to him, refused to attend sacrament meetings.
This development was a big cause for worry to me. I begged him to reconsider that position but to no avail. Weeks, months and then years passed, as a wife and a mother, it was my dream to raise my children in that Latter-day Saint home settings.
What could I do to help my husband? Then the story of Mosiah and Alma, and their children came to mind. Alma faced a similar situation when his son was persecuting the Church of the Lord. He prayed with faith and an angel appeared unto his son and a change occurred. Immediately, I entered my room and prayed to my Father in Heaven with faith knowing that He will answer me, and He did.
My husband came home from work one day and said I should prepare his white shirt for church on Sunday. Apparently, he had received a call from a brother and a sister he had baptized while on mission. They called to thank him for introducing them to the Church. In the process, they asked my husband how was church, and he could not lie. So, he began attending church service.

Tom was worried. He wished now that he had remembered what day it was when he first woke up. He could have pretended to be sick so he wouldn’t have to go to school, even though it would have meant staying in bed all day. But now he sat there at the table, staring at the darkening heap of brown sugar he had piled on his oatmeal. Suddenly his mother’s voice broke the silence. “You had better hurry, Tom, or you’ll miss the bus.” He sat up straight in his chair and began to gulp down the cereal that was now cold.
Upstairs he busied himself with dressing. Then he stepped out into the cold January morning. The weather did nothing to improve his spirits. The overcast sky was a dull gray, and a cold wind was blowing snow out of the northwest. It seemed that the only time it snowed big flakes was when it warmed up.
The bus was late that morning, and for a few happy moments Tom thought that school had been called off. Yet the roads were all plowed, and at last in the distance he recognized the yellow school bus. It was only half full when he got on, and most of the kids were in the front of the bus where it was warmer. He walked to the very back, then laid his books on the seat beside him to discourage anyone from sitting there. He didn’t feel much like talking.
When Jim Winters got on the bus, he spotted Tom right away, picked up Tom’s books, and sat down beside him. “Hi!” Tom nodded, wishing Jim would go away. “Do you think you can whip him?” Jim asked.
“Sure,” said Tom, although he didn’t like the idea of fighting. He wished that the gang had picked someone else as their leader, although he enjoyed the feeling of authority at times. Jim seemed to sense that Tom didn’t want to talk and kept quiet for the remainder of the ride. The bell rang as soon as the bus arrived, and the sound was like a last-minute reprieve. Tom even managed to smile at Miss Culler, their teacher, as he slid into his desk.
Tom went over again in his mind the plan the gang had decided upon to initiate the new boy Marty Simms. Jim Winters and Danny Ryan would tell the new boy at recess that it was his turn to haul wood for the school stove. Tom would be waiting when Marty went out back of the school to get the wood. Tom would tell Marty that if he wanted to get along in the school, he’d have to fight then and there.
The morning recess came all too soon. Pulling on his sweater, Tom slipped out the side door and around to the back of the building. The woodpile was still there, hidden from the school by the huge elm trees surrounding it. This was a pleasant spot in warm weather where the gang usually ate lunch. But today it was a desolate place, with the stiff tarpaulins, like ghostly shrouds, thrown over the piles of wood to keep them dry. Tom sat down on a chunk of wood that had worked loose from the pile and waited.
Marty came around the edge of the woodpile and stopped. Tom knew by the frightened look on the new boy’s face that he sensed he had been tricked. He mumbled something about fetching firewood, and Tom stepped in front of him. Tom could not help feeling sorry for this new boy. He hated himself for being there, but now the rest of the gang had arrived at the woodpile. He looked at Marty, whose face still had the look of a cornered animal, but his eyes shone with a certain pride and defiance that Tom found disconcerting. “You’re going to have to fight me if you want to stay in this school,” Tom declared. Marty said nothing, but moved back several steps and raised his hands.
The boys circled each other there in the shadow of the woodpile, oblivious to the shouting around them. The smaller boy’s arms struck out, but Tom managed to dodge each blow, so that the jabs hit only empty space. Tom waited for an opening and when it came, he smacked the new boy hard. Marty staggered a moment, then grabbed Tom, and they both fell to the ground. They rolled in the snow pounding each other. Tom’s weight soon began to tell. Finally the smaller boy blurted out, “I give! I give!” and Tom stood up, then watched the retreating figure. He did not hear the cheers of the other boys or feel them pounding him on the back. He didn’t feel the least bit like a hero; instead he felt ashamed of himself. Tom vowed that if he had anything to say about it, Marty would be the last new boy coming to the school that had to undergo such rough treatment.
The bell rang to signal the end of recess, and the gang began to drift toward the schoolhouse. Tom could tell that Miss Culler had already heard of the fight, for she gave him a strange look as he sat down at his desk. Finally she walked down the aisle, looked at Marty and asked, “What happened to you at recess?”
Marty looked away from her and mumbled, “I fell on the woodpile, Miss Culler.” She stood for a moment in front of him, then wheeled around and walked briskly to her desk. Tom knew that she was angry and her anger only made him feel worse.
The next several days seemed like an eternity. Marty kept to himself, and Tom did not have a chance to speak to him. On the third day the sun came out, and by noon the snow was soft and packy. It was ideal for making snowballs and the gang soon had a fort built of snow. Tom and Jim were chosen to choose up sides for a snowball fight. It was Tom’s turn first, and as he looked out at the eager faces, he caught a glimpse of Marty standing alone near the corner of the schoolhouse. His voice rang loud and clear across the schoolyard, “I’ll take Marty Simms!”
Marty stood still for a moment as though he couldn’t believe his ears, then proudly he walked forward to take his place with the gang behind the fort.

A dear friend of mine, as a young graduate student, moved with his family to a large American city to continue his education. He was immediately called to preside over the elders quorum. A little nervous about his first interview with the stake president, he was determined to go prepared. He told the stake president that he had three goals for the upcoming year: (1) 90 percent ministering, (2) a substantive gospel lesson each week, and (3) a well-planned quorum activity every month.

Smiling at my friend, this wise stake president asked, “Can you name a less-active quorum member who you could help get to the temple with his family this year?” That caught my friend by surprise. He thought carefully and came up with a name. “Write that down,” directed the stake president. Then this experienced leader asked the same question three more times—and the interview was over. This young man walked out of that interview having learned one of his greatest lessons on leadership and ministering. He went into the interview with programs, lessons, and activities. He walked out with names! Those four names subsequently became a major focus of his ministry and that of his quorum.

On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

Everyone was doing something special for Mother’s Day.
Daddy was making Mother a wooden sewing cabinet. Jenny’s big sister, Chris, was painting a picture of their house.
“Everyone has something special to give,” sighed Jenny. “Everyone but me.”
“Jenny,” Mother called. “Your friends are at the door. When you are dressed, you may go out and play.”
Jenny picked up her shoes and carried them downstairs. Except for tying her shoes, she could get dressed by herself.
Mother was at the sink, washing the dishes.
“Will you tie my shoes, please?” asked Jenny.
Mother dried her hands. “Oh, Jenny,” she said, making the laces into bows, “I’ll be so happy when you can do this all by yourself. That will be a very special day, won’t it?” Mother asked, giving Jenny a hug.
Jenny nodded her head and smiled. “Thank you,” she said and ran outside.
“Let’s race!” she called to her friends.
The four of them took off, running almost as fast as the wind. But a moment later Jenny tripped and fell. And off came her left shoe.
“Oh no!” Jenny cried.
Luckily Chris was in the yard. “I’ll tie it,” she said.
While Chris was tying her shoe, Jenny thought of Mother’s words: “I’ll be so happy when you can do this all by yourself.”
Jenny looked at Chris. “Now I know,” she laughed. “I know what I can give to Mother.”
“And what’s that?” asked Chris.
“If you’ll help me, I can learn to tie my shoes all by myself,” said Jenny.
“That’s a good idea,” Chris agreed. “We’ll practice every night after supper until you can do it by yourself. Daddy will be surprised too.”
That night after supper, Jenny ran into Chris’s room.
“Close the door,” Chris said. “We want to keep your surprise a secret.”
Jenny closed the door and sat down. She untied her shoes.
“First,” said Chris, “you cross one lace over the other and put the bottom lace around and down through the hole—like this.”
Jenny watched closely and then she tried it.
“Good,” Chris said. “Now comes the hard part. Make a loop with one end of the lace, wrap the other end around it, and pull its loop through.”
“That looks easy,” Jenny said. “I can do that.” But when she tried, her fingers and thumbs got all mixed up in the laces. When she pulled one of the laces through, there was no bow!
“I’ll never learn!” Jenny said, pushing her shoes away. “It’s too hard.”
Chris picked up her little sister’s shoe. “Yes, you will,” she said, “if you try again and again. It’s not easy to learn and you’ll have to have a lot of patience and practice, but you can do it.”
So Jenny tried again. And again. And again.
Soon it was time for her to go to bed, but still her fingers hadn’t learned to tie her shoes.
“Don’t worry,” said Chris, putting her arm around Jenny. “You have plenty of time.”
Even though Jenny practiced every night for the next few days, she still couldn’t tie her shoes. But now her fingers and thumbs weren’t quite so clumsy.
Two days before Mother’s Day, Jenny was practicing by herself. I have to learn soon, she thought. What other present can I give Mommy? “Over and through,” she repeated. “Loop, over, around, and pull.” She tried to do it like Chris did, but it still didn’t come out right. Over and over she tried. Each time she thought that she was doing it right, but each time something went wrong.
“Over and through,” she said, trying again. “Loop, over, around, and pull.”
Jenny stared at her laces, wide-eyed. “I did it!” she cried. “I tied my shoes!”
She danced and hopped and skipped all over the room. Her shoe didn’t come off. She had tied it just as tightly as Chris and Mother could.
“What’s going on up there?” Mother called from the kitchen.
Jenny laughed. “I’m skipping because I’m happy,” she answered. She wanted to tell her secret now, but she knew she had to save it.
Mother’s Day finally came. Chris helped Jenny polish her shoes. “This polish will make them look nice for Sunday,” she told Jenny.
On Mother’s Day, Chris and Daddy gave their presents to Mother first. Jenny saved her surprise for last. She sat down on the floor between Mother and Daddy and untied her shoes.
“What are you doing?” Mother asked.
Jenny didn’t answer, but only grinned as she started to tie her laces. “Over and through. Loop, over, around, and pull.”
“Jenny,” cried Mother, “you can tie your shoes! What a wonderful, wonderful present! Thank you.” And she gave Jenny a great big hug.

Later I noticed that many of the older youth became less active in the Church, and I had an absolute fear that one day I might lose my testimony. There were so few youth in the Church in Germany in those days that when they became less active, their absence was noticeable. It was frightening for my parents. They had given up everything to raise their children in religious freedom, and now they were thinking, “What can we do so that we will not lose Erich?”
One day when I was about 14 years old, my family was driving home from church. We had noticed, once again, that some of the youth had turned their backs on the Church. I said to my parents, “I want you to drag me to church until I am 21 years old, and then I will take care of myself!” I really told them that, and my mother often repeated it to me.
This concern explains why, when I was about 10 years old and attending primary school, my parents made a decision. In Germany you start a higher-education path at a young age. My parents decided not to allow me to go into higher education because they had seen many young people leave the Church while attending these schools at that time. They said, “You can go anywhere, but not to the Gymnasium [university-track school], because we don’t want to lose you to the world!”
That decision meant that I received a basic education and later a vocational education; for me, that meant a degree in business. This limited many of my professional possibilities. I completed my training when I was 18 years old and was called to serve as a missionary in Munich, Germany. I loved being a missionary.
When I finished my mission, I found myself without a lot of career options. I had finished my education. Two years after my mission, I married my wife, Christiane, and there was no chance for me to gain a university education. There was a moment when I felt sad about my parents’ decision because I felt so limited.
Then a thought came to me: “Whatever my parents did, they did to protect me. They did it out of love, and it will not be a disadvantage for me.” Even though at times it seemed to be a disadvantage in a worldly sense, I could now understand that it would never be a real disadvantage. I decided to make a career in the insurance business, and I later became an executive in the company where I worked.
One challenge for me was that I had always wanted to be a teacher, and you cannot be a teacher in Germany without a university education. However, I eventually did become a teacher—a religion teacher. I became a teacher for the Church Educational System. And in a manner of speaking, that is what I am now—a teacher. So I gained a testimony that it is worthwhile to listen to your parents, to follow their counsel, and to trust that they love you, pray for you, and know what is best for you. The desire to stay active in the Church was so strong on my part and the desire to protect me was so strong on my parents’ part that everything did come together for my good.

A girl’s journal is often a record of her dreams, and Annapurna Guru’s journal held her most cherished desire. “Someday,” she wrote, “I will go to the temple.”
Annapurna was not a member of the Church when she wrote these words. Raised in Hyderabad, India, she had learned something about Christianity as a child in a Catholic school. Then, in 1992, her older brother met Latter-day Saint missionaries and was baptized. Annapurna was 14 when her brother, Murthy, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. “Once I read it,” she recalls, “I felt it was true.”
Annapurna found in the gospel answers to her most troubling questions, especially her worry about what happens after death. But just as surely as she knew the gospel to be true, she knew something else: Her parents would not allow her to be baptized in a Christian church.
During her remaining teenage years, Annapurna lived her new faith quietly. She read the Book of Mormon and the Bible. She prayed. She learned all she could. And she began to form in her mind a beautiful dream: Someday she would marry a Latter-day Saint. Someday she would go to the temple. And someday she would give her children the precious gift she lacked: membership in the Lord’s Church.
By the time Annapurna graduated from college at age 20, her parents had begun planning a traditional arranged marriage for their beloved daughter. But Annapurna never considered her dreams to be unattainable because she felt that they were not hers alone. “I had big dreams,” she says, “but actually God had His own plans for me.”
When Annapurna was 21, those divine plans started to become reality—miracle by miracle. First, she met Santosh Murala, a faithful Latter-day Saint visiting his family in Hyderabad. A medical student, Santosh was doing a surgical residency in Chandigarh, two days away by train. When they met, Annapurna and Santosh talked for half an hour. After that brief conversation, Santosh called his friend Neil Twitchell, who was then serving as India Bangalore Mission president, and confided, “She’s gold!” Santosh felt quite clearly that this was the woman he had been looking for. Annapurna felt that Santosh—the first Latter-day Saint young man she had ever met—was the man she had been praying to find.
The two exchanged a few letters, confirming their feelings. Several months later they married. Understandably, Annapurna’s family was upset at first, as was Santosh’s. But Annapurna was legally old enough to marry a man of her choosing.
Annapurna viewed this situation through the eyes of faith. “If I had married to please my parents and other people,” she says, “then my children might never have known about the Church and the whole responsibility for that would have been on my head. This one step has changed life for me and my posterity. For this life my parents may be upset with me, but for eternity they will be happy and proud of me.” In fact, Annapurna’s parents are already more accepting of her marriage. They like Santosh and even get together socially with Santosh’s parents.
Map by Randall J. Pixton
The next part of Annapurna’s dream came true when at last she was baptized. There was no branch in Chandigarh, so the Muralas made the five-hour journey to New Delhi for the baptism. Ironically, now that Annapurna was free to go to church, the nearest branch was far away. “Before I was baptized, the church was very near my house, just on the corner at the end of the road, and I didn’t have the opportunity to go,” she says. “Now the church was five hours away, so we could go only once a month.” Then Annapurna became pregnant, and the five-hour trip was too taxing for her.
But then came another miracle, in the form of two Latter-day Saint families. “God takes care of you,” explains Santosh. A British couple, Brother and Sister Beer, came to Chandigarh, where Brother Beer worked in highway construction. Sister Beer taught institute classes to the Muralas, and the Beers held family home evening with the Muralas every week. A Korean family, the Moons, also moved to Chandigarh, where Brother Moon worked for a construction company. Every Sunday for two years, this little group of Latter-day Saints met at the Moons’ home for sacrament meeting. Shortly after Santosh finished his residency in Chandigarh, the Beers and the Moons moved away too.
In New Delhi, where Santosh is receiving specialized training in heart surgery, there are two branches of the Church. Now Annapurna’s knowledge about the Church is catching up with her knowledge of the gospel. She has learned how to sing hymns and conduct meetings.
On 19 June 2001—Annapurna’s 24th birthday—her girlhood dream of temple marriage came true. The Muralas traveled to the Hong Kong China Temple when their first baby, Neil, was not quite two. During the five full days they spent serving in the temple, the most sacred and wonderful moment came when they were sealed to each other and to their son.
Today the Muralas’ lives are full to overflowing. Annapurna serves as Primary president and Santosh as president of the New Delhi First Branch. Santosh also spends about 100 hours a week at the hospital, working 18- and 36-hour shifts. In order to have Sundays free for Church responsibilities, he works on holidays. So Annapurna spends most of her time caring for their two young children and supporting her husband in his heavy responsibilities.
And she continues to dream. She dreams of sharing the gospel with her parents. She dreams of the day when her own and others’ children—the first generation of children in India to have Primary, seminary, and Young Men and Young Women—will be strong leaders of the Church. She dreams of the time when her children will serve missions. She dreams of the time when they too will go to the temple. And she even dares to dream that that temple might be in India.

A convert since May 1970, twenty-one-year-old Linda Lee MacArthur lives in New York City, is a member of the Manhattan Ward, New York Stake, and has been part of the New York City Ballet Company for eight years. Although she had no burning desire to join a church two years ago, she became friends with “a very special Latter-day Saint girl, Diana Bradshaw,” who was also in the ballet company.
“At that time in my life,” said Linda, “the most important thing to me was a new dress. I had my own apartment and wanted to be chic in all I did. Things were fine until I became very sick and began to feel a religious need. Then, coincidentally, my Mormon neighbor invited me to a parent-youth night production and I became interested in the Church.”
Linda likes to tell of her ballet career and what means the most to her.
“I’ve been in ballet a long time. I started to learn when I was three years old and living in Dorchester, Massachusetts. As a child I also took up drama and singing and performed in off-Broadway productions such as Peter Pan. It was my mother who prompted me, but I didn’t begin to study ballet seriously until I moved to New York when I was eleven. I was asked by the New York City Ballet Corporation to be an apprentice for The Nutcracker, but I didn’t appreciate the honor and wanted to go home for the summer to enjoy swimming and have fun. The following year I was given the same opportunity; I accepted and began my professional career. I apprenticed until I was thirteen because it was unheard of to have anyone so young in the company. But when the company went to Europe, I got a chaperone and became an official member of the team.
“My European tour taught me a lot. I saw extreme luxury and poverty side by side. I gained an appreciation for my country and our way of life. It was all very exciting, and other neat opportunities came my way, such as an interview for Ladies’ Home Journal, because I was the youngest in the company.
“A great deal of self-discipline is needed in ballet. Having been an actress, dancer, and singer, I find dancing the most demanding profession of all because it takes so much of one’s time and is physically exhausting. I didn’t realize this when I first began studying. My main concern was to get into the company, but once I had made it, I found it even harder, especially since I was still in school. It was very difficult for me to keep up in school even though I went to a professional children’s school in arts and theater. I was still very young to be absent so much because of performances and rehearsals.”
Linda has a special feeling for theater and arts in general because she feels that it’s the best way she can express herself. Dance involves her total movement and expression of emotion, and she advises everyone to find the field of personal exposition that suits him best.
“My life has changed most drastically since I’ve been a member of the Church. Had I not found the truth, I wouldn’t now have the things that are important, like spirituality and the gospel. I’m not dancing very much anymore because dance takes up so much of my time that I’m not able to do the church work I feel I need to. The MIA program in particular means a lot to me, and I’m privileged to work with youth that I love dearly. Living the principles of the gospel is now my daily goal. The worst conflict between the Church and my profession is the time schedule. If I were performing, I wouldn’t be able to go to church on Sunday or to MIA. Being a new convert, it’s important for me to be there. Spiritually there is no conflict. I haven’t found the people in the theater to be wild and mysterious as they sometimes are portrayed. I think you get more of that in show business and musical comedy. Girls in our company range from sixteen to twenty-five years of age. They’re just out of school and are very dedicated. They don’t have time for the outside world, so it’s not a very wild kind of crowd.
“I often question whether I can be a Mormon and remain successful in my field. I hope it will be possible, yet I feel it’s important to have a family and raise them in the Church. That means more to me than my career. A couple of years ago I wouldn’t have given up dance for anything, but my idea of a good Latter-day Saint woman is one who is dedicated to her home and family. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely stop dancing after having been in the theater so long. I probably will always have the desire to perform. That’s the kind of conflict I haven’t yet resolved. I hope that if I live the gospel, the Lord will bless me with enough time to do both the way I want to.”

After Dad was taken away, Mom took care of Grace, her two brothers, and two of their cousins. There were many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around. Their family only got a small amount of flour, vegetables, and potatoes.
One day the doorbell rang. Grace followed Mom to see who it was. When Mom opened the door, there on the doorstep stood a young Nazi officer. Grace’s heart started beating faster, and she held her breath. What did he want?
“How many people live in this house?” he asked gruffly.
“It’s myself, my three children, and my two nephews,” said Mom.
“You have no husband here?” the officer asked.
“No,” Mom answered. “He was taken away.”
The officer looked around the house. “Do you have a radio? We don’t want you listening to programs from our enemies in England and America.”
Mom got the radio and gave it to the officer.
“This is a big house,” he said, glancing around again. “Too big for just the few people who live here. You will have to leave by tomorrow. We are going to take over this house.” He turned sharply and marched away.
Grace couldn’t believe what she had heard. She watched Mom’s eyes widen in shock. Then Mom closed the door and went straight to the back of the house.
Grace followed slowly behind, her heart racing. Could the soldier really come back and take their house, just like he’d taken their radio? What would they do? Where would they go? How would Dad know where to find them again?
Grace stopped outside Mom’s door and peeked inside. Mom was on her knees, praying. Grace quietly went back to the sitting room until Mom came back.
“Oh, Mom, what will we do?” Grace asked.
Mom sighed. “All we can do is pray and trust in the Lord that He will protect us.”
The young Nazi officer didn’t come back the next day or the next. He never came back! Grace and her family were able to keep their house.
Grace knew that God was helping her family. Even though the war was not over, He was still watching over them.
To be continued …

Thanks to modern technology, family members can keep in touch with each other, even across long distances. Cole R., 16, says, “My dad still gives me advice, congratulations, and sometimes a rebuke. When my younger brother and I were advancing in the priesthood, our extended family gathered at our home. My dad was on the computer, watching via video chat. He asked family members to say the prayers. It was a powerful witness that even though we are thousands of miles apart, he is still the patriarch of our home and we are still a family.”

During Christmas, I was going home teaching and I had a prompting to take my violin and play a Christmas carol for our families. I played for the first two families, but I didn’t see why I had had the prompting. Then we went to the last family (who were less active), and that was when I knew. I played for them and could see that they were moved; the Spirit was there. They started taking the missionary lessons.Martin Perez, 18Midland Second Ward, Odessa Texas Stake

I was sad when I found out that my ballet exam was to be on a Sunday. My friends in the class couldn’t understand why we chose not to do things like that on a Sunday. They even offered to take me to the exam after our church meetings. I knew that the right choice was not to go, and Mum and Dad said Heavenly Father would bless me for keeping the Sabbath Day holy. At my next lesson after the exam day, my teacher gave me a medal. She felt I deserved it even though I didn’t do the exam. It is good to choose the right. I felt happy inside.

The blessings for future families are already becoming evident. A young returned missionary in Mexico reports:
“In December 2001, I returned home after a full-time mission in the México Veracruz Mission. My goals were high, but it appeared that I would be unable to achieve them due to finances, even with the help of my family. It was then I discovered that through the PEF my dream could be achieved.
“Only last week I finished my studies and was immediately hired at a salary three times greater than that which I was earning before. I can now begin my family. I was married on 20 December 2002.”

John Wooden was perhaps the greatest college basketball coach in the history of the game. He had four full undefeated seasons. His teams won 10 national championships. At one point, he had a streak of 88 consecutive wins.
One of the first things Coach Wooden drilled into his players was something his father had taught him when he was a boy growing up on a farm. “Don’t worry much about trying to be better than someone else,” his father said. “Learn from others, yes. But don’t just try to be better than they are. You have no control over that. Instead try, and try very hard, to be the best that you can be. That you have control over.”